Page 6

Sex makes everything better. But amazingly mind-blowing sex with Juni makes me ridiculously happy and surprisingly productive.

I’m too busy smiling like a lovesick fool to contemplate how this hookup differs vastly from the previous ones. It just is. She pulls me in without saying a single word or doing anything special.

As if spending the night at her place almost every night over the past two weeks isn’t enough, I’m pathetically sitting in my car parked in the back lot reserved for the management staff at the hair salon and diner. The engine hums softly to keep me warm from the early November chill as I patiently wait for Juni to return from campus. My ridiculous eagerness to see her would rather hang out in my car for twenty minutes like a dedicated stalker than remain at my house like a lonely puppy.

I used to be a smart man. I sigh, lightly banging my head against the headrest.

My need to be around her isn’t solely based on our chemistry between the sheets.

A few questions about her love for art led to us sketching portraits of each other earlier this week. We spent ten minutes grinning idiotically at each other while our pencils furiously scribbled over paper. Satisfaction buried deep within when she burst out laughing at my drawing of her: the classic stick figure girl with a triangle representing a skirt and then two circles as her boobs.

I explained she had the confidence to pull off the “free the nipple” look if she wanted to walk around in a skirt topless. This led her to look down her shirt to confirm her tits were worthy of showing off in public. Of course, I volunteered to check to offer not only a second opinion but the all-important male perspective. The faux examination led to a torrid affair with Dr. Black, the rogue surgeon who played by his own set of rules.

I should’ve known her adventurous streak included role playing and a drawer full of sex toys. Surprisingly, being terrible actors doesn’t make the sex awkward or terrible – if anything, it makes it hotter.

After torturing and teasing her incredibly sensitive breasts, which ended in an epic tit fucking, I peeked at Juni’s portrait of me. I believed her admission that she wasn't great at drawing people, considering she sketched a clown nose on me. When I asked if she had issues sketching other appendages, she nodded with a sly grin, glancing at the bulge in my shorts.

Two seconds after freeing my cock, Juni fell to knees in front of me for a “visual inspection” and “hands-on research”. Of course, as the popular art professor known for his unorthodox methods of teaching, I helped the painfully shy and virginal student (Juni giggled every time I used the word “pure”) express herself without wielding an art tool. The aspiring artist not only passed the course, but earned an invitation to study in Paris for a year. I definitely questioned Juni’s ending of the professor’s pledge to wait faithfully for her while he remained behind.

I feel my lips pull into a smile and my cock stiffen at the thought of her creative genius and her love for role-playing romance tropes. I adjust myself just as my phone lights up with my mom’s name on the screen. Both forms of amusement quickly disappear.

“Hey, Mom,” I answer, glancing at the time on the dashboard, and breathe easier knowing the conversation will be ten minutes or less.

“Were you going to tell me you had a girlfriend, Dashwood? Why did I have to learn about this from your sisters? Mari mentioned the name Juni. Is that ...”

Dammit, Mari. I bump my forehead against the steering wheel as my mom continues to rattle off a series of questions without waiting for an answer.

When my older sister texted me earlier in the evening, I replied with the usual one- to two-word answer. Her call five seconds after my message caught me by surprise.

"Hey, Mari, what's going on?" That's all I said before she blurted out, "You're getting laid!" Knowing each other way too well, I didn't even bother to deny it. She claimed her "sister intuition" sensed my text sounded "lighter" and my verbal greeting more "relaxed". Even though I call bullshit on all that, I have no other logical explanation.

I knew Mari would spill all the details to the other two siblings, but I figured Mom would be kept in the dark for a few more weeks. Her well-meaning optimism and romantic notions did none of us a favor during the awkward "what exactly are we doing?" stage. Once the boyfriend and girlfriend labels were in place, we're comfortable enough to talk about relationships and seek advice from our mom.

Is Mari banging anyone? I ponder briefly about throwing her under the Mom bus.

"Dashwood Seth Black!"

I stifle a groan at the use of my full name in the all-authoritative mom voice. "Yeah?"

"When do I get to meet her?" she asks eagerly, probably already planning a road trip if it meant meeting a future daughter-in-law.

I rub the heel of my palm against my forehead as if a reasonable answer will spring up. Because I don't know how to reply without saying "we're just fucking around."

"I don't know," I admit as an urge to strangle all three sisters grows stronger with each word.

"Why wouldn't I get to meet her, Dash?"

"Because she's not my girlfriend."

"But you've known her since August, right? Mari said she's a runner on your team." My mom suddenly gasps, and I imagine she's slapping a hand over her heart in disbelief. "Are you not supposed to date someone you're coaching? Is that why you can't call her your girlfriend? Is your romance forbidden?"

I smack a hand over my forehead and groan softly.

"Mom," I interrupt her barrage of annoying questions. "Yes, coaches can date a player. It's not ideal, but there's no official rule."

"Good," she breathes a sigh of relief. "I think she might be the one for you, Dash. Not only are you both runners, but you're both from Nebraska and are state champions. You have a lot in common."

Which is a solid foundation for any relationship, I think sarcastically.

"We're in no rush to jump into anything," I mutter, considering I'm too chickenshit to admit I actually care about Juni.

"Well, I suppose you have time since she's only 21, right? So, she's the same age as Cordy. If Juni is anything like your sister, she'll be impressed with the little things like remembering she doesn't like tomatoes on a sandwich but tomatoes are okay on a salad."

