“My dear, here we must run as fast as we can, just to stay in place. And if you wish to go anywhere you must run twice as fast as that.”
―Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland
Dare
New York is filled with goodbye girls. I should know. I was raised by one.
Being reared by a single mother was like getting a front row seat to a never-ending movie called ‘Really Stupid Shit Men Do.’ It probably didn’t help that I humored my mom by spending too many nights home with her, watching a shit-ton of rom-coms. Sure, some were mind-numbing drivel, but seeing her light up with every happy ending made it worth it. They also offered a younger, pain-in-the-ass version of myself an ersatz education in how to win the girl of your dreams.
I wasn’t sure if Alice was that girl, but she intrigued the hell out of me. And I knew we had chemistry. She had turned me down because of that two truths and a lie ‘test.’ Now, a lot of guys would’ve heard that nonsense and written her off as ‘crazy’ or ‘high-maintenance,’ but those dipshits didn’t know dick about women.
Maybe I didn’t either, but I knew this: Most women weren’t ‘crazy.’ Trust me, I’d been with one who was, and there’s a big fucking difference. I’d doled out enough tissues, my arm around my mom as she cried at the end of every sappy movie to learn that while grand gestures were cool, just showing up and proving you don’t scare so easy was worth even more.
That said, if Neil Simon’s Goodbye Girl is playing on cable, I’m going to stop what I’m doing and watch until the end. Because when Richard Dreyfus exchanges his first-class seat to stardom for two economies, so Marsha Mason can finally get out of the rain and be with a man who knew that she—and her daughter, Lucy—were worth a hell of a lot more . . . well, it gets to this die-hard New Yorker every time.
That’s what I was thinking about as I spotted Alice turn the corner, phone to her ear, walking home. The air hurt going in because, yeah, she was that beautiful. I was waiting for her, sitting on the steps of her building, hoping like hell she’d find my impromptu visit a sign of my tenacity and romantic worth, instead of as a prompt to download a restraining order on her phone ASAP.
I was here to prove I was not so easily dissuaded. But before you give me a starring role in your next Hallmark Movie of the Week, I should admit to something: I’ve been cheating. Again.
This time, I didn’t have one of her notebooks, but I did have her sister’s cell. I texted her this morning, asking where Alice would be later today and if she thought I was wasting my time.
Her words: My sister is as stubborn as a mule, but she likes you. She just won’t admit it yet. Don’t make me regret breaking sister code. You hurt her, I break you.
At least I had Caroline in my corner. Sort of. According to her, I was going to need all the help I could get.
Meanwhile, I finally had Alice in my sights: walking with a natural sway in her hips, glasses perched on top of her head. Despite her eyes focused in my general direction, I could tell she hadn’t spotted me yet. She wasn’t in one of her usual cinched-in pin-up girl dresses, and while I got off on those, I was just as captivated by her in a pair of faded jeans and boots. She was also wearing a peasant blouse in a shade of caramel that matched the highlights in her russet brown hair. The clothes were earthy and relaxed but she layered her look with a lot of thin necklaces, stacked rings and bangle bracelets in all shades of metal, giving her an urban edge.
I was paying close attention to all the details because there was a strong possibility that she’d take one look at me, throw a fit, and toss me out. Lord knew if the laws of karma applied, I’d deserve it. So, I was taking note in case this day ended up as just a memory.
As she got closer, I heard the tail end of her call. Her eyes locked with mine.
“Professor Bails? Yes, I know you’ve been patient . . .”
She shook her head and rolled her eyes while saying it. I stifled a laugh, making her face crack open with a big grin.
“Right, well, I have someone in mind. What I mean is, I met someone . . . yes, I’ve arranged to talk to him . . . yes, today.”
She pointed to the phone and mouthed what an asshat.
“I’ll have my proposal on your desk by tomorrow morning. Right, no delays . . . I understand . . . yes, sir. Goodbye.”
She ended the call and stared at the phone in her hand for a second before a mask of determination set in.
“Whatever you’ve got in that gorgeous head of yours, forget it,” I told her as I leaned forward, forearms resting on my knees with the arm of my sunglasses hanging from my teeth. “Because, despite what you may have read about me online, I’m not, in fact, into ‘the group thing,’ drugs of any kind, or hooking up with random people from Craigslist.”
Alice let out a snort-laugh. “I haven’t Googled you, but I’m thinking I’ve been missing out.”
“Trust me, you haven’t. You can believe about half of what you read about the New York art world in the press and even less when it comes to me. Most of it is smoke and mirrors, and I’ll be the first one to admit I’ve used it to my advantage.”
The sun got lost behind a cloud cluster. I tucked my sunglasses inside my jacket pocket.
“Well, so . . . you’re not into any of that?”
I cocked a brow.
“You’re not,” she said under her breath, kicking the bottom of the bannister with the toe of her boot. “What are you doing here, anyway?”
You know why I’m here. I stood up and came down a couple of steps so I wouldn’t tower over her more than I already did. “I wanted to know if you’d like to take a walk with me.”
