Page 14 of The Holiday Hate-Off
That requires an explanation, pretty early on in a relationship too, especially if you’re not religious, which I’m not.
So yeah, as a virgin closing in on thirty, dating hasn’t been much fun. It’s no wonder I latched on to Eileen’s idea about practice dating. But then I got to thinking, if I could practice dating, why not also practice sex?
I want to meet someone wonderful, someoneremarkable, someone my mother would have approved of wholeheartedly, but I can’t imagine that happening if I still have my virginity hanging over my head. It could ruin everything with my perfect man before our love story even got started.
I’m sure if I told Eileen and Charlie, they’d say something like,A real man will understand. Or,He’ll totally be into that. But I know differently…
Like I said, I’ve dated a little over the years, and guys always get weird as soon as I tell them. They either become obsessed with beingthe one, which is awkward and uncomfortable and a total buzzkill, or they back off and break up with me for “my own good.”
But if I could find someone to have no-strings practice sex with? I could go from being a twenty-eight-year-old virgin to being sexually inexperienced.
Sexually inexperienced, you don’t need to make explanations for.
So, yes, I’ve decided that what I want for Christmas is to get rid of my virginity and practice sex. Not with the right guy, butwith someone who’s perfectly okay, so I’ll be prepared when the real thing comes along.
Practice.
Softballs.
“I need to go back for that note,” I murmur into the phone, already turning back. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“Call me when you get home, and I’ll come over. We have to figure out what you’re wearing for Santa Speed Dating.”
I don’t tell her no, because I’ve already concluded that Santa Speed Dating might be the best place for me to find my anonymous Mr. Perfectly Okay.
Eileen decided to keep the coffee shop closed until the event tomorrow, so we can spend all day preparing and make it truly epic.We figured out how to make seating for twenty couples with an efficiency that would probably impress a wedding organizer. The Santas will stay put in their assigned seats, and the women will move from station to station. But if a woman finds her perfect Santa, she’ll put on his Santa hat, and they’ll officially withdraw from the running.
It’s a ticketed event, and even though we only officially announced it a few days ago, we’ve already sold out.
“Twentyfive-minute first dates,” Charlie had gushed, with an enthusiastic thump on my back. “You have to admit. You said you needed practice, and Eileendee-livered.”
She truly did.
Surely, one of those twenty men will be Mr. Perfectly Okay.
He doesn’t need to be brilliant or super-hot or funny. All I need is for him to be single, discreet, and capable of having an erection. And willing, obviously. All the better if he’s also a tourist, only in town for the weekend. Because he won’t be the one I’m going to have a relationship with.
Heck, I can get this taken care of before I work my morning shift on Saturday. Maybe I’ll have a postcoital glow, andeveryone will remark on my rosy cheeks. I can say something like,Santa has already been generous this year, and?—
You know what? Maybe I’ll have sex with a few tourists before the end of the month, and by the time the new year begins, I’ll be ready to meet the love of my life—no awkwardness required.
As I get closer to the bridge, my thoughts shift to Enzo. He’s probably still pissed at me for bringing up Rachelle.
Admittedly, it was a little unpleasant of me to do so, but I was only meeting his unpleasantness with my own. My mother always used to tell me I should meet people where they are.
But if I’m being honest, I was also annoyed by how my pheromones were responding to his closeness. My poor body has only received affection from silicone toys lately, and it’s just so different to be pressed against a man like that, so…carnal. For all his personal failings, there isn’t a single offensive thing about his face or body, or that sexy rumble of his deep, manly voice. My senses overloaded in the face of that, and it’s unnerving to have your body react so acutely to someone you dislike.
What if Enzo is still at the bridge and he looms over me again, spreading his spicy scent all around him like a pheromone cloud, arching those perfectly slanted eyebrows?
Worse, what if he pulls me toward him, and I find my body plastered against him the way it was for half a second on the bridge? I could feel his hard chest. I could feel himbreathing. For a moment, our personal bubbles merged into one, and I experienced him in a visceral way.
This is why I need to find Mr. Perfectly Okay now. So I can prevent my body from overloading every time it’s around a nice-looking, nice-smelling man.
I slink toward the bridge, then release a breath I very much realized I was holding. No sign of him, thank God.
But there’s no sign of the note either.
I comb over the area in front of the bridge before scanning the length of the stone bridge itself. No sign of the pink note, but a hulking, shaggy body rises unsteadily from a balled-up heap of fur on the bridge and wags its tail.