I know the light pounding ache in my head will only intensify because my mom's "helpful" advice leaves me spinning and breathless. I don't know if Juni likes tomatoes on a sandwich, but should I? Besides running, art, and sex, what else does she like?

"You've been holding the door open for her, right?" My mom's excited voice distracts me momentarily from spiraling. "Have you been paying for the check when you guys go out? I know some women like to pay, and you should let her if she's really insistent. But a gentleman always picks up the check. I'll send you some money so you don't go completely broke- oh, that gives me an idea! Why don't take a cooking class and impress her with a good meal? Women love a man who can cook. Oh, sweetheart! I have a better idea. Maybe you two should take a cooking class together. That would be fun, right?"

"Mom! We're just fucking around!" I blurt out, halting her parade of ideas. "She's just a good time."

"Dashwood!" I imagine she's covering her heart with her hand again and frowning at the idea her "baby boy" is some sort of heartless playboy.

"We're having a good time," I clarify, my voice softer. "This isn't serious. Neither of us are looking for anything more."

"But it could be," my mom insists. "If only-"

"You're not listening," I breathe out frustratingly. "I don't want to be with her like you want. I'm not looking for drama or commitment right now. I have too much going on to even think about another person."

"I just want you to be happy, Dash," she whispers sadly, sending a sharp pang to my heart.

"I know, Mom." My eyes land on the clock on the dashboard. "I'll talk to you later, okay? I gotta go. Love you."

"Love you, too."

I scrub a hand down my face and exhale deeply before glimpsing out the window. My already pounding heart unexpectedly plummets when my eyes land on Juni leaning against the passenger side door of her car. Her arms tightly folded across her chest. Her beautifully plump lips flattened. Her dark eyes are definitely not burning with desire.

Shit. How did I not notice her parking beside me?

“Juni,” I start nervously, carefully opening the door.

“Go home, Dash,” she snaps, pushing herself off the car, and speeds toward the front of the building.

“Wait!” I scramble out of my car, slamming the door shut, and chase after her. “Let me explain.”

She whirls around, the soft clank of her keys sound when she waves an arm around. “What’s there to explain? I think the entire neighborhood heard you loud and clear.”

“So, you’re upset everyone knows we’re just fucking around?”

Her mouth drop opens, and her eyes blaze with fury and bitterness. “If you honestly believe that’s what I’m mad about, then go home.”

“Then tell me,” I beg, following her into the tiny entryway and up the stairs. “Why are you mad when we’re not even in a relationship? Are you mad because you want more?”

Her stomps halt suddenly before she pivots to glare at me. “Are you fucking serious, Dash? You honestly can’t be this stupid.”

I swallow hard, tamping down my anger at her “stupid” comment. “I’m not a mind reader.”

“So, according to you, I can’t ever be mad at you because we’re not in a relationship?”

Well, that doesn’t sound quite right. Is she twisting my words?

My mind tries to replay the exact sentence when Juni pushes on. “Have I ever, ever given you the impression that I want more than what we’ve been doing?”

Uh, not really.

Not once has she ever said, “Hey, we need to talk.” Or even ask to define what we’ve been doing. Or what she means to me.

“So, why do you think I want more?” she demands.

Don’t say it, my mind scream frantically. Don’t say it!

My shoulders lift slightly with an overwhelming weight of shame as my reply.

While I might not be a card-carrying feminist like my sisters, I’ve always believed they should be treated equally in every aspect. To think Juni secretly wants more because she’s a woman shows me I’m an ignorant asshole.

“Blargh!” Juni turns to resume stomping up the stairs as I barely catch muttered words “misogynist pig” and “emotions”.

Even out of context, I know she’s not wrong.

“Go home,” she repeats, pushing the apartment door open and barreling through.

"Why? Let's talk about this." I follow inside, watching her dump her bags by the table and shrugging out of her coat.

"I honestly don't have the energy or the bandwidth to argue with you right now, Dash."

“But this is what we do, Juni,” I explain desperately, ignoring the sudden sense of fear pounding inside me. “We argue. We push each other’s buttons, and then we fuck each other’s brains out.”

“But this is different,” she explains with a tired sigh. “This isn’t an argument; this is a legitimate fight. You hurt me, Dash. Yes, everything you said to your mom is true, but it’s the way you said it. It was demeaning and cruel. I’m not a toy.”

Fuck. I recoil in disbelief because she’s one hundred percent right. What I said didn’t hold an ounce of truth, but I used the words anyway to derail my mom’s idealistic grandeur of love.

Have I always been this self centered?

Have I always spouted random shit just to protect myself?

Have I always believed fools who dream about romantic notions and fairytale endings are morons?

Am I a true asshole?

One simple word painfully answers all those questions.

But the most important question that steals my attention doesn’t have an answer. How do I undo the hurt and chaos?

Begging for forgiveness doesn’t seem enough. Endlessly telling her she’s beautiful and special seems hollow, even if the sentiment is genuine. All the words in the world don’t seem to be enough.

“Junie,” I croak, realizing the extent of my damage, and turn toward the apartment door. “I’m so sorry.”

The shine in her eyes pierces my heart, staking it to remain forever huddled in the depth of my toes.

She nods sadly. “Me too.”