Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 87856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
This crop top or that one?
The dark wash jeans or the black ones?
Jade talks me into a blazer and wedge shoes. I let her do my makeup, so I stay distracted. It's the most stereotypically girly thing I've ever done. (Julie is not a winged eyeliner and berry lipstick kind of girl).
Patrick arrives exactly at six. After the usual introductions (my pre-med roomie Jade, my new date Patrick), I kiss him hello, head to his car, and endure the slow, agonizing, perfect torture of driving to a mysterious bar where I'm going to torture him.
The place doesn't match my mental image, but it's beautiful all the same. The top floor of a hotel in Hollywood. High ceilings, modern couches, wide windows.
And a perfect view of Los Angeles from every angle. The hills, the Hollywood sign, the skylines of downtown and Century City, the sunset over the Pacific.
Gorgeous.
The people here match. They're all beautiful and effortless, a mix of truly carefree outfits and California casual (jeans and polos or button-ups for guys, sundresses and wedges for women). In my crop top and jeans, I fit into the cool, youthful atmosphere.
I don't just feel stylish. I feel badass.
Or maybe that's my plan to have my way with Patrick.
Probably my plan to have my way with Patrick.
He presses his palm into the small of my back. There are too many layers of fabric in the way—the blazer, the stretch denim of my jeans. I need his hands on my skin.
I need my hands on his skin.
Now.
I force myself to take a deep breath. I try to recall a single word of our conversation in the car (something about music… maybe). I focus on my surroundings (there's air-conditioning in here, but it isn't keeping me cool).
"Do you want a drink?" Patrick leads me toward the bar. "A soda?"
"A gin and tonic," I say. "Just one."
He nods with understanding and leads me all the way to the bar, cool and confident and totally at ease.
Is he really this carefree about our plan?
I guess most men would be happy to hear I want to suck you off on the balcony. Especially after my insistence on taking things at my own pace.
He is more experienced. Maybe he's done this kind of thing a lot. But he hasn't done this. He hasn't agreed to help anyone else experiment to figure out exactly what they like.
That's ours.
Patrick makes small talk as he orders. He and the bartender discuss their tattoos (of course, he's a tattooed hipster) and the weather. Isn't it a beautiful night? And it's nice how the heat fades along with the sun.
Really, this is a classic summer evening. Warm but not hot. Comfortable for jeans or dresses or taking off your clothes on the balcony.
I'm not doing a great job distracting myself. But why distract myself? I'm not a man. I can't blow my load early. And I'm not here for me, either.
I doubt Patrick will let that stand, but I'm not scared about that either. I don't know why, but I trust him here. I want more here.
The bartender delivers our drinks. Patrick closes the tab. I consider offering to pay, but I'm too slow. Besides, my parents taught me not to argue with men or elders who offered to pay.
Which feels weird, especially as an adult woman. When I let men pay, they get ideas about what that means. They think it entitles them to my body. But, hey, I'm the one using his body for my satisfaction. Sorta.
The point is, we're enjoying each other's bodies.
What's it matter who pays for our gin and tonics if we both enjoy ourselves?
As long as it feels fair.
"I'll get the next round," I say.
"You want two rounds?" he asks.
"Next time," I say.
"The ones at the party?" he teases.
"I brought tonic water," I say.
"You're sweet."
"No. I want the tonic water I like."
He laughs. "Sweet. And strategic."
The balcony is around the corner, past a B-list celebrity and their entourage and two men in suits sipping brown liquor.
"Do you think they're lost?" I ask.
"Visiting from New York, maybe." He glances at the guys again. "Or agents."
"For actors?"
"Or entertainment lawyers, maybe. That's what Molly does."
"Your sister?"
"Oldest sister, yeah. She said we were here to celebrate her engagement, but when her fiancée went to the bathroom, she started lecturing me on my career path." He laughs. "She wanted to make sure I wasn't apprenticing just as a rebellion against our parents."
"What did they want you to do?"
"Anything stable," he says. "Yours the same?"
"More or less," I say. "They want better than what they had, even though they're really successful. Only they don't really get psychology or economics. It's too theoretical. Not practical enough. I think they'd prefer if I was getting a degree in accounting."
"Have you tried it?"
"A little. I ran their books in high school. I can do the basics, but I can't do anything more sophisticated."