She looked confused. “You want to take a walk?”
“Honestly, I could take it or leave it. What I really want is to spend time with you. But since you already turned down drinks, I thought suggesting anything more might scare you off.”
She was staring up at me, those blue eyes the color of a Caribbean I’d kill to drown in, as long as I was with her. My chest expanded, an ocean of air swirling through me.
Slow down, man. You still know nothing about her and she’s probably wary for reasons of her own.
“What I don’t want is to make you uncomfortable in any way,” I went on. “Tell me you’re not interested, and I’m gone. That’s a promise.”
Alice shoved her hands in her jean pockets while looking down at her boots. “It was a lousy thing to do . . . that whole two truths and a lie test I put you through the other day.”
I didn’t answer. I could tell she needed to get whatever was bugging her off her chest more than I needed to hear an apology.
Alice raised her head and met my eye. “I played a zero-sum game and you still texted my sister in an attempt to track me down and ask me out.”
She let out something between a sigh and a groan. “I’m sorry about the other night, Dare. It’s not cool to make you pay for someone else’s bullshit.”
I shrugged. “We’ve all got baggage, Alice,” I said.
“I also need to ask you a favor.”
“Shoot,” I said.
She blew out a breath, tucking her folded arms closer to her while staring off. “Let’s go upstairs. I need the illusion of privacy in order to ask you what I need to ask you.”
This must be a doozy. I stepped to the side. “Lead the way,” I said.
She nodded, taking out a key card. She waved it in front of the censor and the door clicked open.
I followed her inside, the whole time we were waiting, riding the elevator and walking into her apartment, I was trying to figure out what she was working up the nerve to ask me. I knew she was studying to be some kind of sex expert, so that helped narrow down what the favor could be. By the time we got inside, I had quite a list:
Donating my dick to science, hopefully after I’m dead.
Wanting me to try out some new form of dude birth control, one known to shrink my balls down to tiny kumquats.
A new pill to help frat boys combat whiskey dick.
“Would you like something to drink?” she asked as she shrugged off her jacket.
“No, I’m good,” I told her, standing just inside the door.
She smiled and shook her head. “You can come in. Have a seat and stay awhile,” she said, motioning to the navy loveseat. “I’m getting myself some tea. You sure you don’t want something?”
She was flitting around her kitchen, not looking my way. I was guessing she needed to make it more than I needed to drink it.
“Sure, whatever you’re having,” I said, tossing my jacket onto the plaid side chair. I looked around, noticing the place was a hodge podge of styles, but all about comfort. The sitting area and kitchen was one big room, a partial island with barstools demarcating the space. Off to the side was a nook, where they could’ve fit a small dining set, but instead it held a twin bed, a skinny dresser and a hanging rack with a few pieces of clothing.
“Is that your room?” I asked, giving a head nod towards the bed nook.
She barely glanced over. “Uh, yeah. It’s fine. I’m hardly ever at home.”
Typical New York half ‘bedroom.’ I didn’t miss those days.
She filled a teakettle and turned on the stove burner.
“Putting it in the microwave is faster, you know,” I told her.
The corner of her mouth quirked. “Faster isn’t always better. Besides, my nana was convinced microwaves made the water taste funny.”
“That’s such a grandma thing to say. Mine never allowed cursing or malicious gossip in her kitchen because she thought it put bad mojo in her sauce.”
Her shoulders shook with silent laughter as she got cream out of the fridge and poured it into one of those ridiculous white ceramic cow dispensers.
And she’s still not asking me what she wanted to ask. How bad is this favor anyway?
“So, I’m guessing you came to New York for that fancy sex program.”
The kettle went off. She turned to grab an extra mug out of a high cupboard, her blouse raising enough so I caught view of the full curve of her ass and a sliver of creamy skin. I bit my top lip so I wouldn’t groan.
She took the kettle off the burner, then placed the mug next to her bone china cup and saucer; something dainty next to something clunky. Like the two of us: that’s fitting.
“It’s a clinical psych degree, specializing in human sexuality studies.”
“Right . . . like I said . . . sex.”
She eyed me while placing the tea bags in and slowly pouring the hot water over them. “I’m thinking a man who earned a full ride to M.I.T. doesn’t really think I’m in a ‘sex’ program.”
I chuckled, not surprised she’d known that was one of my truths. “What can I say; I like fucking with you.”
I’d also really like to fuck you, but we’ll get to that soon enough.
She placed the mug of tea in front of me, along with Elsie the cow and a matching ceramic bear filled with honey.
This woman killed me; Alice didn’t even have a real bedroom, but she had designated receptacles for her tea crap.
She drained the bag and set it aside before letting out an audible sigh. “Okay . . . wow, this is harder to ask then I expected.”
“I came up with a whole list on the way up here. Bet whatever you’re going to ask me is far better than some of the shit I made up.”
“What did you . . . ?” She shook her head and waved me off. “No, I don’t want to know.” She put both palms flat on the counter, staring down at her teacup. She closed her eyes for a couple of seconds, then finally opened them.
