It’s been a long time since I went on a first date. Not that what I’m doing right now is a date, exactly. But it’s been a long time since I did this too.

I had never laid eyes on her before last night, and aside from the brief introductory handshake-and-nice-to-meet-you, I didn’t even talk to her. I noticed her though, because she was easy to notice. There were the deep dimples punctuating a beautiful smile. The big brown eyes and long lashes. The dark hair cascading in loose waves just past her shoulders. And, of course, the tight little body neatly packaged in a curve-hugging dress. She was, physically, everything I usually like in a woman.

So yeah. I noticed her.

But that was last night. And last night she was clear across the table at dinner. She laughed a lot, talked a little, and she pretty much stayed close to Renee all night. When someone suggested an after-dinner after-party, she begged off claiming exhaustion. And that was it.

I couldn’t even remember her name. Cecile. Selena. I didn’t know. Or much care, truth be told.

Until today.

The coin toss put us on the same team for volleyball game on Carbon Beach. What surprised me most, at least at first, was that her tight little body was almost fully covered by her swimsuit. It was a two-piece--like every other woman there, but modest--unlike every other woman there. There was no display of T, nor A. And the bottom piece fit securely over every inch of her very firm little...A. Believe me; I looked. I was a little disappointed at first, but then she jumped up out of nowhere and spiked the ball that I’d set over the net and right into Matt’s face. After that, the only thing I was was impressed.

I asked where she’d learned to play like that and after she looked at me kinda funny, she told me she’d played four years in high school, and still played occasionally with her local park district’s community team.

We beat Matt and Eric three times in row, which gave me something to talk to her about over dinner. Because this time I made sure I was sitting next to her. And that she wasn’t too close to Renee.

Her dress wasn’t molded to her body the way the one from last night was, but in a way I like it better. It was short, barely hitting the middle of her thighs, and made of a gauzy material that tickled whenever her sleeve brushed against my arm. My favorite part was the plunging neckline that put some of what her swimsuit had modestly covered earlier in the day, on display. And I was taking full advantage of my vantage point a few inches above her.

Conversation swirled around us, and we joined in from time to time. But I angled my chair toward her and for the most part we maintained our own little bubble throughout the meal. She was interesting. Witty. And I enjoyed talking with her. Enjoyed the way she asked me questions without making me feel like I was being interviewed. Or interrogated. And although she made it clear that she knew exactly who I was and what I was famous for, and that she was a longtime fan, she didn’t act like a groupie. Which I appreciate. Maybe it makes me sound like an asshole, but there’s nothing that kills my libido quicker than a beautiful woman with lots of potential, who I realize wants nothing more than to fuck the former celebrity. So she can have a story to tell or whatever. I did some of that in my twenties and thirties, but I’m staring 40 in the eyes and that shit isn’t cute.

But Selah--that’s her name (“Say-lah,” she says with a dimpled grin when I ask her to repeat it. And now I definitely care.)--is definitely cute. And normal. The questions she asked me weren’t really about my career--past or present. It’s still kind of amusing to me when people get star-struck around me because I just don’t think of myself that way. But I get it, when they do. There are still celebrities that get me a little tongue-tied. But she talked to me like I was a normal person she was interested in knowing more about. And I liked that. I also liked seeing those dimples up close every time she smiled at me.

So we talked a lot, and drank even more, and when everyone else wanted to hit a club, she casually remarked that she couldn’t wait to get out of her shoes, not to mention everything else.

She said it so smoothly (no seriously; I envied her delivery) that it took me a moment to realize what she meant exactly. And she fixed those brown eyes so intently on me that I almost choked on my gin and tonic. Almost. Instead I suggested she might want to take off her shoes and whatever else in my suite. Because of the view and why not, right?

Selah snickered, one corner of her lip turning upward just slightly, and then she finished her drink--Captain and Coke--while watching me over the rim. She stood up, tossed her glossy dark hair over one shoulder, and reached out a hand toward me.

“Lead the way.” She winked.

I threaded my fingers through hers and did just that.

She was quiet on the way up to my room, which was interesting if only for the fact that just a little while earlier she’d been really talkative. But when I put my hand just a little too low on her back, and whispered several slightly inappropriate things in her ear, she smirked at me and seemed to relax.

