29. Amazing

The next night he took me to a comedy club. I think comedy clubs are the perfect first or second date because you can tell a lot about a guy based on what he finds amusing. If he’s offended by obscene jokes, it’s not going to work out. If he blushes at the dirty jokes, it’s not going to work out. If he’s the only one to double over in a fit of laughter after what you would consider the world’s least funny joke, it sure as hell isn’t going to work out.
But Addam passed the test. He laughed at all the right jokes. I was addicted to his laugh. I almost wanted to stifle all of my laughs, just so I could listen to his. But by the end of the show, we were both in tears.
I was so happy, it was ridiculous. Usually if a guy wanted to hang out every day, it would be a major red flag. But he wasn't ashamed to let me know he wanted to spend time with me, which was handy, because lord knows I wanted to spend time with him. The next night I convinced him to bring his Guitar Hero over because I hadn't played in such a long time. He was afraid I'd think he was a huge dork for bringing a video game, even though I asked for it. So I had to beg, and finally he caved. He kicked my ass in Guitar Hero. I wanted to watch his fingers dance along the plastic keys instead of focusing on what buttons I was supposed to be pushing. I was hypnotized. This also resulted in me looking like a huge Guitar Hero failure.
After we played, I remember he was sitting in the couch and I was sitting on his lap, facing him with my knees on either side of his hips. We were talking about something random when a piece of hair got stuck in my mouth. I went to reach for it with my right hand and he grabbed my wrist. So I tried to reach for it with my other hand, and he grabbed that one, too. He was cracking up as I tried to think of other ways to free the strand from my mouth. I tried using my lips and then trying to blow it off. No luck. Then I tried using my hands again and he'd let my hand get so close, and then pull it away last minute. We were cracking up as I struggled to think of any way to get the hair off my tongue. It was driving me insane. Then I tried to rub my face against his chest in hopes brushing the hair away, but he managed to dodge that, too. This went on for a good 10 minutes, both of us laughing so hard I was afraid we'd wake Stephanie. These are the kinds of things Addam and I did. I didn't care if we were out at a comedy club or just sitting at my place shooting the shit, I was just happy to be around him.
Usually we'd end up in my room so we wouldn't wake Steph with our late-night chats and laughter. That was one of the problems with Addam and I: We had completely opposite schedules. His only days off were Monday and Tuesday. Some days he had to be at work at 6 am, other days he worked the night shift. So sometimes he wouldn't get to come over until 10:30 pm, and I had to get up for work in the morning. I didn't mind losing sleep, but he always felt bad about it. I'd invite him to sleep over, just so he wouldn't have to be out on the roads so late at night, but he'd refuse, saying he didn't want me to lose any more sleep, so he'd kiss me goodnight and leave by 2 am.
I remember the first time we did more than kiss. We were laying on his couch watching Planet of the Apes. I was on my back, he was on his side with his arm draped across me. We started kissing, and his hand slid up my stomach, but on top of my shirt.
"Whoa, you have huge boobs."
He said it like he'd just discovered a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
Finally, he noticed I had boobs. He was so modest and respectful, he was always careful not to move too fast or make me feel pressured. Well, I was two seconds away from shoving his hand up my shirt before he finally said that.
"Thanks. I grew them myself!" I said with a laugh, because what else are you supposed to say in that situation?
His hand slid under my shirt.
"Is this OK?" He asked, keeping his hand on my stomach.
I nodded. It was more than OK. I'd been dying to do more than kiss him every night we'd been together. But, again, just like with Brady, karma was coming back to bite me in the ungroped ass. I realized from then on out I was destined to only date prude guys.
He kissed me harder as he let his fingers trail over my bra. His other hand slid to the back of my neck, and then up into the back of my hair. He gathered my hair in his hand and pulled back on it as he kissed me. Shit. He found my weakness.
I pulled away.
"Umm, I have to go," I said with a shaky voice.
"You can stay, if you want to." He said as he kissed me again and tangled my hair into his fist. Oh man, did I want to stay. Every cell in my body wanted to stay. But I knew this wouldn't lead anywhere but second base, and I couldn't handle the torture.
"You know I'd love to, but I have to get up early. I should go."
"If you say so," he said with a smile. He knew he was teasing me. Jerk.
He walked me to the door and then backed me up against the wall to kiss me again. I let him. I couldn't resist an Addam kiss. But then I forced myself out the door and into my car.
I locked the car door once I was inside so I wouldn't be tempted to crawl back out, back into his arms.
---
The first night he slept over at my place, I was lying on my side and he was spooned behind me. I was almost asleep when he whispered, "Whitney?"
"Hmm?" was what I was going for, but it probably sounded more like a snort-gasp because his voice caused a mini falling dream.
Then he held me tighter and whispered, "You're amazing."

