Page 6 of Drilled (Dad Bod Contracting 2)
“If you want to bang him again, then bang him again. What’s the issue?”
“Do not sully the majesty of such glorious intercourse with such derogatory terminology, dammit! It wasn’t mere banging, Imogen—it was…a godly union of ecstasy and wonder. I had no less than eight orgasms. Eight! I was counting! And there were several times one ran right into the next, so it was hard to tell if it was one or two or, like, seven, all in quick succession.”
“Jesus.” She sounds suitably stunned.
“Yes, exactly. If I were Catholic I’d be in confession from now till doomsday.”
“I’m still lost, Audra.” She takes a sip of coffee, and then continues. “If you want more of the…how did you put it? Godly union of ecstasy and wonder or whatever, go see him again. It’s not like he’ll be hard to find. His best friend is my boyfriend, and they work together.”
“Yes, I know all that.” I sigh again. “You don’t do casual sex like I do, so I guess you wouldn’t understand. I can’t see him again. It’ll stop being a hookup and become something else if we fuck again, and because it was as good as it was, there’s a high probability I’ll develop actual feelings for him, and that would be an absolute disaster on an epic scale. You know I don’t do commitment, Imogen.”
“Or maybe it wouldn’t be a disaster at all.”
“It would.” I pause as I change lanes and exit the freeway, make the turn, and head for the gym. “And you know why.”
“That was a long time ago, Audra. Maybe it’s time to—”
“Nope, nope, nope, nope!” I say over her in a singsong. “It would be a disaster. The way he left suggests to me that he’s been down this road before, and many times. Plus, he’s just too good at sex to not be as much of a player as I am.”
“So?”
“So, I can’t see him again. Either it wouldn’t live up to last night and I’d lose the memory of the best sex ever, or it’d be just as good if not better, and I’d get hooked, and then I’d start liking him.” I blew a raspberry. “Shit, I already do like him. I was gonna slip out while he was taking a shower, but he beat me to it, damn the man. It’s not often a guy gets the drop on me.”
“Are you mad or impressed?”
“Both.”
“Why are you mad?”
“Because I want to fuck him again! I’m telling you—he’s dangerous. I’m basically a nympho at this point.”
“You are a nympho, Audra, and you can’t blame it on Franco.”
“No, I’m not really a nympho. I knew an actual nymphomaniac in college, and it’s not as funny or as hot as it sounds. It was a difficult condition for her to live with.”
I hear Imogen sipping coffee again. “So—he left before you did, and you’re mad about it because you wanted more sex, but also because he got the drop on you, but you’re also impressed because of the aforementioned, and also scared because you’re worried you’ll end up actually liking him, which for some stupid reason you’re convinced would be a bad thing. Do I have that right?”
“Yes, exactly.”
“You’re giving me a headache.” She let out a slow breath, and I heard a spoon tinkling against her mug. “What if you just tried letting yourself like him?”
“NO!” I shout immediately. “Do you NOT remember The Incident?”
“Yes, Audra, I remember The Incident. But, again, that was almost twenty years ago.”
“Doesn’t matter. Men are for looking at and having sex with. Not friendships, not romance, and certainly not allowing yourself to like them.”
Imogen sighs. This is an old argument and one that we stopped having several years ago, because it always threatened to turn into an actual fight, and neither of us wanted to risk that. “Audra, I…” Another sigh, a sip of coffee, and she starts again. “What do you want me to say? You know how I feel about this. I want you to be happy. If you’re happier never letting yourself like a guy or fall in love, then okay, fine, I get it, I love you, and I support you, even if I disagree with you. But, I’m just saying, Franco seems like a great guy. What if he’s different from—?”
“They’re never different,” I hiss, cutting her off before she can say the dreaded name. “Not when it comes right down to it.”
“Jesse is,” she says, very quietly.
“Congratulations, Imogen—you found the one decent man on the planet.” I know I sound snarky as hell—or even downright nasty. But I can’t help it. I signal my turn into the gym parking lot while letting out a long, slow breath. “I’m sorry. I’m happy for you, I really am. But that’s never gonna happen to me. I won’t let it.”