We made it through the door of my hotel room, and as soon as it clicked back into place behind us, she turned to me.

“Hi.” Her voice was a soft, husky whisper that raised goosebumps on my skin.

“Hi,” I repeated just as quietly.

She rested her hands on my chest, absently fingering the buttons on my shirt, and I let my hands travel down her back until I had two handfuls of her ass.

It was as firm as I suspected.

“Did you still want to get out of those heels...and everything else?”

She tipped her head back and a genuinely amused laugh escaped her lips. I lightly ran my fingers through the silk-like strands of her hair and enjoyed the way the sound reverberated through me.

Without a word she held on to one of my arms and slipped out of one, and then the other. I think heels are sexy in general, but when a woman is as effortless sexy as Selah was, the shoes don’t make a difference one way or the other.

“Much better,” she sighed.

I gripped her hips and pulled her closer. She was now quite a bit shorter than me, but I like petite women so it was just more of a turn-on. “Much,” I murmured in agreement.

Her fingers glided up my arms and around to my neck, where she drew me closer to her. “You have really great lips,” she said in that feathery voice.

And that time goosebumps weren’t the only thing she raised on me.

“Thank you.”

Selah moved in closer to me, lifting herself onto the tips of her now-bare toes. I recognized jasmine, vanilla, and sandalwood in the scent of her, but there were notes of other things, sexy things, I couldn’t quite name. And as I watched her lips part, the pink of her tongue peeking out to wet her bottom lip, she pushed her body flush up against mine and I could feel the steady rhythm of her heartbeat.

“You’re welcome,” she breathed right against my mouth.

Her lips, warm and so soft, so pliable, moved against mine and she tasted a little like the rum she’d been drinking, but impossibly sweeter. She swept her tongue into my mouth, against my tongue and although I’ve had lots of experience with kissing lots of different women, there was something so unbelievably sensual about the way she moaned into me that was different.

I squeezed her butt in my fingers, and rolled my body against hers so that she could feel exactly where and how she was affecting me.

One of her fingers went from fiddling with the buttons on my shirt, to systematically popping them open. Her other hand crawled down my body and rubbed against my still-growing erection.

She giggled--a sexy, throaty, not at all childish kind of giggle--and sucked my bottom lip between both of hers before biting it very lightly.

I tilted my head to the side when her mouth trailed down to my neck, her tongue and lips alternating between nips and licks across the surface of my skin. My eyes closed and I dragged my hands down her body, until they reached the hem of her dress. I tugged it up and over her ass, and groaned when I felt smooth skin beneath.

I think thong underwear is the stupidest lingerie ever. And they have to be the most uncomfortable. But I also happen to think they are one of the single sexiest things a woman can wear, so when my finger slipped in between her skin and the fabric of her thong, just before it disappeared between her cheeks, I couldn’t help the groan that came from somewhere deep inside my chest.

Selah finished unbuttoning my shirt and stopped kissing my neck so that she could help me push it off my shoulders.

She took my hand again, and that time she did all leading. She pulled me straight over to the bed and pushed me back until the back of knees came up against the foot of it.

“Make yourself comfortable.” She seemed to hesitate briefly before taking a deep breath, and with a wiggle of her eyebrows she tugged her dress overhead.

I sat down and fiddled with my belt buckle but I stopped to just gape at her. I liked the way she undressed, with no ceremony and no coyness. She knew what we were here to do and she wasn’t at all shy about it. She shook her hair once and tossed her dress to the floor. Biting her lower hip, she placed her hands on her hips and smiled down at me expectantly.  

My mouth was dry as I took her in. Her bra and panties (fuck me, the thong was more or less see-through lace in the front), weren’t anything particularly special. But I liked the contrast of the red lace against her skin. And I really liked the way the identical twin swells of her breasts rose up over the cups of the bra. And I really, really liked the way her chest was heaving with every breath.

Selah quirked a perfectly arched eyebrow at me. “I told you to get comfortable.” She shook her head slowly. “You’re still dressed.”

I glanced down at myself as if just remembering that I was, in fact, still mostly clothed. I still had on my plain white undershirt, and although my pants were mostly unbuckled, they were definitely still firmly on.

