Perfect Strangers

“He did not say that!”

“Yes, he did.”

“Holy shit. I would’ve dropped dead on the spot.”

“Trust me, I came close.”

I’m pacing back and forth in the kitchen of the apartment, trying to burn off some of the adrenaline that has my hands shaking and my heart thumping like mad. I’ve been on the phone with Kelly for half an hour already, filling her in on everything that happened since I hung up on her at the café.

James is due to arrive in ten minutes. My antiperspirant has failed, my mouth has stopped producing saliva, and I really need a bourbon, but I’m afraid one will become two, then three, and then I’ll be out of my wits.

And I desperately need my wits about me right now.

The few that haven’t already been paralyzed by James’s parting sentence.

“So what’re you gonna do?” says Kelly, sounding almost as panicked as I am.

I laugh a little in disbelief. “I guess I’m going to make him a list.”

I have to yank the phone away from my ear to save my hearing from Kelly’s piercing shriek. Then she comes back on, groaning.

“I’m so jealous of you right now. So. Jealous. The last time Mike asked me what I wanted in bed was back when we were first dating.” She stops to think for a moment. “No, that’s wrong. He didn’t ask me what I wanted—he asked me if I’d let him do butt sex.”

I grimace. “Thanks for that. Now I’ll have to picture the two of you having butt sex every time I see him.”

“I said no, dummy! That hole is exit only. So what’s gonna be on your list?”

“Not butt sex. I’m with you on that one.”

“Oral?”

“Yes, of course.”

We’re both quiet for a moment. Then Kelly says, “Well, I’m all out of ideas.”

“I know, right? I can’t tell the man I really enjoy the missionary position, that’s just sad!”

“We’re pathetic.”

“How did we not get any better ideas after buddy-reading Fifty Shades? That was practically a sex manual.”

“That was just fantasy, babe. Nobody does that stuff in real life.”

“Of course they do. There are millions of couples who enjoy bondage and spanking and stuff.”

Kelly snorts. “Do you know any of them?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean they don’t exist. I don’t know any koalas, either, but they’re out there in droves, living their fuzzy little lives in the branches of eucalyptus trees.”

“I feel like we’re getting derailed. Back to this sexy-time list. What about dirty talk?”

That stumps me for a moment. “Huh. I don’t know, I’ve never had a dirty talker.”

“Me, neither, but it sounds kinda fun, right?”

I crinkle my nose, thinking about it. “Or it could be the stupidest thing in the world. I saw a porno one time and the guy kept repeating to the girl, ‘Come for me, come for me,’ and I was like, nagging a woman into orgasm has never worked in the history of sex, pal.”

Kelly scoffs. “When did you see a porno?”

I adopt a tone of withering disdain. “Excuse me, but I’m a grown woman. I have watched a pornographic film.”

“Sure you have. What was it called?”

“I can’t believe you don’t believe me!”

“You’re a fiction writer. You make things up for a living. And you exaggerate more than anyone else I know.”

I mutter to myself, “Why am I even friends with this person?”

“Moving on. What about sex in a public place?”

“Like where?”

“A restroom?”

“Gross.”

“The back seat of a car?”

“I’m not that flexible. Something would cramp and unattractive flailing would ensue.”

“A park?”

I consider it, trying to picture the scene. James and I are on a bench—a secluded one, under a tree—and I’m on his lap. I’m wearing an overcoat that’s hiding my legs, which are straddled on either side of his hips as I ride him, getting closer and closer to orgasm, my head thrown back and my fingers clenched into his hair as he ravishes my breasts with his hot, hungry mouth…

When an old man walking a poodle dodders past and shouts, “I’m calling the police!”

“I don’t want to get arrested for public indecency, thank you.”

Kelly heaves a sigh. “I’m gonna get on Google and see if I can find any good ideas. I’ll text you if I have anything.”

“You sure you want to do that? Google can be a scary place. I once searched on ‘natural headache remedy’ and became convinced within five minutes that I had an infestation of parasitic fleas feasting on my brain. If you start looking up ideas for sex you might wind up on some site with graphic pictures of gangrene of the genitalia.”

Kelly makes a soft sound of condolence. “It must be scary inside that head of yours.”

“You have no idea. I wish I could clone myself so I’d have someone who understood.”

The doorbell rings, and I freeze. “Oh shit.”

“What’s wrong?”

“He’s early!”

Kelly hoots. “All right, let’s get this party started, sister! Rawr!”

“Please stop making tiger noises. I’m having a breakdown here.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“I’m scared.”

“You’re not scared,” says Kelly firmly. “You’re nervous. Two different things. And remember…”

“What?”

Her voice gentles. “You can survive anything, babe. A date with a hot guy is nothing compared to what you’ve been through.”

