Risk Me Page 6

  Including a tiny silver vibrator and small tube of lube in a Ziploc baggie with Jacinda’s card.

  I sit on the far end of my bed, munching on crackers and eyeing the sex toys. I’ve never used one, but I’ve usually had a boyfriend. They’ve almost all been shitty assholes, but having them around did the trick when I got too lonely.

  Tonight, I don’t have anyone.

  I push my crackers away and pick up my phone, then flip to Cohen’s contact information. My thumb hovers over the text box, but I can’t think of anything funny or cute to say, so I minimize that screen and go to my photos and run through them until I find the hottest picture of my last kind of serious boyfriend, Mike, which is impressively incredible. He’s at the beach, his shirt rolled and tossed over one shoulder, his smile so cocky it’s a hair away from arrogant jackass. Each glistening, gorgeous muscle shows in high definition as the sun glints off his wet skin.

  Every time I’ve ever looked at this picture, I’ve gotten instantly horny, even when I’m enraged at my own traitorous body for that. I focus on the picture and pick up the vibrator, but I don’t have any urge at this point to use it, and the weight of that depressing feeling makes me fall back on the bed with a thump.

  When did life get so boring and sucky and…lifeless?

  “Maren, you need to get your shit together. This is pathetic,” I mutter.

  I grip the phone tighter in my hand, as an idea suddenly, crazily, presses against my brain and won’t shut the hell up.

  I go to my messages and push the one I’ve saved a few times already, secretly.

  “Hey, Maren. I hate to bug you, but you know that sheet you sent me? Well, I’m looking at it…”

  Cohen’s voice is going on and on about columns lining up and dividends and taxable expenses, but I ignore the words. I just listen to that perfect, sexy, velvet voice.

  And press my thighs together. This is faster and wetter than it ever was with any guy’s picture, any hot-and-heavy phone sex session, any incredible fantasy playing in my head. I lie back on my bed and slide my hand down under the waistband of my sensible cotton underwear.

  Damn.

  I’m more turned on by the sound of Cohen’s voice talking about one of the most boring topics on earth than I ever was by any of my exes or hookups in person, and I’ve been with some undeniably sexy guys.

  I used to think all sexy guys were assholes, and that was part of the problem with me always winding up in the worst relationships ever— I have a definite weakness for the raw, electric chemistry of the chase and thrill of a bad boy. But Cohen isn’t a bad boy. Not at all. He’s a funny, sweet good guy in every way, and one boring voicemail is setting me on fire like no one and nothing else ever has.

  “…with the bar graph. That one looks, um, like it’s about sofas? I think. I’m reading this wrong, aren’t I? I’m sorry to ramble like this on your voicemail, but I need to receive this by tomorrow morning…”

  I hold the little silver vibrator up. It glints from the low light of my alarm clock. I put my phone down on the pillow, his voice slipping into my ear like a lover’s whisper. I click the vibrator on, move it down, and jump when it buzzes against the skin under my bellybutton. I feel the vibrations low and hard in the center of my body.

  I pull all the air in my stale little bedroom into my lungs. The words are just a rumble, but their tenor is clear and so damn hot. I press down one inch, another, one more, before I let out a single, tiny whimper.

  A tremor bolts through my body. My free hand fists the sheets, my toes curl, and I tilt my head back. Normal breathing has been replaced with a pattern of pants and whimpers. I press that little bit of vibrating silver against my clit so gently I don’t expect to feel anything, but something springs alive in me like a wild animal freed from a cage. My spine lifts off the mattress and bridges under me, and I press harder, the hum rippling out until I can feel the vibrations up my arms, along my neck, on my lips.

  I unknot my free hand from the sheet and brush my fingers over my lips to see if they could possibly be shaking the way I think they are. But it’s all inside me, bursting and tearing with this need to explode out.

  I turn my head to the side, my whimpers hard and quick, and I hear his voice, soft, sweet, real, and right in its own secret way.

  Cohen.

  My secret.

  I squeeze my eyelids shut, slide my heels against the blankets, and shudder three, four times as a deep, solid orgasm rocks through me. It’s over faster than I want it to be, and I’m left feeling slightly hollow.

