Professor Nesbit wasn’t known for his scintillating lectures, and I’d discovered early this semester that my mind had a tendency to wander once he opened his mouth. I’d begun recording his classes and then listening to them at home later, when I could take frequent breaks and move around the room to keep from falling asleep.
I was mid-way through the recording of his droning monotone talk from the morning session, jogging in place to stay awake, when my phone rang, halting his voice. I wasn’t sure if I should be annoyed by the interruption or relieved by the break. When I saw the readout on the caller ID screen, my stomach turned over.
“Ava.” I dropped onto the couch and ran one hand over the cushion next to me. “Hey, married lady! How’re you?”
“I’m fine. It’s you I’ve been worried about.”
That knot in my middle tightened a little. “Really? Why?”
“I’ve called you three times in the last two weeks, and you haven’t picked up or returned them. Liam and I haven’t seen you since the wedding, and Giff told me today that he hasn’t seen you, either. What’s going on? Are you avoiding us?”
I wrinkled my nose. The short answer to that question was yes. I knew that if I spent any time with Liam and Ava, there was a very good chance that I’d be subject to twenty questions about Vincent and what was going on between us. He’d assured me that he hadn’t spilled the beans to his family, but he’d also admitted that Ava seemed to suspect something and asked him pointed questions whenever they were together.
Giff knew a little more than Ava and Liam did, but I had no desire to dissect what was between Vincent and me—not with my friends, my mother or anyone else. He and I didn’t discuss it; we didn’t put a name on what we were to each other or what we were doing. What weweredoing was enjoying ourselves.
I’d been surprised at how much fun Vincent could be—and fun was something that had been missing from my life for a long time. As we’d anticipated, time together was hard to find. Both of our lives were insanely busy, between his demanding hours at the restaurant and my classes and job at the law firm. We were two driven people, and we lived an hour and a half from each other. This situation was not optimal, to say the least.
For the first few weeks after the wedding, I’d been a little anxious, worrying that he’d have regrets about us. I spent many a long evening, expecting him to call to tell me he’d changed his mind. But it didn’t happen.
What did happen was more shocking. He texted me—not all the time, but at least once a day, and often enough that I knew he was thinking of me. It was sweet, and each time I saw his name, my heart sped up a little in anticipation.
That was dangerous, and I tried not to think about it too deeply.
The holidays had also played a part in keeping us apart at first. The week after Ava and Liam’s wedding had been Christmas, which I’d spent at home with my parents at my childhood home in central New Jersey, outside Trenton, while Vincent was with his family in South Jersey. He’d texted me in the morning to say merry Christmas, and that night, when I was in bed, he’d called.
“I didn’t get you a Christmas gift.” Vincent opened, as he so often did, with no preamble or lead-in.
I gave a half snort. “Okay. Well, don’t feel bad. I didn’t get you one either. Full disclosure: I figured I could shop the after Christmas sales, since I don’t know when we’ll be together to celebrate.”
“Yeah, well, the thing is ... I don’t need anything, and I have no fucking clue what I’d buy for you that would mean a damn to you. But I had an idea. Let’s start a new tradition, just you and me. Instead of gifts, let’s exchange holiday orgasms.”
I laughed until I couldn’t breathe. “Oh, Vincent. Only you. All right, so just how are we going to make this happen? Is this another IOU? I think I might be getting in over my head here on what I owe you.”
“No, I think the thing about the holiday orgasm is that it has to happen on the actual holiday. Since we’re not in the same zip code right now, we’ll have to improvise. How do you feel about phone sex?”
My cheeks were warm, which was ridiculous, because no one else was in the room or on the line; only Vincent could hear me. “I haven’t thought about it much one way or the other. If you want the truth, I’ve never done it. Phone sex, I mean.” I paused. “Or holiday orgasms, either.”
“For real? God, baby, sometimes I think you’ve been way too sheltered. Time for us to take care of that.”
“Vincent.” I felt a thrill of wickedness, alarm with a little trepidation. “I’m at home. At my parents’ house, I mean. In my bedroom from when I was a kid.”
“Uh huh. And?”
“What if someone hears me?”
He chuckled softly. “Just keep your voice down. And if you feel like you’re going to scream out my name in ecstasy, grab a pillow to put over your mouth.”
“Vincent ...”
“Amanda,” he teased. “Come on. I miss you. If I can’t be with you today, this is the next best thing.”
“Okay.” I sighed. “Fine. So how do we begin? Do I just start moaning? Oooooh, Vincent, do me, baby. That’s it ... right there.”
“We’re having phone sex, not shooting a low-budget porno.” I could practically hear him shaking his head at me. “First things first. What are you wearing?”
I glanced down. “My Christmas pajamas, of course. They’re red, with little Santa kittens all over them.”
“Cute. Take a picture for me?”