She took two steps forward and stood right in front of me, just watching me with a hint of a smile on her face. I smiled back and reached out to guide my hands to her waist and pulled her closer.

She climbed onto the bed, one knee on either side of my hips, before lowering herself to my lap.

What happened next is a mostly a blur.

My hands were winding in hair, and her hands were everywhere. Finishing the work of undoing my pants and then very subtly stroking me through the cotton of my briefs. My lips were on hers again, before making a descent down her chin, across her jaw, snaking down her neck and collarbone until they found the valley between her breasts.

I rested my face in her cleavage and inhaled deeply, smelling more of whatever it was she was wearing that was making me even hornier. My hands rose up her body, from around her waist, until they met around front at her bra.

When my thumbs brushed the peaks of her nipples, already hard beneath the lace of her bra, she moaned, cradled my head in her hands, and started rolling her hips against mine. But when I reached around her back to unhook her bra, she froze.

I mean that literally. It was like some unknown hand had pressed pause on the action going on in my lap.

“Shit. I can’t do this,” Selah mumbled suddenly.

I wasn’t sure I heard her at first, because I was still nose-deep between her breasts. I lifted my head and looked at her. “What?”

She was still in my lap, but she had dropped her hands away from my head. And those beautiful brown eyes of hers wouldn’t meet mine. “I, um.” She cleared her throat and suddenly scrambled out of my lap like she--or maybe I--was on fire. “I should go.”

To say I was confused is an understatement of epic proportions. I’d been in situations with a woman before where I thought things were going in one direction, and it turned out I’d thought wrong. But never when said woman was already half-naked and grinding in my lap. At least not since I’d traded dry-humping for the real thing.

“You...what?”

I watched her wince, the way she held her hands up over her chest--probably to stop her bra from falling off since I’d already undone it. Her shoulders were hunched, and she was looking down at the floor.

“I’m really sorry,” she said in the meekest of whispers.

Her voice held none of the sexy softness it had earlier. She sounded shaky. Like maybe if I asked her if she was OK she would burst into tears.

“I thought I could. I mean, I was going to. I thought wanted to. But I don’t. I mean, I do, but then you unhooked my bra and all of a sudden it was real and I just--” She stopped rambling suddenly and glanced at me for the briefest of seconds before turning away. “I’m really sorry for wasting your time tonight, JC.”

I sat in the same spot on the bed, still dumbfounded (and incidentally, still really hard) watching as she reached behind her back to re-fasten her bra.

“I just, um,” she peeked at me over her shoulder before turning away again, quickly, “I’m gonna get dressed and go.” She scrambled out of the bedroom.

I still wasn’t quite sure what had happened to break the spell, but I called out to her. “Selah.”

She stopped mid-step, and although she didn’t move she also didn’t turn around to face me.

“What happened? I mean, did I...did I do something? Or not do something?”

We’d been drinking quite a bit back down at the table, but she didn’t seem drunk to me. But maybe she was the type of chick who maintained her air of sobriety even when she was sloshed. I know some people like that. Sometimes I can be like that. But I certainly hadn’t coerced her into coming back upstairs with me. Or pressured her when we got into the room. Or when she started talking off her clothes. But maybe I should’ve--

“No,” she said quickly, turning suddenly to face me again.

Her eyes were wide again, and there was some force behind that no, like she wanted me to be absolutely sure that whatever happened had nothing to do with me.

“It wasn’t you, or anything you did or didn’t do.” She sighed and although her bra was once again securely in place, she crossed her arms over her chest as if I hadn’t already seen what all was there.

“So what was it then?” I asked.  And since my boner was (sadly) going away, I was genuinely curious.

She rolled her eyes a little and snorted. “I’m just a total spaz, and I’m really embarrassed, and I’d really like to get my dress on so I can go back to my room and be embarrassed in solitude.”

I stood up and, after adjusting myself in my underwear, I zipped and re-buttoned my pants and approached her cautiously. She was still standing in the same spot so that, at least, was encouraging.

I made the decision a split-second before I asked her.

I touched her shoulder tentatively. “Do you like ice cream?”

I almost laughed out loud at the way she looked at me. Her forehead creased and her mouth opened and she looked as confused as I’d felt a few moments earlier.

“Do I...what?” She stared up at me, blinking rapidly.