  Next to my ear, I can still hear Cohen’s voice, and the plan that sounded so sexy and daring a few minutes ago now feels kind of dirty. The only other sound is the hypnotic hum of the vibrator, which I flick off and toss aside. I click my phone off, embarrassed.

  I should have just called Lenny or whoever. I feel a little like I defiled the one good person I have in my life currently— Even if he has no idea how I just used him.

  I flop back on the bed and wonder exactly how I’m going to right things for myself. I feel like I’ve been in a tailspin since my mom finally bailed, and that was freshman year of high school.

  I’m not sure exactly what it is I want out of life, but I know I need to figure it out soon. I’ve wasted enough years floundering. I guess it would be a whole lot easier to make more permanent life decisions if I wasn’t struggling just to keep things afloat for my father and me. But I have to have faith that things will look up. As soon as Dad’s back on his feet, I can take a breath and reevaluate my situation. We just have to get over this hump.

  I punch and prod my pillow, desperate to get it to a point where I can relax comfortably, but nothing is working the way I want it to. I settle with my neck at a strange angle and reach out to trace a finger over the old Polaroid of my family camping. Rowan has a new fishing pole. I’m pouting, arms crossed over my puffy red vest, because she wouldn’t share. Dad’s left arm is around me, to make me feel better, and his right is around Mom because he could never keep his hands off her.

  Man. They seemed so in love. No wonder I have zero compass when it comes to reading how guys feel about me. Everything I thought I knew about loving another person is a lie.

  I remember her standing in the doorway while he cried. She was crying. So was I. Rowan was the only one who wasn’t, and even she looked pale and droopy.

  “I love you, Thomas. I’ll always love you. But you can’t ask me to choose, because this is part of who I am now. I can’t be who I was, and I think that’s who you still love.”

  “Bullshit,” my dad sobbed. “You made me choose. You or the band. I chose you. I chose this.”

  It’s painful, even in memory, to picture my dad sobbing. Standing in front of him cored my heart. That was the moment I stepped away from Mom and dropped my bags in the hallway.

  “I’m staying here. With Dad,” I declared.

  Mom didn’t argue. I think she was relieved. She knew he was in a bad place. We all did. I guess no one knew just how bad. Or maybe no one knows just how bad.

  Except for me, of course. How the hell do I think I can save my father from his demons when I can’t even get my own shit together?

  I’ve been doing a pretty fair job of keeping my father’s secrets, and Mom and Rowan have been busy expanding the business. Which is why I can’t ask them for help or money right now. They’re under tremendous pressure, and they don’t need all this extra worry piled on top. When they call, I recite my string of untruths: I’m fine, he’s doing better, and we’re making headway.

  They’re lies now, but I don’t believe my life will always be that way. My turn will come. College, relationships, a great job— It will happen as soon as I help Dad get back on his feet, maybe through his music, maybe by just helping him find a regular job. I know I’m close to figuring this all out.

  There’s a way. I know there is. Yes, my father has a problem. A serious problem. But all problems have solutions, and I just have to help him hit the right
combination of therapy and hope, the one that will help him get his drinking under control and his passion channeled back into something productive.

  I can do this. My mom always said I had a backbone of steel. I just need to relocate it and pull myself out of my current situation.

  Right now I’ll take the few simple, secret pleasures I get and deal with the rest until the solution presents itself.

  With that in mind, I click my phone back on and listen to Cohen’s message, sinking into the silky softness of his tone as sleep takes over, and I forget all the ways I’ve screwed things up for myself the last few years.

  Chapter Five

  Cohen

  “You’re going to love Tracey.” Marigold pulls all her long, dark hair into a sloppy bun and drizzles a little bit of oil into a jar.

  “Thanks for setting this up, Mrs. Beck—er, Marigold.” Deo’s mom has been asking me to call her by her first name since Deo and I were out of high school, and I almost always remember.

  It’s not all that hard, since Marigold is cool and funny and so down-to-earth. It’s easy to see her as a friend. But I imagine how hard my mom would slap me upside the head if she ever heard me do it; my parents are old-school, manners-wise. I don’t think Deo even knows what their first names are.

