“Twenty-four.”
He makes a face like he’s impressed. “You’re a little young to have life figured out so well.”
His compliment makes me smile. “Yeah, well, I have a shorter life span than everyone else. I have to cram a lot into a smaller timeframe.”
I almost regret making a joke about having a terminal illness, but it doesn’t dismay him at all. In fact, it makes him smile. God, I hate how much I like him already.
“Is this your first date since Ridge?” he asks. I nod, and he says, “Mine, too.”
I think about that for a moment. If he hasn’t dated since his breakup, that means he hasn’t dated another girl since high school. And I probably shouldn’t open my mouth, but the sentence is already coming out. “If you dated your ex for twelve years, that means you’ve only been with—”
“Her,” he says, matter-of-fact. “That is correct.”
And here we are, somehow discussing sexual partners over dinner on a first date. And somehow, the conversation isn’t at all uncomfortable. Conversation with him has been great, actually. There hasn’t been a lull all night. Not even while I was driving his car 100 miles per hour in circles around a racetrack.
There also hasn’t been a lull in our chemistry. There were a couple of times tonight when I thought he might kiss me—and I absolutely would have let him—but he’d grin and step away from me like he enjoys the feeling of torture. I guess that would make sense. He’s an adrenaline junkie. Adrenaline and attraction feel very closely related.
He’s staring at me right now, and I’m staring at him, and I don’t know exactly what it is that’s taken over me at the moment. A little bit of adrenaline. Attraction. Maybe even infatuation. Whatever it is, I have a bad feeling about it. I don’t know Jake well enough, but I think the intense look on his face suggests he feels it too.
I break eye contact with him and clear my throat. “Jake…” I lift my eyes, meeting his stare again. “I don’t want a relationship. At all. Not even remotely.”
My words have no visible impact on him. He simply presses his lips together and then, a moment later, asks, “What do you want?”
I lift my shoulders in a slow, unsure shrug. “I don’t know,” I say, dropping my shoulders again. “I wanted to have fun with you on our date. And I did. I am. But I’m not sure it’s a good idea if we go out again.”
I wish I could explain to him all the reasons why I don’t want to go on another date with him. But there are way too many reasons not to go on another date, as opposed to only one reason why I should.
Jake squeezes the back of his neck and then leans forward, folding his arms over the table again. “Maggie,” he says. “I’ve been out of practice when it comes to this whole dating thing. But…I feel like you like me. Do you like me? Or am I just blinded to your disinterest because I’m insanely attracted to you?”
Ugh. I can’t help the smile that forces its way out. I can also feel myself blushing over the fact that he’s insanely attracted to me. “I do like you. And…” This is so hard for me to say. Flirting is so foreign to me. “I’m insanely attracted to you, too. But I don’t want to date you after tonight. It’s nothing personal. I want to live in the moment, and right now, another serious relationship is not a part of my moment. I’ve been there, done that. I have other plans for my life.”
Jake looks both intrigued and disappointed in my answer, if that’s even possible to feel both things at once. He nods and says, “So this is it? I leave a tip on the table and then I drive you home and drop you off and we never see each other again?”
I bite my bottom lip, because knowing it’s now or never makes me nervous. I either use this moment to mark off another item on my bucket list or I wake up tomorrow regretting that I was too scared to ask him to come over.
I’m not scared. I can do this. I am Maggie fucking Carson. I am the girl who jumped out of an airplane and raced a sports car in the same day.
I swallow the last shred of shyness and look him in the eyes. “This date doesn’t have to end when we pull into my driveway.”
I can see the immediate change in his demeanor. I can see his intrigue and his attraction and his hope, all settled behind his eyes that are staring at my mouth. He lowers his voice a little and says, “When, exactly, does it have to end?”
Holy shit. This is actually happening. Bucket list item number eight, practically in the bag.
“How about we just live in the moment?” I suggest. “And then when that moment is over, you go home and I fall asleep.”
The corner of his mouth curls into a grin. Then he pulls out his wallet and lays a tip on the table. He stands up and offers me his hand. I slip my fingers through his, and we leave the restaurant, living in the moment and not a second beyond it.
I roll over to see if he’s gone as soon as I open my eyes.
He is.
I run my hand over his pillow, wondering how someone can feel so full of emptiness.
