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This clean, scrubbed, laid-back look isn’t neat and nice Pennsylvania Whit and it isn’t sexpot, pinup California Whit. It’s me.

Just me.

And I never felt comfortable enough to show it to anyone until my date with Deo. Now I just feel overexposed, which is stupid. Ryan has seen me in the naughtiest little lacy numbers I had to go to sexy specialty lingerie shops to get. So why do I feel like covering up now?

I swallow hard and shake those thoughts out of my head, faking a sexy smile I don’t really feel, and crooking my finger to get back into the mood. Because I need to do this, now, with Ryan, so I can get Deo firmly out of my system. “Now come over here.”

He does as he’s told and hustles across the room and within seconds, he’s got us both stripped down and his hand between my legs. It feels so damn good I couldn’t fight it even if I wanted to. Which I don’t. Because the whole point of him being here is to make me forget about Deo. I switch my brain to autopilot and try not to let it wander. Ryan knows what I like, and I like that about him. Forgetting about Deo is something I’m going to have to work hard to do.

Except that the way that Ryan’s touching me is just reminding me of Deo more. And how his hands felt different. Not so rushed, but still eager as hell. Sweet and slow and perfect, like he had an internal map to parts of me I didn’t even know existed.

I push Ryan’s hand away and decide to take charge, since thinking about Deo while Ryan’s touching me is obliterating all my “forget Deo completely” goals and making me feel a sharp, ugly pain in my heart that I recognize and hate with a blind terror. I tug at the hem of Ryan’s boxers with determined purpose, then wrap my hand around the familiar length of his shaft.               Ryan is blessed. And he knows it. In fact, that’s how we hooked up originally. I had literally just gotten into town. I’d just stepped off of a plane that had been delayed three times and made an extra stop. I hadn’t slept in what felt like days, wanted to brush my teeth, and I needed to find a bathroom like, literally, yesterday.
              I hauled ass to the closest one, barged in and found Ryan, mid-zip.
              He didn’t blush, or even feign embarrassment. Instead, he smiled and asked if I wanted a closer look.

I should have been appalled.

Pennsylvania Whit would have been and Just-In-California Whit was half an inch and one indignant tell-off away from driving a pointy kitten heel into his foot, but then I stopped and remembered the whole point of this trip; it was to open up, to live life and have wild, crazy experiences. And wild, crazy experiences didn’t start with an awkward date at Longhorn and end with a kiss on the front step before working up to nice, sweet sex after you catalogued all the necessary facts and information about the other person.

Wild, crazy experiences happened in the bathrooms of tiny airports in California with guys who had gorgeous faces and even more gorgeous bodies you could just tell they knew exactly how to use. I was ready to dive headfirst into that crazy, uninhibited territory and have Ryan teach me some of what he knew so well.

Well, I was almost ready.

First I backed out of the restroom, apologizing profusely, my face hot with a Pennsylvania farm-girl blush. I found the women’s bathroom and hoped the shade of red I’d turned wasn’t permanent. And then I did that cliche thing where I looked at myself in the mirror, really looked, and told myself that if I wanted this new me, this daring me who didn’t play by the rules, I had to take a chance. And, as far as wild first chances went, this gorgeous, supremely confident guy was a one in a million stroke of pure luck.  

I found Ryan waiting for me outside of the tiny airport, and when he smiled at me, I didn’t bolt the way I wanted to. I took a deep, big girl breath and flashed him the sexy, come-hither smile I’d practiced for ten minutes in the grimy airport bathroom mirror.

He introduced himself, took me to lunch, then back to his place. I was so nervous, I almost backed out a dozen times, but I decided to force myself do something uninhibited for once to kickstart my new life adventure across the damn country from my old existence. Plus that, Ryan was unlike any guy I’d ever known back home. He didn’t fumble too much with manners and stilted, awkward silences; he was direct and positive about his own abilities and charms. He actually inspired me to unleash those things in myself.

And I sincerely grew to like him as a person. Because, despite our scandalous bathroom meeting, he really isn’t a skeeze ball. He’s a genuinely nice guy. He just knows what he wants. And it’s what I want, too.