My throat gets tight. I have to blow out a hard breath before I can speak again. “Have I told you lately that I love you?”

“I love you, too. Now go break off a piece of that man candy and have yourself a good time. And call me first thing in the morning. I want to hear every dirty detail.”

As the doorbell rings again, I say, “Copy that, Sarge. Talk to you tomorrow.”

We hang up and I head to the front door, grabbing my purse from a chair and stuffing my cell phone into the back pocket of my jeans. Then I stand in front of the door with my hand on the knob, gathering my courage.

I pull open the door and there he is, all tall, dark, and gorgeous six-foot-plus of alpha male. A lion on the hunt in the Serengeti wouldn’t look half as majestic.

Or hungry.

We stand there staring at each other in crackling silence until he says, “Your face is red.”

“And my palms are sweaty. How are you?”

“Feeling like a champagne cork right after that wire thing on top is removed.”

“About to blow, huh?”

Eyes flashing, he looks me up and down. “Have you ever snorted heroin?”

“Nope.”

“I haven’t, either, but I bet this is what it feels like.”Còntens bel0ngs to Nô(v)elDr/a/ma.Org

“I know. This isn’t normal. I’m glad it’s not only me, though, because that would be sad.”

His cheeks crease as he smiles. He’s wearing jeans and an untucked white dress shirt, like the first time I saw him at the café. He’s unnaturally good-looking. It’s intimidating, to be honest. The guy has a face that should be on the cover of magazines, and here I am…not looking like that.

I say, “I think you need to tell me what my ass looks like to a man now, because I’m having trouble wrapping my head around how pretty you are.” I make a motion with my hand indicating the two of us. “Is it glorious enough to bridge the gap?”

Blue eyes burning, he says roughly, “It is definitely fucking glorious. It’s perfect, in fact. Do you know why women’s asses are sometimes compared to fruit?”

“Fruit?”

“Yeah. An apple. A peach. Like that.”

“I think we’re reading different books.”

He ignores me. “It’s because when a man sees a perfect, round, ripe ass—like yours—his mouth waters and all he can think about is sinking his teeth into it.”

I purse my lips, examining his expression, finally deciding this right here is enough for me to go on for the next fifty or sixty years. We don’t even have to kiss or have sex or anything—the way he’s looking at me is so deeply satisfying an orgasm wouldn’t even be close.

Okay, that’s an exaggeration, but you know what I mean.

He holds up a finger. “Also? Your breasts—”

“Wait, let me guess. My breasts are like cantaloupes.”

“I was going to say honeydew melons.”

After a moment, I say, “You know, if anyone had told me I’d so thoroughly enjoy a man comparing my body parts to various fruits and melons, I’d have told them they were crazy.”

Nodding, he says somberly, “You’re a modern woman, after all.”

“Exactly. I consider myself a feminist. I have a college degree. Several, in fact. Yet here I am, wallowing in how fantastic it feels to hear you call my boobs cantaloupes.”

“Honeydew melons.”

“Right. Sorry. Where was I?”

“You’re a feminist with an advanced education.”

I nod. “Exactly.”

“You don’t need a man to be complete.”

“Yes! You understand what I’m saying!”

“And you definitely don’t need a man bossing you around.”

“No. No way, Jose.”

James takes a step closer, crossing the threshold and gazing unblinking down into my eyes. His voice throaty, he says, “Except in bed.”

Every nerve in my body jumps into full, screaming alert. My heart slams against my breastbone. He’s so close I feel the heat radiating from his body, the same heat that engulfs me in a wave and rocks me back onto my heels, leaving me burning with lust.

I exhale a quiet, unsteady breath. “Wow.”

“I know. Imagine what it’ll feel like when we kiss.” Looking at my mouth, he moistens his lips.

“I’m starting to wonder if that might be a bad idea. Have you heard of those people who randomly explode into flames?”

“Spontaneous human combustion,” he says, still staring at my mouth.

“Yes. I’m the type of person that could happen to.”

Slowly, James leans forward and lowers his head. He runs the tip of his nose along my jaw, then whispers into my ear, “I’ll have to be careful, then, won’t I?”

Never in the history of rhetorical questions has one been so scorching hot.

He straightens, smiling—obviously recognizing I’m fighting to maintain consciousness—and takes my hand.

“Let’s go get dinner. We’ll eat, we’ll drink, we’ll talk. Then we’ll come back and sit on your sofa and I’ll practice being careful with you until you’re completely satisfied.”

Oh, that devilish smirk. I knew I was in trouble.

I say lightly, “Okay, but I have to warn you: I’m very hard to please.”

He lifts my hand to his mouth and brushes his lips across my knuckles. “Good. I love a challenge.”

I’m so distracted by all the possibilities that I forget to lock the door as we leave.