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.

15. Accepted

"Look what that bitch did to my back!"
I looked up from unpacking my suitcase to see a 20-something-year-old girl come flying into the apartment, throw her purse onto the couch, and turn her back to Cole, lifting her shirt all the way up to her bra strap. I poked my head out the door to see if I could catch a glance. I wanted to know what the bitch did (not that I knew who the bitch was, or who this girl was in my new living room).
I saw a shiny red scrape, about 4 inches long and an inch or two wide, stretching across the right side of the middle of her back.
"What happened??" Cole asked as he bent down for a closer look.
"Well, I was in the middle of hooking up with John when his girlfriend busts in! She freaked out, pushed me off the loft, and knocked John out cold! I had to hide in the bathroom while she tried to bash the door in. That bitch is crazy!"
She noticed me standing in the doorway, an eager look on my face, waiting to hear more.
"Oh, hi." She said.
Cole laughed and said, "Whitney, this is Maleah, your new roommate. Maleah, meet Whitney."
"Oh, hey!" Maleah said. A big smile spread across her face.
Damn. She was gorgeous. I didn't want a gorgeous roommate (unless it happened to be male, and Maleah was definitely NOT male.) She was Puerto Rican, thin, tan, and had a funky style I knew I'd never be able to pull off. I wanted to hate her.
It was a three bedroom apartment, and I started to wonder about the third roommate. Would it be another beautiful girl I probably wouldn't get along with?
I got my answer later that night. I came home from a trip to Kmart for some necessities, and I heard the shower running. I assumed it was Maleah because Cole had already headed a few doors down to his new apartment. I was hanging my shoe rack on my door when I saw movement in the living room. I swung my door open and saw a startled half naked man standing in the living room. He was only wearing a towel, and his smooth, muscular body had that fresh-out-of-the-shower glisten. I wanted to reach out and touch him. His dark brown hair was cut close, and his big brown eyes looked at me in complete confusion.
"You must be my third roommate," I said, stepping into the living room and holding my hand out to him.
"Oh, so you're in Cole's room? I'm Tristan." I was surprised to hear such a thick French accent come out of his mouth. He let go of his towel to shake my hand. I tried to use mind powers to make the towel drop to the floor. No such luck.
As he walked into his room I snuck a glance at his backside. The towel was stretched tight against his perfect ass. Life was good.
Maleah and I became instant best friends. We spent our Saturday nights clubbing at NYC hot spots and our Sundays recovering over brunch and nine cups of coffee each at Wai or Yaffa Cafe. She introduced me to all of her friends, and everyone accepted me without a second thought.

I don't think Tristan liked to wear clothes, because nine times out of 10 he was only in a towel. Not that I'm complaining.
Two weeks after I moved in, we acquired a third roommate. The day he moved in he asked if I could do his makeup and if he could borrow my heels.
There was nothing like NYC. Was I really ready to leave it for a better job in Texas?

11. No regrets

Cayden knows the Casey story. He actually just read it all again, in that last post. Yes, Cayden reads this blog. So does Casey. It's a little hard writing about these things sometimes, knowing that they now know what was going through my head at the time. Cayden can't stand the thought of me being with someone like Casey in the past. Casey can't stand that I was with someone like him in the past. But really, I can't say I have any regrets about it. I mean, sure, no one wants to date a woman beater, but that experience added a layer to me that I didn't have before. It's part of what plays into who I am today.
The first time I told Cayden that story, it was that night on the roof, before the base running. I know what you're thinking, "You talked about your abusive 'ex' on your first date?!!" Yes. I did. We talked about everything that night. And it didn't feel weird. Usually when I'm out on a date with a guy and he even brings up a past relationship, red flag no doubt about it. But that night wasn't like a first date. It was like a first, second, third. It was like talking to someone I'd been talking to for months and months. And when he left, those discussions only intensified. That's the funny thing about long-distance relationships: The physical aspect is completely removed, so all you can do is talk. People say sex changes everything. They couldn't be more right. If we lived in the same state, we'd make out instead of date, have sex instead of talk. But what I had with Cayden was completely different. He knew me better than I anyone else. I didn't even talk to my mom as much as I talked to Cayden. And if you know me, you know that's saying a lot.
After a month or so, Cayden started talking about flying back out here to visit me. He wanted to come here in December. He wanted me to think of all the romantic things people do in NYC, so we could do them together. Before this particular email, the romantic things in NYC made me want to vom. Ice skating in Bryant Park? A carriage ride through Central Park? None of this appealed to me. But when I thought about doing these things with Cayden, my gag reflex calmed.
I was still dating Jon, but losing interest as the days passed. We hung out less and less. I ignored his calls now and then. I tried to picture myself ice skating with Jon. My stomach turned. Romance with Jon, or any other guy I'd dated for that matter, made me queasy. Will (my best friend turned boyfriend in college) was a romantic. He'd bring me flowers on a date. Write me sweet notes in a Valentines card. One day, I had stayed the night and we decided to take a shower together at his place. This took a lot of convincing, because bathroom lights are harsh, and being fully naked in front of someone under such bright lights almost caused an anxiety attack. I wanted to jump in before him, lather up in soap, and then invite him in. He turned on the dim light. Being the romantic that he was, he lit an incense and had lavender-scented body wash waiting for me. I knew he had put a lot of thought into this, and I appreciated the detail. But when I was in the shower, he was lathering me up, it suddenly felt so hot. The water was too hot. Knowing he was in there as well made it too hot. I felt like the incense was burning everything around me. Was I on fire? I suddenly felt like I was going to pass out.
"Sorry, I need a second."
I stepped out of the shower and sat on the toilet, bar- ass naked, closed my eyes and put my head between my knees. Don't pass out. Don't pass out. The smell of the incense burned my nostrils. I remember being so frustrated with myself that I couldn't fully enjoy his passionate gestures. Other girls would kill for this. Will was someone who would do anything for me. Before we were even together he'd take care of me if I was sick, take me to the doctor, then go fill my prescription. He was just the absolute sweetest guy. To this day I know I'll never meet someone as caring and giving as Will. He was perfect, but not for me. We broke up a year and a half ago, and he found his perfect match. He's blissfully happy, and I can't explain how happy that makes me.
But when I think about these things with Cayden, it's different. I could easily see myself ice skating with him, even if that meant falling on the ice and permanently bruising my tailbone, as long as we could laugh about it over hot chocolate afterwards.
My days became consumed with researching romantic things to do in NYC. I knew for sure that I wanted to take him to Aqua Santa, this beautiful Italian restaurant with the perfect outdoor patio. It was a few blocks away from my apartment in Brooklyn, and it was perfect. There was a fireplace outside, and twinkle lights and (probably fake) grapevines lined the ceiling. The chairs and tables looked antique, white iron with teal cushions. I couldn't think of anything but being in front of that fireplace with Cayden, sipping red wine under the twinkle lights, talking about life.
And then take a shower with him.