The fiery determination had returned. There she is, I thought.
“Okay, I told you about what I’m studying and, since it’s a doctoral program, well, it means I’ve got years ahead of me. I am determined not to take a decade to finish my degree.”
“I can understand that. Go on,” I encouraged.
She gave a hint of a nod. “Right, so there’s this year-long seminar. Well, it’s not a seminar, per se. It’s more like a qualitative study with me as the guinea pig.”
That raised both brows. “Come again?”
“Professor Aaron Bails is a leader in the field of human sexuality. He was one of the last students of Alfred Kinsey and still conducts research through the Kinsey Institute. Anyway, he believes there’s no way we can ever truly help people with their sexual dysfunctions or embrace their proclivities unless we’ve gone through the process ourselves . . .”
I was waiting for her to drop the bomb.
“ . . . which means in order to be part of this seminar, I need to be having regular sex with a partner for a minimum of four months . . . and I need to document what occurs, not in a salacious way . . . no video or anything like that. But both my partner and I need to be brutally honest about what we experience and what we fantasize about . . . and I want it to be you.”
And there it was . . . BOOM.
I was the guy who usually had a sarcastic retort, but this time?
I had nothing.
“We don’t have to be monogamous, as long as we’re practicing safe sex. And it’s not like we’d be ‘dating’ or anything. I’m not going to ‘catch feelings’ if that’s what you’re worrying about.”
I barked out a laugh as I rubbed my hand over my face. “I’ve got to admit, that was not what I expected you to ask me.”
She worried the corner of her bottom lip with her teeth. “I understand if you want time to think about it.”
I didn’t need time. I needed answers.
“Okay, let me get this straight,” I said, rubbing the furrow along my forehead. “This ass clown wants to hear the details of your sex life?”
She grimaced. “Not in the way you’re thinking. Professor Bails wants all his students to explore their own sexuality. It’s the chance to dig deep into what makes us tick, to go down the rabbit hole, so to speak. How can we expect to help others if we don’t go through the work ourselves?”
I looked down at the mug of tea she had made for me, wishing it were a cup of strong coffee. Bourbon would be even better.
“Makes sense,” I said, tugging at the string on the tea bag. “Listen, you know I’m interested in you. I wouldn’t have shown up here if I wasn’t. But now the whole thing feels, I don’t know . . .”
She interrupted. “Forced?”
“Something like that.”
Her mouth formed into a perfect ‘O’ as she lifted her cup and blew on it. I lost some of my brain function as some blood flew south, straight to my dick.
What the fuck is your problem? She’s basically saying you can fuck her five ways ‘til Sunday and you’re ticked off because she didn’t take you to dinner and tell you you’re pretty first?
But, of course, I’m, well . . . me, which meant I needed to pick at the scab some more.
“I know you want to graduate as fast as possible, but wouldn’t you prefer to wait until you had, I don’t know, someone steady in your life? You know, half the fun is letting something unfold between two people.”
She cocked her head. “Who says I’m not letting something unfold? I’m just giving you a heads up there’s something extra in it for me.”
I stilled as she gave an impish grin, with a glint in her eye.
Bam—a direct hit.
I got off the stool and walked around the kitchen island, liking how her eyes rounded watching me.
“Only one thing left to figure out then,” I said.
I didn’t hesitate; I drove my fingers deep into her lustrous hair, yanked her towards me and took that pink mouth of hers.
I wasn’t gentle, either. I was too hungry, but when her moan vibrated down my throat, I took that as a sign she was good with a little rough. It was barely autumn, but she already tasted like Christmas, nutmeg and spicy cinnamon tea. Sweet with an edge.
Small, delicate hands gripped my shirt at the sides as I felt her soft curves pressed against me. I slid one hand around the back of her neck while letting the other move its way down and around her waist. I pulled her even closer, so tempted to fall on my knees and strip her out of those faded jeans, feast between those thick thighs of hers.
I could do that for days and never feel sated.
I’ve had people call ‘bullshit,’ but I swear, I preferred going down on a woman even more than a blowjob. Getting head was great, but I got off on being surrounded by a woman’s velvet heat, having her musky scent permeate my senses.
But I wasn’t some idiot fuckboy. Never was, never will be. Alice might act as if she was all good with just slamming between the sheets, but I don’t know . . . I didn’t buy it. Not with her. And I’ve learned to always trust my gut.
So even though my cock was begging for release, I broke the kiss and tried to catch my breath. It was the same for her. Alice’s cheeks were flushed, the pink of her cheeks making the blue of her eyes darken, like a beautiful, Southern storm.
She placed her hand on the center of my chest and smiled as my heart raced beneath her palm.
“You feel what you’re already doing to me?” I asked, my voice sounding like gravel, even though everything else felt like liquid silk. “Who knew science could be this much fun?”
Alice nodded through her dazed stare. “Yeah, I think it’s safe to say we have chemistry.”
We locked eyes and laughed.
And then, her sister walked in-and that killed the mood, as Alice would say, ‘right quick.’