  “Forget about it. I love getting awesome people together. And here is your scent.” She holds a small blue vial under my nose, and I breathe in deep.

  There’s sandalwood, a tiny hint of something sweet…maybe vanilla, and a last burst of mint. “This is great. What do I owe you?” I reach for my wallet, but Marigold smacks at my hand and shakes her head.

  “Don’t you dare. Have fun and be careful tonight, sweetie.” She hands me the paper bag and kisses my cheek just as Deo trips the bells on the front door.

  “Hey, hey, hey!” He runs over and half tackles me away from his mom. “Geez, kid! You break up with your woman, and I can’t turn my back without you trying to scoop up all the ladies in my life.”

  “Deo!” Marigold rolls her eyes and pulls him in for a hug. “Don’t be greedy. You were always such a greedy kid, and it was bad enough when you were an adorable little boy. It’s terrible now.” She licks a thumb and moves to press it on his cowlick, but he jumps back.

  “Woman! That’s crossing the line. No more spitting on my hair.” He rubs his hands down on his head, flattening his hair for a second before it springs back up.

  “Learn to share,” she singsongs with a grin. “Cohen was here because he wanted a special mix for his date with Tracey.”

  “Tracey, huh?” Deo unscrews the lid of a random bottle of oil, takes a whiff, and gags. “I hope you didn’t mix any of that crap in. He’s already batting out of his league with sexy Tracey. He doesn’t need to smell like a damn skunk to top it all off.”

  “Don’t be an idiot all your life, Deo,” his mom says, swiping the vial out of his hand and smiling my way, like she can sense my gut-gnawing nervousness. “Cohen, you are exactly the kind of sweet, grounded, sexy—”

  “Ugh, Mom! Stop!” Deo groans.

  “—man she needs in her life.” Marigold’s smile makes my heart slow down a little.

  “What time’s the date, lover boy?” Deo asks.

  “Dinner at six. Make sure you get her home in time for the babysitter.”

  “Come again?” Deo squints from me to Marigold. “Sexy Tracey has kids?”

  “Kid. Just one.” I try to keep my voice even, like it makes any difference that it’s just one kid. Like one kid doesn’t scare the shit out of me and make me feel like I’m in over my head before I even started.

  “Sage is an amazing child.” Marigold puts her hand over her heart. “A true old soul. I love them, I love you, and I love you.” She gets misty eyed and kisses Deo’s forehead. “I feel like love is out there, just waiting for you to scoop it up. And, if in the middle of all that love scooping, you wind up doing the blanket hornpipe—”

  “Mom!” Deo bellows, sticking his fingers in his ears like a little kid. “Enough. Goddamn, woman! Just when I think a conversation is as awkward as it’s going to get, blam! You bring out the extra awkward.”

  “Well, I have no idea why you’re being such a prude, Deo. It’s perfectly natural. Oh! And speaking of natural, I just got this shipment of vegan condoms. Rocko and I haven’t had a chance to give them a try—”

  Deo just shakes his head and groans.

  “—but the customer reviews say they’re amazing! Take some on the house. And don’t thank me. Just tell me how they worked out so I can pass the info on to my customers.”

  Marigold holds the small packets out, and I grab them and shove them into my pocket, embarrassed that this is so embarrassing. I’m an adult and safe sex is not something I get all weird about.

  But taking condoms from my best friend’s mother so I can maybe use them on a date with her friend? I can’t pretend to be cool. This is weird.

  “Thanks, Marigold. I’ll, uh, be sure to let you know. How they work.” I love you like a second mother, but I will never discuss condoms with you. Ever.

  Deo kisses his mom’s cheek and drags me out the door.

  “Holy shit. I will never be able to apologize enough for her, man. Mom’s always been a little nutso, but she’s gone off the deep end lately.” He walks to my car with me. “So? You’re going on a date with a mom?”

  “Don’t make it weirder than it is for me, Deo.”

  “It’s just kind of heavy, right?” He leans against my car.

  “I guess. But maybe I need someone a little more mature.” I think back to the awful mess of my date with Claire.