I shrugged and nodded. “You’re right. That’s a stupid question. Everybody likes ice cream.” I strolled past her and over to the combination dresser and TV stand opposite the bed. I picked up the hotel’s room service menu and waved it at her.

“They have the best sundaes here. Hot fudge, hot caramel, fresh whipped cream. And that magic shell stuff? You know when you pour it on it’s liquid but it hardens up when it hits the ice cream? I love that stuff.”

I wasn’t really looking at her, but I could sense her staring at me. And I know she was wondering what the hell was wrong with me because, honestly, I was wondering the same thing. But right at that moment, I just knew I wasn’t ready for her to go. And not just because I was hoping she would consider revisiting what we’d been up to before.

I just...wanted her to be there. And I wanted to know what made her stop what was going on earlier. And I’d had fun with her at dinner and I just...I didn’t know. But I hoped ice cream was enough to get her to stay long enough for me to figure it out.

“What’s your favorite flavor?” I tossed back over my shoulder. She was still in the same spot, her arms still crossed over her chest, but her expression was less shocked confusion and more concerned curiosity. “If you don’t mind the germs, we can get the big one with two spoons. It’s got a huge scoop of like, four different flavors, and pretty much any topping we want.”

When she didn’t answer after a couple of seconds I turned around to face her. “What do you think?”

She blinked slowly. “You want to order ice cream? Right now?” She asked me the question as if she were talking to a small, possibly developmentally delayed, child.

“Well, yeah.” I shrugged again. “We didn’t get dessert earlier.”

She snickered at that and shook her head. “JC, I--”

“Listen, Selah,” I said, looking at her seriously. “I was having fun with you earlier. Talking to you. Getting to know you. I just want to spend some more time doing that. Is that OK?”

I’d been single for a month. My last relationship didn’t end particularly dramatically, or even take a huge toll on me emotionally. But we’d been together for a couple of years. I was used to having someone there. And being single again felt kind of...lonely. And I wasn’t just missing a warm body to get on top of; sex with no strings and no meaning was easy enough to come by. I was fully anticipating having sex with Selah, and we’d had no sort of discussion about either strings or meaning, but what I was looking forward to most was connecting physically with someone I’d already connected with mentally. I liked her. Or rather, I thought with a little more time, I could like her. A lot.

She watched me silently for a couple of beats before finally letting her arms fall to her sides. “I’m not gonna have sex with you tonight, JC,” she said softly.

I nodded. “Yeah. I kinda figured. So what kind of ice cream?”

A huge smile broke out on her face, (I was becoming pretty attached to those dimples of hers) and she threw her head back and laughed. It was loud and not delicate or ladylike...and I liked it a lot.

“Get the big one. We already swapped spit tonight, so what’s a little bit more for the sake of ice cream?” She bit her bottom lip and looked shy again for a moment. “I, uh, still need to get dressed though.”

I held her gaze for a moment and could see the bit of uncertainty still settled there. “You can borrow something of mine if you want, unless you’re really dying to put that dress back on.”

I’d have been a thousand percent OK with her putting that tight little dress back on, but I figured I should give her an option.

“Yeah.” She nodded. “I’ll borrow something. Thanks.”

She changed while I ordered our ice cream and when she emerged from the bathroom I laughed at her.

“Shut up,” she said with an expression that I think was supposed to mean serious business but was failing spectacularly. She couldn’t stop smiling.

My sweats were drowning her, and my t-shirt came down to the middle of her thighs. But she looked adorably ridiculous. Or maybe it was ridiculously adorable. I don’t know, but she was cute as hell in my clothes, with her hair pulled into a messy bun on the top of her head. I was planning on sharing a huge sundae with the funny, surprisingly-good-at-volleyball, beautiful woman standing in front of me, and talking to her. And right at that moment, I was looking forward to that more than anything.  

I thought it might be awkward for a little bit, but she picked up talking to me as if our nearly-naked interlude had never happened. She made herself comfortable on the king-sized bed, and didn’t even bat an eye when I dropped my pants in front of her to change.

“You know,” she said, interrupting herself in the middle of an explanation of Jungian personality theory, “for a fairly skinny dude, you have a really nice ass.”

