Second Chance for Romance

Chapter 22

I came home after judo on Thursday and checked the mail. I had a letter from Gina. I opened the envelope as I climbed the stairs. Then I checked my watch. Trip and the girls wouldn’t be home for twenty or thirty minutes. I locked my bedroom door, tossed my bag in the corner, and stripped off my clothes. I flopped on the bed and started reading.

Dear Paul, I finally climbed out of the bath. I was thinking of you and had to take care of things. Again. Now I’m one big wrinkle! Are you sure you can’t fly out to LA? I’ll make it worth your while. Ha ha!

Just kidding. I know you can’t. Maybe I can come visit you in Knoxville. I just don’t know when. I’m busy with class, the sorority, the clinic, you name it. Too many things going on, I guess. And I have to keep studying for the MCAT. I should be doing that now instead of writing to you. But the test is so far away and you feel so much closer.

I felt a surge of affection and paused to imagine her writing that. The little head interrupted my romantic fantasy.

Impatient organ.

When I started reading again, I scanned ahead and realized the letter wasn’t as steamy as I’d hoped. I left my penis to its own devices and kept reading.

Regan hadn’t come home yet when Gina started her letter. That was a good sign, she said, since the non-Greek guy was good for her. A lot of frat guys felt they could do anything they wanted, especially with “little sisters.”

So Gina thought it was good for Regan to date someone who treated her like a real person instead of an easy lay.

She also wrote about her work at the clinic and how she enjoyed making women’s lives better. Most of their patients were from poor families who’d come to America looking for a better life. Many had never seen a doctor before.

Oh, Paul, sometimes it breaks my heart! Some of these girls are younger than me and they’re already pregnant with their second or third child. They’ll come in with a baby on their hip and another child in tow. One girl last week was sixteen. Sixteen, Paul! When I was sixteen I barely knew what sex was. Can you imagine what would’ve happened if I’d gotten pregnant? How much our lives would have changed? Yet these girls—no, these women—just bear it all and get on with their lives. They’re so inspiring!

And I’ll tell you, my Spanish has improved a thousand percent.

They tell me I sound like a “gringa,” but I can’t tell the difference.

They actually call me “la morena.” That means “the dark girl,” more or less. They know I want to be a doctor, and they all tell me to study hard. Can you imagine? They’re barely making ends meet and trying to raise their own children, yet they’re telling ME to work hard and do well in school? If I didn’t know before that I was on the right career path, I definitely do now.

The rest of the letter was more about her everyday life. She threw in a few tidbits about how she wanted to get together with Heather Wellesley sometime, but none of it was stroke-worthy. Part of me was disappointed. I’d been looking forward to a good jerk-off session. But another part told me to grow up. Gina was a real person, not just an easy fantasy.

She was also 2,000 miles away, I reminded myself. I reached for the envelope and checked the postmark. The letter had taken five days to wing its way across the country. I thought back to my last letter to her and then did the math. Five days for that one, too.

Did I really want a long-distance relationship? When a simple conversation took ten days? Hadn’t I decided against it already, the year before?

I scoffed. Gina didn’t want a relationship at all back then, long-distance

or otherwise. So it’d been easy to “decide” I didn’t want one either, especially since it wasn’t really an option in the first place.

Things were different this time. Gina did want a relationship. She hadn’t said it openly, but I knew her well enough to read between the lines. And even a long-distance relationship would be so much easier than trying to convince Christy to become a swinger.

When I was being especially honest with myself, I had to admit that I enjoyed the swinger lifestyle and didn’t want to have sex with only one person for the rest of my life. I didn’t have a problem with emotional monogamy, but sexual monogamy would bore me to death. So any woman I dated would eventually need to join the club, so to speak. Would Christy be willing to do that? Wren seemed to think so, but I wasn’t so sure.

I thought back to Kendall. She’d overcome her inhibitions but hadn’t been able to escape the guilt that came with it. She always needed my

“permission” to do what she really wanted. I saw many of the same warning signs in Christy.

But Christy made me smile. Not just smile, she made my heart race. The little head thought she was awesome. She drove the big head crazy sometimes, but I’d learned long ago that the opposite of love wasn’t hate (or anger or frustration or anything similar). It was indifference. And I didn’t feel the least bit indifferent about Christy.

After we returned from the Sports Bubble on Friday, Trip and Wren showered and packed an overnight bag. I thought it was cute that they were traveling with one bag instead of two. That’s what couples do, after all.

Christy and I told them to have fun and waved goodbye. Then we headed upstairs to shower ourselves. I made the mistake of using the third-floor bathroom again, so I didn’t get any hot water. I didn’t have any of my bathroom things either. I groused about needing a duplicate set as I wrapped the towel around my waist, padded down the stairs, and knocked on the bathroom door.

