Chapter 4
"Do you still have contact with your exes recently?" I asked over this nonsensical phone call session. If he wants to simulate whatever liberty this dating routine brings him, he can have it.
But not without him going through hell. And me? By the baptism of fire. This jaded bitch of me wouldn't yield. I'll win, he'll see.
"No," says my phone's grainy speaker. "Why do I have to? Ellie and I remained as friends. But not with Jessica. Though Jess and I had a brief but awkward closure at a random store."
I flopped my good ass body in bed, and my soft mattress received me with a cushioned bounce. Ah...
The taste of holiday break.
"Are you sure you only have two exes?" I asked him.
"I have sustained two long-term," emphasizing the last word as if it wasn't already mentioned. "Ex-partners."
I rolled on my stomach and reached into the bedroom table for the lamp. Once I adjusted its lighting, my arms extended further on the calendar looking for the schedule of my Dad's new nurse.
It's been a month since Mike the Nurse reported conflict of interest on his duties and requested for relocation. See? He's no saint, this ass framed his cause like it's my fault.
Partially it was. But the worst part would still be if we are hypothetically caught sleeping if he's on his night shift. Since he really did bite my bait when he agreed to be involved with me in some way. I made a silent maniacal laugh at that thought.
I got this ass of a hot guy.
Would that actually be the worst? Or greeting him naked while he's still wearing his scrubs?
I made a face as if I was spewing the picture.
"Mike, it's been a month. If you want to be exclusive, may I ask? When are we going to have sex? My pussy's all dried up," I complained.
The other end was silent. He might have gagged. No idea. "You can come over to my house. It's not that hard," he eventually said.
Fuck, no. I don't want to see that humongous house. "I wonder how'd I do that? Suppose I'm horny right now and start walking. Mike, when I arrived there, my feet were so worn out that I'd be so pissed I would rather throw rocks at your window."
This ass stifled a sound. He bit his chuckle, and laughter spread over my phone. "That's rich. I'll pick you up, how 'bout that?"
With my deadpan face of pure annoyance, I deliberately drew my phone close to my mouth and grinded my words through my teeth. "You defeat your purpose."
And hung up without mercy.
Remember when this guy blocked me? Turns out he, too, suffers from mood swings. After that tete-a-tete at the diner, he unblocked and began calling. Right up to this moment. He then laid out this no in-person contact transition period that spans up to 3 months.
Why 3 months?
That bloke suffers from the pop culture verdict of the 3 month rule.
Why no-in person contact?
So nobody can put shit on his professionalism or credentials. Whatever that fucking means. A knock came to my door, followed by a light voice, "You ate those Swiss chocolates from my drawer?"
"Yeah," I confessed.
"How dare you, Kat. That's my boyfriend's." My sister, a freshman, started.
I flicked my hands away. "Nothing really lasts forever in high school romance. I heard it from a bloke who nursed his broken heart."
"Who?" Snorted this gal.
Then with pride ('cause I managed to reel him in alright), I flashed my phone to her and gave a sly smirk. "This. Look what I got."
The girl had her mouth opened. "Get. Out."
I cackled like a hen, and triumphantly laughed like a villainess.
"What potion did you make him drink?" This skeptical chit pry.
I inhaled my breathing with boastfulness, until I got up for Indian style sitting. "It's called perfect timing. Hot guy wanted a rebound, I wanted a taste," my voice smoothened.
Betty threw me a Swiss chocolate's wrapper. "Boo, you bitter bitch. I heard better stories."
Then Sven's silhouette appeared.
"Oh, little brother!" I greet, causing him to stop midway outside the open door. He raised both his eyebrows. "I thought you disappeared in Bermuda Triangle. It's nice you popped your living body sometimes for a visit," I cheered him.
This young man flipped me his middle finger and carried on. I turned my attention back to Betty. "Your boyfriend?" she reverted back.
"No." I fixed my crossed legs comfortably. "The deal has something to do with me role-playing to be his girlfriend. While--he--is my fine snack," I flaunt, with a face satisfied to report.
