Me: With your teeth? Please say yes.
Him: Wait and see. Anticipation is the ultimate aphrodisiac.
Another time:
Me: I’ve been naughty. I think I might need a spanking.
Him: Elaborate.
Him (three minutes later): Immediately would be nice.
Him (one minute later): Ally!
Me: Never mind. . If you want to dole out spankings, you’ll have to catch me being naughty.
See? Stupid me. But in my defense, I was trying to make it all about sex. Setting the tone.
But I was too excited. I wanted him to want me. I wanted him to find me irresistible. I changed outfits four times. And all that wasn’t what I should be feeling with planning for this to be a sexy one-off. In my defense, I’ve never been into casual sex. It sounded good in theory and I was working with theory only.
I was panicking, telling myself I should’ve met him at the restaurant. Or skipped the meal and made it just about sex.
It became glaringly apparent that this wasn’t just a prelude to a fuck-fest. It was an actual date. He was asking questions. He was sharing information. Jude Novak has way more substance to him than being sex on a stick. And it got me scared. Terrified. I did not need him finding the need to do a background check on me.
No matter how hard I tried to keep it shallow and sexual, he kept veering into the deeper end.
The final straw? My breaking point?
He leaned forward, crooking his finger to make me lean forward.
“What do you want me to make you for breakfast tomorrow before I fuck you a second time?”
“I’m not a breakfast gal,” I fibbed, because I totally am.
“You will be. Because you’ll need nourishment after I put you through your paces. And baby, I can cook. Head to my place after this?”
I waved my hand dismissively. “Just toast me an Eggo, wrap it in a napkin and send me on my way with a slap on the ass. I’ll be good.”
He gave me a look that shook me to my core, and then said, “Not the way I work. Not all I’m lookin’ for, either. I’ve played the field, had a lot of fun. I’m at a point in my life where I’m ready for something more. Deeper.”
And then there was a long, loaded silence. And the jig was up. Because you can’t pretend it’s all about sex when he literally announces to you that it isn’t.
The server approached to refill our water glasses and I took the opportunity to excuse myself to go powder my nose. But the ladies’ room is not where I went.
I left.
Stupid. I should’ve just said it was all I wanted and if he wanted more, we would agree to disagree and split the check. But nope… I made it hard on myself by slipping out in an absolute panic like the drama queen I’ve always been.
I left the restaurant and messaged him from the cab on the way home to say I was sorry but feeling really unwell, that I had a stomach issue.
I turned my phone off, thinking nothing will turn a guy off like the idea of a girl with possible diarrhea.
He didn’t answer, so I figured it was message received.
He texted the next day.
Jude: How are you?
Me: Not great. Sorry about last night. Can’t chat right now. Sorry. Take care.
Jude: I’ll pop by and bring you some soup. Family recipe. Perfect for a stomach bug.
Me: No, that’s okay, thanks. I’d rather just rest.
Jude: I’ll drop it at the door. I have to stop by Aiden’s, so I’ll text when it’s there.
I stared at the container of soup for twenty minutes before I opened it up to taste it. It was the best chicken noodle soup I’ve ever had. Even if it tasted like guilt. And unfulfilled dreams. Also lies. My lies.
He texted the day after.
Jude: Feeling better?
I didn’t answer. He texted the following day with just three question marks. I waited about ten hours to reply.
Me: Thanks for the soup. I’m super slammed at work so can’t chat.
Two days after that…
Jude: How are you?
I took six hours to answer.
Me: Good thanks. Hope all is well. Smokin’ busy. Ciao for now. I gave Aiden your container. TTFN.
I put that container in Aiden’s office with a Post-It note when Aiden wasn’t there so that I wouldn’t have to answer questions. And even the container Jude put the soup in told me things about him that I didn’t need to know. It was glass, meaning A) he cared about the environment and B) knew stuff tasted way better reheated in glass than in plastic.
I was giving him a brush-off, wishing he’d go away at the same time as hoping he wouldn’t. I felt so conflicted. And so attracted to him I was having hauntingly beautiful sex dreams about him every single night. They were so vivid, so wonderful that I woke up disappointed each morning that I was alone in my bed.