Except, as I’m holding him in my hand, all rock hard and curving up, eager for me, I don’t feel the same sense of power I normally do. His eyes are closed and he’s breathing heavy. I can’t quit now, obviously. So I stroke him harder, faster, and maybe a tiny bit mechanically, until he clenches his fists at his sides and moans deeply.
              “Jesus you’re good at that,” he says in between pants.
              I just shrug. My parents would be so proud. I attempt to smile, but a sudden sense of dark, unsettling regret and possible disappointment weighs down on me.
              “You’re turn.” He flips me onto the couch and crawls up the length of me, but his touch and weight are suddenly claustrophobic, and I don’t want him here anymore. I wriggle around out from under him.
              “That’s okay,” I say all casual, like I’m passing on an hors d’oeurve or something, even though my heart is hammering and I feel like I’ve been kicked in the stomach.
              He hops up off the couch too and closes the space between us. He finds that spot on my collar bone he knows I can’t resist.

He doesn’t know when my birthday is, what my favorite food is, or the fact that, before today, I’d never seen the ocean, but he does know how to turn me on like he read my body’s personal instruction manual. That used to be enough. That used to be better than enough. Now it feels robotic and soulless.

Not that this is supposed to have soul. That’s not the point. This is supposed to be about our young, hot bodies rubbing against each other in the most carnal ways. This was never about feelings or emotions. Those are messy and just screw things up. Look how they’re screwing up the perfectly good time I’m supposed to be having with Ryan.
              “I got mine, and you’re the one who called me all the way over here. You’re not even going to let me make you feel good?” He nips at my neck, and it’s the strangest mix of feeling good, technically, but also cloying and too much and too little all at the same time. “That hardly seems fair.”
              “It’s not a big deal, there will be other nights. I didn’t realize how beat I was.”  This time, I fake a yawn. I don’t know why I’m trying to get rid of him. Letting him remind me of what we have and why it works is exactly what I need right now. I tell myself that, but I can’t stand the sight of him, and I feel like a major asshole. I just blew off my fuckbuddy. Can I go any lower?
              “Whatever you say, Whit.” He pulls on his pants and checks his phone. He cracks a small smile at whatever is on the screen. I wonder if it’s another random girl somewhere. If Deo had gotten a message from a girl while we were out, I would have had to resist the urge to shatter his phone. In this case, I’m actually hoping someone else is calling Ryan away and that he’ll be distracted enough to just leave me to wallow. “If you’re sure, I guess I’ll take off then.” He gives me a cool, detached look.
              I relax. He’s going. Good. Problem solved. Problem I invited over and then didn’t want to deal with solved, but still. “Yep. I’m gonna head to bed. Have fun.”
              “Cool.” His phone buzzes again, and he gives it his full attention.
              He doesn’t bother kissing me goodbye or anything like that. We don’t do that. He pulls his baseball cap down low on his head and a few fine, brown curls peek out the sides.
              “Hey, Ryan?” I ask, just as he’s pulling the door open to leave. He glances over his shoulder, but doesn’t turn all the way around to face me. “What’s your favorite beach?”
              “Huntington. They’ve got the hottest—why?” he asks. His brows pinch together, trying to figure out my motives. Why am I trying to learn anything about him now? He looks like he may run scared at the thought of me wanting to actually get to know him.
              “Just wondering. I’d never seen the ocean before today.” I don’t know why I offer this bit of information. Deo seemed so amazed by that fact, maybe I’m hoping to intrigue Ryan, too.
              “No kidding. Weird,” is all that Ryan offers before walking out the door.

