Page 31 of Business or Pleasure

A tilt of the earth on its axis. A slow swivel of his head toward me. A blink of his eyes, thoroughly, intently intrigued.

The way this maybe-joke doesn’t seem to register, given how he says, “You’d do that?”

My heart shudders in my chest. Both questions linger on the sidewalk with us like living, breathing things. Every rational answer waits on the tip of my tongue. What of course not ridiculous why would we just kidding—

The way he’s looking at me, I’m no longer certain I was joking, either. Because when he broke off a minute ago: God, I wish— I could have sworn he was about to say he wished he could have another chance.

With me.

“Like... give you sex lessons?” I say, certain it’ll sound ludicrous once the words leave my mouth.

He gives me this soft, sheepish shrug. “I don’t know,” he says, a rough quarter-laugh stuck to his voice. “Maybe that’s what I need.”

I am no longer tethered to reality. We tripped into a fantasy world back at the convention center, one populated by robots and demons and jokes that somehow aren’t jokes.

“I—maybe we’ve had too much to drink, or we’re getting too much sun, or...” I squint toward the sky, even though I’m shivering a little.

“Chandler. I’m dead sober. And it’s barely sixty degrees.”

I try to take a deep breath. Maybe I can convince him with logic. Maybe I can hurl myself into the river. Either sounds like a realistic way to end this conversation. “You really think I’m qualified for something like this? To—to help you get better in bed?”

“You’re someone who slept with me, and it was bad. I want to be able to make it good for you.” He clears his throat. “Future, hypothetical yous.”

Sixty degrees must be the new ninety because I am goddamn feverish. “I got that.”

“And, well...” The smallest quirk of his mouth. “You minored in human sexuality.”

Oh my god. I did tell him that. Because, as has been recently established, I am a massive fucking idiot.

Again, I think back to that night a week ago, but not the way it ended—the excitement when he ran a finger up my spine while we waited for the elevator, or when we kissed for the first time in the parking lot. His groan in my ear, how unashamed he was of what he felt for me. There was a spark at first—sure, one that fizzled out, but it was there.

It’s ridiculous, how much I like you.

I hardly think it’s what my professors had in mind when they talked about how we could apply our studies outside the classroom. Maybe I could just recommend some podcasts and direct him toward some sex-positive videos, the kind I’ve used to get off plenty of times, searching for ones that look like the women are genuinely enjoying themselves. Because they’re out there—they’re just harder to find.

The fact that some of those videos are now parading through my mind makes me need to squeeze my thighs together, especially with Finn standing there, looking so earnest about this deeply outrageous thing.

“We’re here to write a book,” I say. One we’ve made little progress on so far.

He takes a couple steps backward, and it’s incredible how I can still feel him right next to me. In the elevator. Against the hotel room door.

How would I make you come?

“I’m not going to push you.” His words are gentle. “If you don’t want this, I understand one hundred percent. Tell me that right now, and I’ll never bring it up again. I swear.”

I swallow hard, ready to tell him it’s a bad idea on every single level. Unethical in about a hundred ways, practical application of my minor be damned.

And yet.

Here he is, this beautiful man I’m going to be stuck with for the next few months. It’s a golden opportunity, really. I must be unhinged, given the fact that I’m still so attracted to the person responsible for the worst sex of my life. But maybe it’s not something I need to keep pushing away.

Maybe I could embrace it.

The past few years have been a study in exposition, a whole lot of buildup that’s led me absolutely nowhere. My life has been my laptop and me sunk deep in Seattle quicksand, with occasional breaks for friends and family. I’ve canceled dates and missed out on opportunities because I was too chained to work that wouldn’t love me back. This bizarrely appealing idea of helping Finn in bed—it would be fun, the thing I’ve denied myself over and over because I didn’t have the money or the energy or I was hung up on Wyatt.

I chose to study human sexuality because I was fascinated by it: history, policy, social and cultural expectations. On a basic physical level, I love what my body can do, and I love losing myself in someone else. Before I slept with Wyatt, it had been a few years since I’d connected with anyone, and maybe that was why it had felt so fantastic. Because I’d made myself stop thinking and given in to a decade of pining, even if it had disastrous results.

I think about the person I was the night I met Finn, how much I loved that caution-to-the-wind version of myself. I was convinced that wasn’t me at all. But maybe it can be.

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