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I need more than that, but maybe food will help first.
Fingers crossed.
I guess I know Jake better than I thought because, right on cue, he offers. “I was thinking about going to the Westfield Diner for a quick dinner after work. They have the best reuben sandwiches around… you want to come with?”
He has invited me out at least ten times since he started at the library at the beginning of the summer. Each time, I turn him down.
Today?
My eyes might be glazed over, and the fever is making it so that my freaking clit is pulsing in time to the beat of my frantic heart, but that doesn’t stop me from saying, “You know what? Yeah. I’d like that.”
And if dinner leads to something that might help me shake off this lust… I’d like that, too.
* * *
I keep thinkingthat I’ll wimp out. That, by the time dinner is done and Jake offers to drive me home, I’ll stop listening to my hormones and figure out another way to get past this weirdo sickness.
At one point, when Jake excuses himself between his sandwich and the slice of pumpkin pie he ordered for us to share, I pull out my phone. First, I use my reverse camera to make sure that I don’t look as much of a sweaty, hot mess as I feel; surprisingly, apart from the way my pupils seem larger than normal, I look alright. That bit of a vanity check done, I hurriedly open up google.
I tried my best to look up my symptoms this morning before I left for the library, but since they’ve only gotten worse as the day’s gone by, I decide to see if another search might unlock some secret illness that I’ve never heard of before.
If only. Everything I find on WebMD only reaffirms my fear that I’m either dying or going through really early perimenopause and this fever is really hot flashes. My desire to go to bed with anyone who might be interested? That’s common for some women. With their hormones in flux, their libido gets out of control. As a heterosexual female, anyone with a dick starts to look good.
And Jake… he’s lookingrealgood.
Over dinner, I discover we have more in common than just a fondness for Whiskey Rose and a tendency to doomscroll when it comes to the news. Like me, he’s a younger sibling; also like me, he grew up on Disney, though he hasn’t watched any of their movies in years.
He remembered that Captain Hook is the villain of Peter Pan, though. And he teasingly asked me, if I wanted to fly, what my happy thoughts would be.
Okay. He’s flirting. I expected that, and when he scoops up a piece of his pie on his fork before offering it to me, there’s no denying that he considers this some kind of date. I’m not doing anything to make him think differently. In fact, when I tap his shoe with my sneaker beneath the table before taking that bite, I’m kinda flirting back a little.
Around the time the waitress stops by the table to see if we want coffee before we go, I’ve put a stop to it. I shake my head to coffee—and another bite from his fork when mine works just as well—but that’s only because, out of nowhere, I got that feeling like I was being watched again.
How nice. Now I’m still horny as hell, plus I can’t ignore the sensation that someone other than just Jake is paying close attention to the way I’m wiggling in my seat.
I decline the coffee. Jake does, too, and as the waitress walks away to get our check—that I already told him I’m going dutch on for reasons I can’t even explain to myself right now—he says, “You usually bring coffee from home to work. I thought… when we’re done here, maybe we can have a cup back at your place.”
If I had any doubt that he’s hoping the night ends the same way I am, it’s gone now. A guy in his early twenties, I’m not surprised that he’ll take any chance to get laid.
As for me… if I invite him in for a nightcap, whether it’s coffee, tea, or some wine, I’m going to sleep with him.
Am I using him? I don’t want to think that I am. He’s cute, he’s nice, he’s caring… and when I insisted on going dutch, he argued briefly before accepting that I wasn’t about to budge. He wants sex.Iwant sex. We’re both consensual adults… and tomorrow is another day.
I’ll deal with it when it comes.
But tonight? As he pulls up outside of my house, I tell him where he can park so that we can go inside for a cup of coffee together.
It seemed like a good idea all the way up until I’m standing on the porch, anxiously knocking aside the most recent pile of acorns left in front of my door. By the time I’m unlocking it, Jake’s hand ghosting over the small of my back, I already know I’m making a huge mistake.
It only gets worse as he looks around my house in wonder as I flip on the lights.
“This is nice, Hope. Real nice.” He pauses for a moment before his lips quick upward slightly. “I bet the rest of the house is nice, too. The kitchen… the bathrooms… the bedrooms.”
Oh, boy. “Yup. It’s a rental, but I’ve been here a couple of years now. I’ve really had a chance to make it my own.”
“I’m hoping to move out of my parents’ place soon. You’ll have to give me some tips.”
As long as he doesn’t think I’m looking for a roommate or anything, sure. “Of course. But, um, why don’t you sit down? I’ll go get the coffee.”