Last night was… Well… It was bucket-list worthy, that’s for sure. As soon as we left the restaurant, we headed to my house. He let me drive. We talked about cars, my thesis, that I want to try bungee jumping. He offered to take me, but realized he was essentially asking me out on another date, so he corrected himself and told me a place he thinks I should try. When we got to my house, we were both laughing as we walked inside because the sprinklers came on as soon as we got out of the car, the spray of water hitting us both right in the face. I walked to my kitchen and grabbed a hand-towel to dry my face. Jake followed me, and when I handed him the towel to use, he tossed it over his shoulder and reached for me, kissing me like he’d been waiting to do it since the moment he laid eyes on me.
It was unexpected, but wanted, and even though I felt every single thing while his mouth was on mine, I was also full of uncertainty. I’ve only been with two people sexually in my life, and I was in love during both of those relationships. This was the first time I was about to have sex with someone I wasn’t in love with. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but knowing he didn’t either made me feel more at ease. I kept reminding myself of that with every new part of my neck he kissed.
After about fifteen minutes of full-on making out with him, something switched in me. I don’t know how he did it, but he was so attentive and into it, that all my concerns and insecurities eventually fell away with my clothing. By the time we made it to the bedroom, I was all in. And then he was all in, in more ways than one.
It was everything. Afterward, we rolled onto our backs, and just when I thought he was getting ready to leave, he turned his head and looked at me. “Are there rules to one-night stands I’m not aware of? Are we only allowed to have sex once?”
I laughed, and then he was on top of me again, and as much fun as it was the first time, the second time was even better. It was intense. And slow. And perfection.
He didn’t roll onto his back after the second time. He rolled onto his side and wrapped his arms around me and whispered, “Goodnight,” before kissing me. I liked that he said goodnight instead of goodbye, because it took the focus off the fact that we both knew he’d be leaving before I woke up.
I just assumed I’d wake up in a state of euphoric bliss today. Not a state of melancholy.
Feeling a little down about it being over isn’t necessarily a bad thing, though. It means I couldn’t have had a better person to have my one-night stand with. Had it been anyone else, I don’t think I would have enjoyed it as much as I did. And if I hadn’t enjoyed it, I don’t feel like I’d have the right to cross it off my bucket list.
So yes, it sucks that I can’t find anything wrong with him. But it would suck even more to fall back into something I’ll just want out of eventually. I can’t put myself in another position where someone will become obligated to take care of me.
It’s not a good feeling, knowing someone has convinced themselves they’re more in love with you than they are simply because you’re dependent on them. I’d rather feel melanchol
ic than pathetic.
I grab the pillow Jake slept on—the same pillow I was just rubbing in longing—and I throw it off my bed. I’ll throw it in the trash later. I don’t even want to smell him again.
I walk over to my dresser and grab my bucket list. I mark out number eight and then look over the list again. I suddenly feel accomplished, knowing number eight was probably the one thing on my bucket list I was certain I would never have the guts to do.
Maggie Fucking Carson. You are a badass.
I fold the list and set it on top of my dresser. I open the second drawer, then grab a pair of panties and a tank top and pull them on. I need to go visit my grandfather today while I have the opportunity, but first I need waffles and a shower.
Waffles before shower. I’m way too excited for waffles after not being able to eat much last night.
I might even go get a manicure today. I’m staring down at my nails when I walk into my living room. But then I freeze when I smell bacon. I slowly raise my head to find Jake standing at my kitchen stove.
Cooking.
He spins around to reach for a plate and sees me. He grins. “Morning.”
I don’t smile. I don’t speak. I don’t even nod a greeting in return. I stand there and stare at him and wonder how a twenty-nine-year-old man could honestly not understand the meaning behind one-night stand. Night being the key word. There’s not supposed to be a morning included in that definition.
I look at my tank top and underwear and suddenly feel modest, even though he spent enough time on top of me last night that he probably has every inch of my body memorized. But still, I wrap my arms around myself.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
Jake is watching me, a little unsure of himself after seeing my reaction to him still being here. He looks at the stove and then at me, and I swear he deflates right in front of me.
“Oh,” he says, suddenly seeming out of place. “You thought… Okay.” He starts nodding and immediately reaches to the stove and turns off the burner. “My bad,” he says, not looking at me. He grabs a glass that’s next to the stove and takes a quick drink. When he faces me again, he can’t even look at me. “This is awkward. I’ll go. I just…” He finally makes eye contact with me. I wrap my arms around myself even tighter because I hate that I’ve created such an awkward moment when he was obviously trying to do something nice.
“I’m sorry I made this awkward,” I say. “I just wasn’t expecting you to still be here.”