the time? Damn, it was
hot. Probably the wildest thing I’ve done in my life and I thought I was pretty damn
wild already.
Screwing lots of men doesn’t make you wild. It makes you easy.
Freakin’ hell. Is that what I’ve done? Slept with a lot of men with nothing to show
for it? No mind-blowing orgasms, no satisfied sleep, no fond memories of men I’d like
to encounter again? Damn, I really have made a mess of my life.
I’m grateful Heather agreed to dinner after work. I need someone sane to talk to.
I’m all over the place with what I want and I’ve never been so confused in my entire
life. Last night shocked the hell out of me. I loved it. Every exhilarating second
of it—but what does it mean?
Am I ready for more? Do I want something beyond casual sex? The dampness in my panties
seems to be screaming, “Yes, stupid bitch, you do.”
I pack up at the end of the day to meet Heather, giving a rueful glance toward Andy’s
cube. I wonder where he is.
“It sounds like a ‘unique’ experience to say the least,” Heather says, a sparkle of
knowledge glowing in her dark eyes. “And, dare I say it sounds like he wants more
from you than a one night stand.”
I glance down at my hands twisting in my lap. “But that’s the problem. I don’t know
if I want more.”
“Why not? Didn’t we talk about this the other day? At least giving him a shot takes
the ‘casual sex’ and ‘friends with benefits’ listings off the table.”
My frustration comes out in a huff. “Heather, you talked about your damn list the other day, I didn’t agree to anything. I like my
life the way it is. Uncomplicated and alone. Alone doesn’t always equate to lonely, you know.”
“I think thou dost protest too much, my lady.” At my deadpan expression, she shakes
her head and continues, “What the hell are you really running from, Carla? Have you
ever stopped to figure that out?”
Shock sets my skin to tingle. I’m not running from anything, am I? A flash back to
last Saturday with my mother snaps into my mind. A sigh escapes and I slump in the
chair. “The visit with my mom really sucked the life right out of me. She’s such an
unhappy person.”
“Whoa. Where did that come from?”
“What?” I ask.
“We were talking about you and Andy and then you jump subjects to your mom.”
“No, I didn’t. You said…” my voice trails off as I see the truth in her words. I did
leap from one topic to the next. Damn, I hate how the mind works behind the scenes
on crap we don’t want to face. Tears form in my eyes and I blink to rid them of the
extra moisture. “Ugh. I really hate talking about this shit.”
“Yeah, don’t we all. What kind of friend would I be if I let you get off the hook
that easily? You don’t talk about your mom very often. What happened Saturday?”
I shrug, and pick at the food on my plate. “Nothing much. She was her usual judgmental
self, putting down what I wear and how I live.”
“Ignore her. If I had a rack like yours I’d show it off, too. What else?”
“Really, it was nothing out of the ordinary for her. Next, she launched on her regular
man-hater campaign. Ending, of course, with her favorite diatribe on my father.”
A look of sorrow crosses my best friend’s face, exactly what I’d hoped to avoid and
why I don’t normally open up about my mother. “I’m so sorry, Carla.” She reaches across
the table for my hand and I resist the urge to pull away and reject her sympathy.
I don’t want her pity. I’m not my mom.
I must have mumbled part of that last thought because she says, “Of course you’re
not your mother—not all men are like your dad, either.”
A jolt spikes through my heart and I clench my hand on the table. Heather feels the
movement and looks at our joined hands. Is that why I’ve become content to be alone?
Because I secretly fear the man will walk out on me in the end? Unable
hot. Probably the wildest thing I’ve done in my life and I thought I was pretty damn
wild already.
Screwing lots of men doesn’t make you wild. It makes you easy.
Freakin’ hell. Is that what I’ve done? Slept with a lot of men with nothing to show
for it? No mind-blowing orgasms, no satisfied sleep, no fond memories of men I’d like
to encounter again? Damn, I really have made a mess of my life.
I’m grateful Heather agreed to dinner after work. I need someone sane to talk to.
I’m all over the place with what I want and I’ve never been so confused in my entire
life. Last night shocked the hell out of me. I loved it. Every exhilarating second
of it—but what does it mean?
Am I ready for more? Do I want something beyond casual sex? The dampness in my panties
seems to be screaming, “Yes, stupid bitch, you do.”
I pack up at the end of the day to meet Heather, giving a rueful glance toward Andy’s
cube. I wonder where he is.
“It sounds like a ‘unique’ experience to say the least,” Heather says, a sparkle of
knowledge glowing in her dark eyes. “And, dare I say it sounds like he wants more
from you than a one night stand.”
I glance down at my hands twisting in my lap. “But that’s the problem. I don’t know
if I want more.”
“Why not? Didn’t we talk about this the other day? At least giving him a shot takes
the ‘casual sex’ and ‘friends with benefits’ listings off the table.”
My frustration comes out in a huff. “Heather, you talked about your damn list the other day, I didn’t agree to anything. I like my
life the way it is. Uncomplicated and alone. Alone doesn’t always equate to lonely, you know.”
“I think thou dost protest too much, my lady.” At my deadpan expression, she shakes
her head and continues, “What the hell are you really running from, Carla? Have you
ever stopped to figure that out?”
Shock sets my skin to tingle. I’m not running from anything, am I? A flash back to
last Saturday with my mother snaps into my mind. A sigh escapes and I slump in the
chair. “The visit with my mom really sucked the life right out of me. She’s such an
unhappy person.”
“Whoa. Where did that come from?”
“What?” I ask.
“We were talking about you and Andy and then you jump subjects to your mom.”
“No, I didn’t. You said…” my voice trails off as I see the truth in her words. I did
leap from one topic to the next. Damn, I hate how the mind works behind the scenes
on crap we don’t want to face. Tears form in my eyes and I blink to rid them of the
extra moisture. “Ugh. I really hate talking about this shit.”
“Yeah, don’t we all. What kind of friend would I be if I let you get off the hook
that easily? You don’t talk about your mom very often. What happened Saturday?”
I shrug, and pick at the food on my plate. “Nothing much. She was her usual judgmental
self, putting down what I wear and how I live.”
“Ignore her. If I had a rack like yours I’d show it off, too. What else?”
“Really, it was nothing out of the ordinary for her. Next, she launched on her regular
man-hater campaign. Ending, of course, with her favorite diatribe on my father.”
A look of sorrow crosses my best friend’s face, exactly what I’d hoped to avoid and
why I don’t normally open up about my mother. “I’m so sorry, Carla.” She reaches across
the table for my hand and I resist the urge to pull away and reject her sympathy.
I don’t want her pity. I’m not my mom.
I must have mumbled part of that last thought because she says, “Of course you’re
not your mother—not all men are like your dad, either.”
A jolt spikes through my heart and I clench my hand on the table. Heather feels the
movement and looks at our joined hands. Is that why I’ve become content to be alone?
Because I secretly fear the man will walk out on me in the end? Unable
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