I whipped my head around to look at her and she simply blinked, and without taking a breath, continued. “So basically it’s as simple as how we take in information and make decisions.”

Yeah. I was pretty sure I could end up liking this girl a whole lot.

I changed into a t-shirt and shorts, and room service came through with our dessert shortly after that. We ate our ice-cream and talked--mostly about her this time. In addition to being beautiful and funny, Selah really was brilliant. Her background was in psychology with a focus on personality typology--which was something I had to ask her to walk me through. Slowly.

She had just co-authored her second book (“It was literal years of researching these two different personality systems and figuring out where and how they fit together!”) and although I think I only fully understood about a third of what she was explaining to me, I liked listening to her tell me about it. And I liked watching her, the way her eyes danced when she got really into what she was saying. The way she’d grab my arm or my leg whenever she got really excited. How passionate she was about, well, everything.

Eventually, with the ice-cream gone, I moved the conversation back around to what had happened--or more accurately, not happened--earlier.

Selah pursed her lips and picked at the hem of her--my--shirt. “I was hoping you’d forget about that.”

I snorted. “Honey, you were on my lap in nothing but see-through lace, all ready to go. I’m not going to forget about that any time soon. In fact, I can promise you that I’m going to actively think about it often over the next few weeks. Before bed. In the shower. When I’m--”

“Stop!” She laughed and hit me in the thigh. She took a deep breath and sighed, her laughter having faded. “I, um...I was engaged. Up until three months ago.”

She didn’t say anything else for long enough that I wondered if maybe she wasn’t going to. She scraped her spoon around the empty ice-cream dish, making random patterns in smears of chocolate and raspberry. My eyes followed her spoon and since I didn’t know what to say, I was quiet.

“He cheated.” The words came out heavily, as if it took her a lot of effort to say them. “I mean, not like one time. He traveled to Boston for work a lot, and he met her there last year and...it was an ongoing thing.”

I nodded slowly, still wanting to say something but still not knowing what that something should be.

She dropped her spoon and moved on to inspecting her fingernails. “She found me on Facebook; I use it mostly for work so it isn’t that weird to get friend requested by people I don’t actually know. Anyway, as soon as I accept her request she messaged me. It was a bunch of…” She stopped and closed her eyes. “Pictures, and emails, and stuff. We were supposed to be getting married next weekend.”

“Wow,” was all I could manage for a moment. “That...I’m really sorry. That sucks, Selah.” I’m a songwriter, and generally consider myself to be good with words. But in that moment, I couldn’t think of a single thing to communicate to her just how shitty the situation was, and how sorry I was that she’d been in it.

Finding out you’d been cheated on was bad enough; finding out it had been going on under your nose for some time was a special kind of hell. I had experience with that and it wasn’t pleasant. To say the least.

“Yeah, well.” She inhaled deeply and finally met my eyes again. “I’ve known Renee for years. And she not only knows about the whole situation with my ex, but she knows that, um…” She trailed off and looked at me shyly.

“That what?” I asked, smiling at her.

“That, um, you’re one of my two celeb crushes.” Her head dipped down and she laughed at herself. “I’ve been moping so she thought meeting you, now, would be a good distraction. She asked Matt to get me an invite for the weekend.”

Matt had mentioned one of Renee’s friends coming along, but it was in passing. He didn’t offer details and I didn’t think to ask for any. Hindsight being what it is, I’m glad he didn’t tell me it was kind of a set up. I usually hate set ups.

“Hey.” I hooked my thumb under her chin and lifted her head back gently. “Who else is on this list?”

She grinned. “Anthony Mackie. But he’s married with like three kids, so…” She shrugged.

I sat back and pretended to be annoyed. “So wait...I’m number two on the list? And only because the number one guy is married?” I crossed my arms over my chest and shook my head. “I’m not sharing my ice cream with you next time.”

Selah bit her bottom lip and got up on her hands and knees and crawled over me. “I had a crush on you long before I knew who he was. So technically, you’re number one.”

I closed the distance between us and pressed my lips to hers. Now instead of tasting sweetly like rum and Coke, she tasted like sweeter ice-cream and chocolate sauce. She braced her hands on my shoulder as I pulled her waist closer to me.

My tongue insisted on exploring her mouth and when she moaned against me I felt myself stirring again. Apparently, she did, too.