  And the one with Judith, Cece’s painfully shy college friend. I think she spoke a total of six words our entire evening together, and I doubt I could pick her out of a lineup considering she never made eye contact even once. Though I preferred her to Stacy, a junior partner from Lydia’s firm who answered eight work calls during our fancy two hour dinner, then pretty much said she needed me to take her back to my place so she could de-stress with some sex. Pass. There was also Rachel, mom’s synagogue buddy’s newly single daughter, who promptly told me the names she’d already chosen for the twelve children she planned on having—one for each tribe of Israel. She mentioned more than once that her biological clock had been ticking for too long already.

  Maren’s right. I really do have the worst luck with blind dates.

  Actually, the highlight of every one of those dates was texting Maren for advice or just to enjoy the witty banter that seems to come so naturally whenever we talk. Crazy how a few texts made those off-the-wall dates feel like they weren’t so bad after all.

  A huge grin cracks across Deo’s face. “Sorry, but I accept zero responsibility for Claire, man. You were warned to stay far away. I begged, even. I mean, I feel for you. No guy deserves a lap full of vomit. But she was always a loose cannon, and I knew to stay away from all that even back when I had no standards.”

  “Yeah.” I close my eyes and try to blank on the details of that crazy night. “I guess I got what was coming. If nothing else, I’m excited about meeting Tracey because, seriously, your mom is awesome, and she picks awesome people to surround herself with. So what do I have to lose?”

  Deo claps a hand on my shoulder. “Nothing, man. Nothing to lose. I wish you luck. May you use many vegan condoms and not get vomited on.”

  I can’t help laughing as I get in my car. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

  “No worries! Being my best friend means you get the Deo deluxe deal, wisdom and blessings included for free.”

  Deo’s an ass, but he manages to lighten my mood to the point where I’m not even nervous when I pull up to Tracey’s place. Before I can get out of the car, the door opens and a woman backs out, kissing a frowning little girl with a head full of braids.

  And then I feel like a total pervert because the first thing I notice is the way this mom’s tight jeans hug every curve.

  Holy mother…

  Tracey
is a mom. And a friend of Marigold’s. I guess I was expecting a sweet-faced woman in a long, flowery dress.

  “Um, hi. Tracey. You must be Tracey. I’m Cohen. It’s nice to meet you.”

  She skips my hand and wraps her arms around me. She smells sweet with a hint of musk.

  “Cohen.” She pulls back and her smile is warm and real. “It’s amazing to meet you. I’m so glad Marigold set this all up.” She glances at my car. “Would it be okay if we took my bike? I hardly ever get to ride anymore. It makes Sage a little nervous. Plus, I’ll be honest, I like to take my own vehicle on a first date. I know I have a spare helmet in the garage.”

  I swallow hard. “Sure.” Maybe my voice squeaks. Maybe.

  I’m not embarrassed to admit I hold on for dear life all the way to the bar that’s spilling over with the kind of hip, edgy people who eye me like they can tell I don’t belong. I follow her to a small, private table in the back, and a teenage girl with pink hair rushes over.

  “No way. No way! Tracey Bellington? Scotty said you’d come in when you got back from your Tokyo tour! I am such a huge fan. I love you. Okay, okay.” She takes a deep breath and calms down as I look at Tracey and wonder what I’m missing. “I know this is, like, so unprofessional, but…” She holds out her waitressing pad.

  Tracey laughs and takes it. “Forget professional. I got fired once for kissing the very handsome drummer of a very amazing folk band that I maybe happened to open for five years later. We’ll have a round of Maker’s Mark. Hey, does Roxy still make those amazing mussels? With the white wine sauce and the shallots?”

  “Of course. Of course. And I will get those for you right away.” The girl turns and runs, and Tracey smiles as her cheeks go bright pink, her big brown eyes on the scratched tabletop.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say, feeling like the biggest asshole in the world. “Clearly our waitress is way cooler than I am. What exactly is it that you do?”

  “I play violin and do some backup vocals for The Season of Release. Don’t. I can see you trying to pretend you know who we are.” She lifts her eyes and bats her long lashes in my direction. “We are only very marginally successful, and our fan base is mostly…” She glances at our waitress, wiping down the counter with her head turned back like an owl until she whips it back around after seeing Tracey look. “Well, you get the idea. I just got back from a very limited world tour.”