The bell above the door jangles as I push through it, and, with that noise, I’m emotionally right there back at Deo’s mom’s house, where she’s holding my hand and dabbing her special oil on it. It’s been a long time since I felt taken care of. It was awkward and somehow, warm-feeling. I could easily see where Deo got his laid back side, but there’s another part to him that I haven’t placed yet. I shake my head. I came here to forget about Deo. Whether Rocko wants me here or not.
              “Hey, kiddo.” Rocko peers over the counter. “I thought I told you not to bother coming in today. Like I said, there’s a whole lot of nothing going on.”
              The place is dead. It doesn’t look like Rocko’s done a single piece of art today. There’s no ink left out, no guns laying around. He hasn’t even bothered to turn on the typically blaring 70s rock.               It’s just quiet. I set my purse down on my desk. I’m staying.
              “I know, but I didn’t have much else to do. I can at least get the deposit together and run to the bank.”
              “What happened with Divo?” he asks.
              I pull my hair back away from my face, like I’m going to put it in a ponytail, before remembering that I hacked all the length off the night before I moved here. I still haven’t gotten used to this blunt bob. Gone are the long waves that I loved. This haircut says I’m fierce.               Unapproachable. At least, that’s how I wanted people to see me.
              I laugh at Rocko’s lame attempt at at joke. “Deo. His name is Deo.”
              Rocko nods and cracks a smile. I’m pretty sure he knew his name.
              “Right. Well, why don’t go kids go enjoy this sunshine? On second thought, why don’t you kids go catch a bite or see a nice movie? I want your guy to stay away from the sun and the water. I don’t want that tat fading before it even has a chance to heal right, and he seems like the type that doesn’t respect the rules.”
              You have no idea.
              “Deo isn’t
my
guy. We aren’t even friends or anything, Rocko.” I dig through my desk drawer. Mostly as a distraction. Also, because I’m sort of looking for that handkerchief that fell out of Deo’s pocket while he was getting his tat, and that I might have hung on to and stashed in my desk. I pull the small square of fabric out and fight the urge to smell it.  That’s probably freaky grounds for a restraining order.
              Rocko pulls his funky tortoiseshell eyeglasses down on his nose so that he’s peering at me over the tops of them. “Listen kid, these glasses are purely a fashion statement. I’m not blind. I know what I saw the other night.”
              “What are you talking about?” I recoil, the handkerchief clear evidence of my guilty moping.
              “The way you were looking at him, like you wanted him to be looking at you. And the way he was about to jump off that table mid-tat when he thought you were leaving before he was. Don’t get me wrong, he also looked like he wanted to bend you over that couch out there—”
              “Rocko!” Pennsylvania Whit is dying.
              “Come on, kid. I know you aren’t scrambling to get out of here at night with your phone going off like crazy to go home to your DVR. You’re up to no good. And that’s all good, because you’re nineteen. I’d be worried if you weren’t up to no good at your age.”
Rocko smiles smugly, obviously feeling like he’s got me all pegged. And I guess, maybe he does.
              He leans back in his chair and props his feet up on my desk. I knock his heavy black boots off.
              “Manners,” I say under my breath. I’m only half-joking.
              “See, it’s stuff like that, though, that confuses the hell out of me. Like that tat you drew for Divo—”
              “Deo, and I didn’t draw it
for
him.”
              “There’s something more to you than the sexy makeup and heels.”
              “Rocko, I could so nail your ass for sexual harassment, you know that right?” This time, I’m totally joking. I love the free and fearless banter I have with Rocko. It’s one of the most real things I have.
              “So, tell me kid, what else is going on in that pretty little head of yours?”
              I haven’t even started talking yet. But I turn to him, knowing that this time, I will. It’s time, and really, I won’t find a better listener, or anyone less judgmental than Rocko.
 

              -Nine-

Deo

Cara is applying a coat of shiny purple nail polish to my toenails while I lie back on my stale-smelling sheets and count the cobwebs that have multiplied like crazy fuckers on the ceiling above my
Scarface
poster. It’s been a little too dark to notice them lately, but Cara fixed the light problem with one snap of the sagging rollershade. She also tossed my iPod in my dresser drawer next to my bong and under my rolling papers to stop Robert Johnson’s incessant, broken-hearted wail.

“You’re harshing my mellow, Sunshine,” I gripe, wiggling my toes and making her click her tongue when she paints the side of my foot.

Cara glares at me and swishes her strawberry blond hair over her shoulder so she can paint with more precision, but all that long hair is tickling my knee now. “You can’t just hole up in here and listen to the world’s most depressing music on repeat all day while you get high,” she informs me cheerily.

“Robert Johnson happens to be a blues genius. And I’m not high,” I protest, sitting up on my elbow.

She blinks her big, sky-blue eyes slowly. “Really? Why not? Too lazy to go out and hunt for more product?”