“You decent? Mind sharing?”

Steam plumed out when Christy opened the door. I noticed her smile first.

Her cheeks were rosy from the heat. My eyes slid to her cleavage next. Her

breasts were small, but round and firm. She laughed when she saw the direction of my glance.

“Come in, Mr. Peeping Tom.”

“Hey, a peeping Tom likes to watch people undress. So… unless… you know…”

“Unless what?”

“Unless you wanna take off that towel.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled and moved closer to the sink.

“How ’bout Mr. Cold Shower?” I suggested as I slid behind her.

“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry. I forgot again, didn’t I?”

“Eh, I did too. It’s okay. Just a little shrinkage.”

She snickered. “I know what that is.”

“So do I, unfortunately.”

“I’m sure he’ll get big again in no time.” She smiled at me over her bare shoulder.

“‘He’? Do you have a name for him?”

“What do you call him?”

“Treacherous Organ.”

“Are you serious?”

“Totally.”

“Not John Thomas or Little Paul or anything like that?”

“Nope. You’re welcome to come up with a nickname if you’d like.”

“I told you,” she said with faux primness, “not until we’re married.”

“And I told you,” I reminded her, “it’s gonna happen long before then.”

“Says you.”

“Yep. Says me.” I looked at her steamy reflection in the mirror and felt my brow furrow. “Hold on, have you been drinking?”

She half-turned and looked up at me. “No. Why?”

“Because you’re awfully flirty.”

Her cheeks turned pink again.

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”

“No, Mr. Clever… uh…”

“Mr. Clever Uh,” I teased. “That has a nice ring to it.”

“I’m not as quick as you are with words. So sue me.”

“Can I use you instead?”

Her eyes widened in shock and surprise, but she didn’t immediately bolt.

“Think about it,” I said calmly. “Sue, S-U-E. Rearrange the letters and

you get…?”

“Oh! Use! Ha ha. Okay. I thought you were saying…”

“I know. Although I sorta meant it like that too. I wouldn’t mind using you. In all sorts of naughty ways. But I don’t think we’re at that point in our not-relationship. I mean, we just started not-kissing the other night.”

She blushed and faced the sink again.

“But you still haven’t told me why you’re being so flirty.”

“Well, if you must know…”

“I must, I must.”

“Well, if you must know,” she repeated, “I’m in a good mood.”

“Oh. Okay. What’s up?”

She shrugged. “I’m just happy is all.”

I thought I knew why, but I didn’t press her on it.

She grabbed a bottle of lotion from the shelf above the toilet. She squirted some into her palm and lifted one foot to the toilet lid. She rubbed the lotion into her smooth, firm calf. Then she slid her hands up her thigh.

I watched out of the corner of my eye. Part of me—okay, most of me—

was hoping to get a glimpse of the promised land. She was too conscious of what she was doing to give me a free show, but she definitely noticed me watching.

“Would you do my back?” She handed me the lotion and turned away.

Then she strategically lowered her towel wrap. She stopped when it reached the top of her butt.

“Oh, you’re good.”

She grinned over her shoulder. “Have to keep some surprises for our wedding night.”

“The only surprise I’m going to have on my wedding night,” I said as I squirted lotion into my palm, “is that the woman of my dreams actually married me.”

I rubbed the lotion into her skin. It was smooth and flawless, with a light dusting of freckles. She pulled her hair aside, and I massaged her shoulders and neck. She closed her eyes and moaned softly, so I took my time. After a minute I squirted more lotion and continued down her back.

“So tell me,” I said conversationally, “what makes you think you’ll be able to keep any secrets from me?”

“I have a lot of willpower.”

Her breathing had grown quicker, and my hands felt the lie. I chuckled

and rubbed the top of her butt. She relaxed when my hands slowly moved up her sides. My fingertips came to rest just under her armpits. I could’ve easily reached around to cup her breasts. She must’ve been thinking the same thing, because she held her breath. I grinned and bent my lips to her shell-like ear.

“I have a lot of patience,” I said softly. “Which do you think will win?”

“My willpower.”

“Uh-uh. Guess again.”

“Your patience?” she said automatically.

“Mmm hmm.” I kissed her ear. A moment later I deliberately shattered the mood. “Want me to do your front?”

She blew out her breath. Then she pulled up her towel and tucked it securely over her breasts. She whirled around, but I caught her before she could push past me. I held her close and waited until she looked up.

“I really am patient,” I said. “And I’m completely serious about the secrets… we won’t have any on our wedding night.”

Holy crap! I thought. Did I just talk about our wedding?