“JC.” She was breathless and panting against me. “I can’t. Really.”

She sat back on her knees and ran a hand over her face. “I’ve never had a one night stand in my life. And if I started now, it would be for all of the wrong reasons.”

I’ve never thought about one night stands in terms of right or wrong, but I didn’t want to argue with her. And although I didn’t even necessarily disagree, I was horny dammit. I sighed and tried to reign in my libido. “No, no, I get it,” I said, but she must have seen the skepticism on my face.

“I’m still hurting,” she said softly. “And as great a distraction as you would be right now, tomorrow night I’d still be hurting. And the night after that. And the--you know what I mean. I know a lot of people use one person to get over another person, whether it’s casual or not. But sex isn’t casual for me. It’s never been casual for me. And despite the fact that one day I’ll probably curse myself for not opening the door when opportunity knocked, I can’t have sex with you tonight.”

I scooted closer to her. Some of her hair had slipped out of her ponytail and I wound it loosely around my index finger. “Your ex is a dumbass,” I said somberly. “I bet he knows it by now, too.” I leaned over and kissed the tip of her nose.

Her eyes were bright, but for a second I thought she might cry. But she didn’t, just smiled again. “Are you ready to kick me out yet?”

I made a face at her and picked up the remote. “No way, woman. You got me all worked up and then reneged--” She punched me in the arm, and not gently, “--so now you have to stay up with me until I’m ready to go to sleep. You may as well make yourself comfortable.”

We moved around until we were both settled under the covers and propped up by pillows. She took my way-too-large pants off, and I was trying not to think about her bare legs (or what was under the shirt) next to mine beneath the sheet.

“Fine,” Selah said with a wicked little grin. With a wink she snatched the remote from my hand. “But I’m picking what we watch.”

***

“Hey!”

I turn to the sound of her voice, knowing I look guilty.

“I thought you were gonna pause it,” she says accusingly. Her eyes are narrowed and her hands are on her hips.  

I scramble to press pause on my laptop as quickly as possible. “I, um...I…” I sigh and shrug apologetically. “I just...needed to know what happened to Barbara.”

Her lip twitches and her hands drop and then she’s laughing at me. Once again I notice how great her dimples are.

She strides over and jumps over me and onto the bed next to me. Once she gets resettled beneath the covers she smirks and nudges my shoulder with hers. “I told you so, didn’t I?”

After watching the first Die Hard movie, followed by a bunch of channel surfing, Selah made me get out my laptop because she said, with all of the excitement of a sugar-hyped kid at a carnival, “You’ve got to watch this show! You were a kid in the eighties, too, so I promise you’ll love it. And it’s horror, but like, mysterious horror. Not gross-out horror.”

And so far, I have. A lot. This show is like Stephen King meets John Carpenter meets Steven Spielberg. It’s like every good thing about every good eighties movie rolled up into one. I finished the end of episode two while Selah was in the bathroom and instead of waiting for her, I went ahead and started number three. I glance at the clock and contemplate staying up all night to finish it. I don’t know what her plans are tomorrow, but I wouldn’t mind binge-watching followed by binge-sleeping. Especially if she stays. I really want her to stay.

I stretch my arm back out and welcome her back to the spot she’d occupied a few moments before. I pull my arm closer around her, and she turns toward me, dropping her arm over my stomach. I feel her toes against my shins and I chuckle.

“Your feet are freezing,” I say, but I don’t move.

“They always are. But it’s a good thing your legs are warm.”

I grumble something under my breath, but I kind of like her cold feet up against me. And I like the slightly spicy, somewhat coconut-y smell of her hair when I lean my face down to the top of her head. And I like the way I can feel her heart beating against me, if I really concentrate on it. This date-that’s-not-really-a-date has turned out to be one of the best nights I’ve had in a long time.

I push play on Netflix and Selah yawns loudly.

“Hey,” I say quietly, “you’re not falling asleep on me, are you?”

“Maybe. Probably.” She nestles her head against my chest. “And once I’m asleep I’m down for the count, dude. I sleep hard. So are you absolutely sure you want me to stay?”

She’s asked me that question at least five times already. “Shut up,” I say softly. “I’m trying to watch this.”

She pinches my side and I smile.