Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 87856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
"Huh?"
"You eat like a linebacker."
"Thank you…?"
"We should study you."
"What's to study? When I swim a lot, I eat a lot. It's not complicated."
She shakes her head if only you knew. "How many?"
"Two is fine," I say.
"I thought so." She turns back to the pan, humming ABBA as she works.
It's kind of adorable. She's usually in I have to be tough to survive med school mode. Or I don't have feelings, I have fuck buddies mode.
I like seeing the other side of her.
It feels honest.
Maybe that's what I need to do with Patrick, with Julie, with anyone, share more of myself.
How can something so hard sound so easy?
I put my stuff away and take a seat.
She switches to humming Duran Duran, finishes the sandwiches, brings lunch to the table.
"Seriously, Imogen. I know how to kill," she says.
"Aren't doctors supposed to do no harm?"
"I'm not a doctor yet."
"Good loophole." I cut my first sandwich in half diagonally. "Thanks." Perfectly toasted bread, sharp cheddar, just enough butter to keep everything rich. Yum. "Really, these are great."
She cuts her sandwich in half. "What happened with the hot tattoo artist? Are you boning?"
"We have an arrangement, yes."
"And last night, right? You usually change after you swim. Today—" She motions to my UCLA sweats. "Those don't smell fresh."
"Sorry."
She motions don't worry about it. "How was it?"
"Good."
"Good is not a detail."
"Did we agree to share details?"
"This experiment was my idea."
"Right."
"Yes! You could write an entire paper on it. The Hookup Experiment. Can a casual fling lead to great sex? Can great sex lead to more? Is Imogen vanilla or is there a kinky freak under the swim cap and goggles?"
She has a point-of-view. I have to give her that.
"You don't look excited," she says.
"I'm in awe of your wisdom." And, well, she's not wrong, exactly. I'm not doing a great job as a scientist. I know I'm experimenting with Patrick, but I haven't set out to answer a specific question.
What do I like? What do I want? Can casual sex ever stay casual?
All of the above.
All of the above is good.
"I am a genius, yes." She laughs again. "But one question: Will he be here all the time?"
"Sometimes, I guess," I say. "I think I'll be there more."
"'Cause you don't have to keep it down," she says. "I have great soundproof headphones."
"Uh-huh."
"And I don't mind the noise. My roomie freshman year had this sugar daddy with a college kink. He was always there. In our room. When I was there. So a few sounds from next door are no big deal."
That's disturbing. "Are you okay?"
"It was no big deal."
Really?
"Keep me posted on the experiment. It's a good one." She finishes her sandwich, stands, brings her dish to the sink, blows me a kiss. "Or if you need advice on anything. I'm experienced. Outfits, positions, anal. Anything."
"I appreciate that." As disturbing as her offer is, I might need advice, and I trust her more than I trust strangers on the internet.
It's not consistent. I share my soul with strangers on the internet.
But humans aren't rational creatures. That's really the core lesson in my courses.
People! They don't make sense!
After I finish lunch, and wash the dishes, I give in to my temptation to text Patrick.
Imogen: Are you free later this week? I could go for another round.
Patrick: My place or yours?
Imogen: Yours. If you don't mind.
Patrick: Happy to host.
Imogen: Tomorrow.
Patrick: Can you make it that long?
Maybe.
Imogen: I'll survive.
Patrick: Will you?
Imogen: Will you?
Patrick: Survive, yeah? But I won't be thriving the way I would if I heard you come.
How is he so sexy?
Patrick: You want to sleep over?
Imogen: Maybe. I have a big project. If I get enough done.
Patrick: You can say no.
Imogen: I'm saying maybe.
Patrick: I get off work at eight. Meet me at Inked Love.
Imogen: Can I park at your place? I hate looking for parking in Santa Monica.
Patrick: We can meet there.
Imogen: No. Inked Love is good.
Patrick: Are you going to get another tattoo, already?
Imogen: If I am?
Patrick: You better let me do it. I don't want anyone else touching you.
Imogen: I have another one.
Patrick: I try not to think about that.
Imogen: Really?
Patrick: Really. Wear a dress.
Imogen: Are you going to fuck me at the shop?
Patrick: Do you want me to fuck you at the shop?
Imogen: Yes.
How did I write that so fast? My cheeks flush. My chest too.
I don't know if I'll survive waiting until tomorrow.
I might die of desire right here, right now.
Patrick: Anything else?
Imogen: Is that not enough?
Patrick: I will fuck you in front of my friends if you ask. But I imagine that's a lot.
Imogen: It is.
Patrick: You like being on display, huh?
Imogen: I think so.
Patrick: I know just the thing. Trust me.
Imogen: Trust you?
Patrick: Yeah. We'll move as fast as you want. But wear a dress or a skirt. So we can keep our options open.