Betty knitted her forehead, "so it's like a double-edged sword, more or less? Sis, damn you, if you're going to steal my snacks, can it not be the ones James gave? That's for me." She had her arms crossed with eyes that's flaming with anger.
"Well--" I couldn't speak. "It was left open in your drawer, a-and I was hungry that day, so--"
Betty exploded, she stomped her feet. "Thief! You thick-faced thief!"
Oh, shit. Another upbraiding. Gotta endure.
After that, she walked out. Then Chelsea came in, "Did you take the top I bought last season."
I snuffed. "Not me." Then shrugged and ignored her. She moved on, catching up to Betty asking about that top.
When this sibling reunion was over, my phone started ringing again. Annoyed at Betty, my mood is not in a people-pleasing mood. As it should. Mike blocked me once, my mood says I'm blocking him now. I did. Payback time, Mike.
A message came: Kat, don't be such a bitch. We're at a talking stage, remember? After 3 mos, I decide if u become my girlfriend or not. I'll wait in 5 mins.
Oh, right. To displease means no sex from this guy. I-unblocked him then, and reached out. He picked up.
"Mike," my sweetest voice smiled. "So, you were calling?"
As if nothing had happened, he dropped a profound question. "After sex, what happens?" he spoke softly.
Easy. I coughed. "You mean if I slaked my lust after I courted you? Well, as promised, Michael, it'll be an easy break. We'll go on business as usual," I told him. That profound question has a basic answer
The other end was eerily silent. Am I hearing crickets or awkwardness? Shit, what did I say? I'm tryna be real here! What the hell?
"That goes on why we're not yet having sex," he began. "I'm taking you with me to our family holiday this Thanksgiving."
My mouth dropped, and I started mumbling gibberish sounds, "Hu--. Wait. W-what?"
Mike didn't react, as if waiting for my serious reply. I made a sound of plea. "Why?" came my long wail.
"Didn't I tell you? I don't do sex. If you want me to sleep with you that bad, work on it, little princess."
I was about to say fuck you forget it you asshole when he continued, "I like what I do. I like sex the way I do. If you want me, do me on my terms."
I hung up, and he no longer bothered afterwards. I didn't talk to him for the span of the remaining 2 months he imposed 'cause I'm pissed as fuck. Besides, there's that popular saying: absence makes the pussy grow fonder. By the time we officially saw each other out, he took me to a boba tea shop. He wore his off-duty casual look. A black Nike work out t-shirt, where he crosses his arms and there flashes a heavy duty wrist-watch,
The off-duty look always makes him lighter, more breathable and athletic. When he moves, the quick flex of those wrist watch, those slender hands above those wrists makes my mouth water. The reason I want him this bad. He leaves me breathless and dazed just by the way he looks at me with a taunting chin.
His cool gaze looks down because of my own bad behavior. I want him to look at me like that in bed, punish me like that in bed while driving me to peak level orgasm. I don't care. If he made me see heaven, I'll consent enough to be his fucktoy. That damn face, body, hell of an attitude and coolness. Give it to me, I'll take it.
So he wanted family involved in this dating field...
"Where to? Where will you take me on Thanksgiving? Better bring me back in whole piece and not like some horror ploy from Get Out."
"What the fuck," the thickness of his native tongue cursed. "And here I thought I'm treating you to a nice lunch."
"You call water therapy like sweet boba, lunch?" I raised the too-large-for-my-stomach unfinished boba. "You will have me meeting the Mr. Andrew Sanditon?!"
Now that shit is a real panic. I never asked this complication except that my pervasive libido overrides my logic. "Where will it be held, Mike? Where?"
He made a quick shrug. "From my childhood state, Tennessee," he spoke under his breath.
Taylor Swift's state? It's better under prudence not to go on asking what he is doing in Michigan. Because if he is going to say their mansion in the east side of our neighborhood was their holiday house, I'm really going to smash his head. Why can't I just have simple sex and not drag myself further from this? Why?! I'm not going to ruminate how that neighborhood itself created a contact between us.
The both of us? Could've just remained friends of friends after some few sexual encounters. Who said about taking a flight to Tennessee?
"You grew up in the South?" I exclaimed. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Who gives a fuck about prudence anyways?