22. Chills, They're Multiplying

We both stood facing the mirror in his bathroom, competing for sink space as we brushed our teeth. He hipchecked me and laughed as I nearly punctured my tonsil with my toothbrush. Clearly he had no idea he'd almost cockblocked himself. He was fresh out of the shower, wearing nothing but a pair of basketball shorts. Guys are so sexy when they get out of the shower. It's like their mommies never taught them how to dry off properly, so their skin shines with a slick layer of clean and tiny water droplets cling to the ends of their hair. Brady was no different.
My head was fuzzy and I hadn't yet regained the feeling in my lips. I looked at his reflection, letting my eyes wander down to those inner-hip indentations I loved so much. I don't know what my obsession was with those indentations, but whenever I saw really defined ones I couldn't help but want to run my tongue across it, even if I'm not attracted to the guy. (It's weird, I know.) But I was attracted to Brady.
I tried to remember what he looked like without his shorts. I'd seen him fully naked a few times back in our college days, but that was years ago, so I had a hard time conjuring up an image. He bent over to spit. Then I remembered what I loved most about a naked Brady: He had the most perfect butt. Usually I don't like butts. I think they're gross. That, and the upper thigh area, all pale and hairy. No, thanks. If men lacked asses and upper thighs, I'd be perfectly happy. But I'd want Brady to keep his ass.
He caught me assessing him from behind and gave me a knowing smile.
"You brush your teeth for too long."
I shrugged and kept brushing, going back to my memories of our sleepovers. Everyone always told me I brush my teeth too long. I don't mean to, but that's when I get a lot of my best thinking done.
He smacked my ass and headed toward the bed.
"You coming?"
I nodded, afraid if I tried to talk I'd drool toothpaste foam all down my chin and make him regret asking me.
Suddenly, I was overcome with nerves. Was I sobering up or something? My heart started beating too fast and my chest felt tight. I spit out the toothpaste to avoid choking.
I walked over to the bed on wobbly knees. He pat the empty spot next to him.
At this point I wasn't sure if we were sharing the bed as good ol' pals or as good ol pals with benefits. Considering the amount of tequila involved, I hoped for the latter.
Either way, I still follow the no-demin-in-bed policy, even when I'm at someone else's place. So I unbuttoned my pants and tried to pull them off without any grunting or heaving or having my hand slip off and punch myself in the face. Damn skinny jeans. Once I was free of them, I took the place next to him in bed. Both of us on our backs, our arms almost touching.
He reached up and turned off the light, and I immediately started shivering.
"Are you cold?"
"No."
I shake like crazy when I'm nervous or anticipating something. The thought of being half naked and drunk in bed with Brady had my teeth chattering so hard my jaw started to hurt.
He wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me against him. He was trying to warm me up, but he only made it worse because now I could feel his warm breath close to my ear.
"Are you OK? You don't feel cold." He said, he had his hand on my stomach, under my shirt.
"I told you, I'm not cold," I said through clenched teeth so I wouldn't bite my tongue. "I'm excited." (It sounded better than "nervous as shit.")
With that, he pressed his lips against mine. Softly at first, probably afraid I'd bite him. Then I remembered what Brady kisses were like. They were soft and sweet at first, no tongue, just lips against lips. I realized the feeling was back in my lips, but I still had a drunk buzz radiating through the rest of my body. My jaw relaxed and the chattering stopped. I tried to force the rest of my body to lie still, but as his hand slid from my stomach to my bra, a wave of shivers followed it.
He kissed me harder and my body calmed.
His fingers grazed the top of my bra. Then I remembered something else about Brady. He's a boob guy. He loves boobs. I was reminded of this as he rolled me on top of him and unsnapped my bra on the first try.
"Let's get rid of this, too," he said as he pulled my shirt up over my head. I let my bra slide off my shoulders and he tossed it to the side of the bed. Then he just lied there staring up at them while I stared down at him. He'd get the cutest look on his face whenever we'd mess around, almost like he'd just eating five bites too many of a pot brownie. Eyelids at half mast, mouth parted slightly. Maybe if I slapped him he'd come back to reality.
Brady and I had never had sex because I was a big ol' virgin (unless you want to count the time we played a quick game of "Just the Tip, Just for A Second, Just to See How it Feels," during which I learned that I never wanted to play again because it hurt like a BITCH). But sitting there on top of him with his hands grasping my boobs, my body full of tequila and raging hormones, I wondered if we'd play the game again. Only for longer than a second (hopefully).


We didn't.