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Her brows narrow. “Tell me about him.”
I sigh. “He’s tall, rough, covered in black ink, and he’s kind of a grump, but I can’t stop thinking about how easily he saw me, ya know? I shouldn’t have, but I know deep down I compared every interaction Steve and I had to that standard.”
“I don’t think that’s wrong. I think you’re human. People inherently search for what feels right. Sounds like you found it with Mr. Big, Rough, and Inked. Maybe you should reach out.”
I smile and shake my head. “Yeah, no. That’s long gone. I wouldn’t even know how at this point. He told me to write years ago, and I never did. I’m sure he’s found some cute little Alaskan to fall in love with and bake him banana bread.”
“Banana bread?”
“Yeah, he liked my banana bread.” I stare down at the teacup and circle my finger around the rim. Why do I miss him, still, after all these years? Why do I think about him?
“Besides, I’m sure my brain has created a version of him that doesn’t exist, anyway. I mean, it’s been so long. I was young, and in a terrible relationship. I’m sure I saw him a lot differently than he was.” I resituate in my chair. “Let’s talk about something else. You’re doing the mail order thing, right?”
She grins. “I can’t. I see that website and I’m so tempted, but it’s probably unnatural. I’ll meet someone at some point.”
“What about Clive? You’ve talked about him a lot lately.”
She twists her hair to the side of her shoulder and leans in. “Now, if you want to talk about something with no shot in hell, talk about Clive. I mean, who develops a thing for their ex’s dad? I can’t stress to you enough how that’s our secret. I’m serious. You know that, right?”
I laugh. “I know. We’re alone here. No one can hear us. Besides, you’re lecturing me about following my heart. Maybe you should, too.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m going to get all hippy on you right now, so hear me out.”
This should be good.
“I believe your body knows when you’ve met your soulmate.”
“So, do you know with,” I lower my voice, “Clive?”
She bites back a smile. “We’re not talking about that. Anyway… alarms go off, you know? You remember him for a reason. Think about it. How many people in your life have you met? Surely, you’ve run into other men in the grocery store. Do you remember any of them?”
“No.”
“But you remember this one. Why?”
“Well, because I’ve created an idealized version of him that meets all my needs, when in reality he can’t.”
“Right. No one can, but he came the closest, right? Him, on his own. Sure, your brain might be filling in holes, but you’re doing that for a reason. What if he’s out there doing the same thing with you? Besides,” she shrugs and bites back a grin, “I bet he knows all kind of tricks.”
I roll my eyes at her comment, but my clit throbs at the thought alone. I’ve never been touched by a man the way Sergei touched me. We only shared a hug, but my body memorized the way he moved against me.
I lift the cold glass of water from the table and sip it down slowly. The tea is too warm for my overheated body. I need something refreshing. When I’ve successfully gulped down half the liquid, I glance up at my friend, whose eyes have gone wide.
“You’ve thought about it, haven’t you? You dirty girl!”
“Look, I had to beg Steve to have sex with me. Of course, I wondered what it would be like to have a man want me.”
“Well, you could’ve imagined anyone. Instead, you imagined this Alaskan. Let’s unpack that.” She smiles and rests her chin on her folded hand.
“Now you’re a counselor?”
“You didn’t know that?” She smiles. “So, when you think about this big, rough, Alaskan man sexually, what do you imagine?”
“Stop.” I pinch my lips together to keep a smile from forming. “Let’s talk about something else.”
“No way. This is good. When did you find yourself thinking about him most? In the shower, when you’re having breakfast, when you touch yourself?”
I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Lark is always dirty like this. It’s her thing. I need to just roll with it. Besides, if I’m being honest with myself, I’ve thought about Sergei hundreds, if not thousands of times over the years. When a song plays, when someone says the word ‘Alaska,’ when I feel lonely, when I’m desperate to be touched. Hell, when I’m sad I think about how he’d react, and how his heart would mend mine. I think about him when I’m horny and I need to get off. I imagine his big frame pressing me against a wall. I imagine his rough hands like a necklace on my throat. I imagine his deep voice in my ear, telling me to bend over.
