Playing House--Chapter Two

Photo by Hannah Murrell on Unsplash

(Playing House is a previously published, full length novel. I’ve decided to post it here a chapter a week, free to anyone who wants to read it.)

Pierce had just taken a bite of his sub sandwich when he received a text from Ginny.

I like games that involve the mind, but I don't like mind games, so I'm going to be honest with you. I've never had sex. I'm tired of waiting for the right man and frustrated by first dates that lead nowhere. I don't want to sit across from you in a bar or a coffee shop and try to convince you that I'm someone you want to know. I'm asking for one time with a man who is willing to love my body even if he isn't in love with my mind. I want to experience the physical side of sex and not worry about whether or not you'll call me the next day. If you're interested in such an arrangement, get in touch.

Sex? That’s all she was after? He liked sex as much as the next guy, but he wasn’t interested in being used, even for that. This was more Steele’s kind of thing.

Pierce took a couple of bites of his sandwich and read Ginny’s message a second time. The part about finding someone to love her body even if he didn’t love her mind, made him wonder if she wasn't just frustrated with dating. He could relate. Was she looking for more?

Steele came in from the sales room and indicated the phone in Pierce’s hand with a nod, “Ginny?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you asked her out yet?”

“I was thinking about it, until she sent me a text, offering me her virginity.”

“Ha, that’s a good one.”

Pierce handed his phone to Steele. He watched his brother’s eyes widen.

“You weren’t kidding.”

“Nope.”

“I should have known you couldn't come up with something that good. You’re not that funny.”

Pierce waited, watching the wheels turn behind Steele’s eyes, knowing what was coming next.

“You know, she thinks you’re me. So really, I’m the one she made the offer to, not you.”

“And you’d be happy to give her what she wants?”

“Actually---no.” Steele handed the phone back.

“No?”

“I’m not interested.”

“Why not?”

“Most women don't even enjoy their first time, so it probably wouldn't be much fun. Besides, if she's waited this long, she probably has some hang-up about sex. Who wants to deal with that?”

“Maybe she's just tired of waiting for the right person.”

“If that’s the case she’ll be disappointed. A woman who’s waited this long won’t feel good about giving it up to a stranger.”

“You’re concerned about her feelings?”

Steele shrugged.

“When did you become Mr. Sensitive?”

“All I’m saying is that casual sex should be casual, as well as mutually satisfying and relatively void of stress. It sounds like this could get complicated.”

Pierce finished off his sandwich. It must have taken courage for her to make such an offer. How would it feel to have it rejected? “I’d feel bad telling her no.”

“Now who is being sensitive?”

“It’s only one time. It’s not going to hurt me to help her out.”

“You’re no good at one night stands. You always get attached and expect too much.”

“I bet she wants more than sex.”

“See what I mean? You’re already making it complicated.” 

The bell in the main room jingled. Steele started out the door but turned around, “It could be a scam. She might have sent that offer to a dozen other guys on the dating site, hoping to lure in gullible men and have her thug boyfriend beat them up and steal their wallets.”

Pierce read the text again. It was too carefully written to be from someone out to steal his wallet. He pictured Ginny’s smiling face, and the blue sweater she filled out so nicely. He’d never been with a virgin. Was Steele right that women didn’t enjoy their first time? What if he could make Ginny’s first time the exception? If he succeeded, he’d be doing a good deed, right?

Besides, it had been awhile.

****

On her hands and knees, Ginny scrubbed furiously at her kitchen floor while Passionate Ginny tried to convince Sensible Ginny that sending the text was a perfectly logical, rational thing to do. It was a simple route to achieving a goal. Ginny always achieved her goals. Well, almost always. Her plan to cut out all sugar and get super-model skinny hadn't happened--- not yet anyway. The marry Jason by twenty-five thing, wasn’t looking good either. 

After scrubbing every inch of the floor, Ginny got up, washed her hands and sat on the sofa.

She checked her phone and found a text from Steele.

Ginny, I sympathize with your situation. I understand the frustration of pointless first dates, and like you, I’m bored to death by meaningless conversation that leads nowhere, so I’ll get right to the point. I’m interested. Give me a call.

Call him? He expected her to call him? She was glad to be sitting down because the idea made her dizzy. Could she go through with this? After waiting all this time for no good reason, since Jason didn’t want her, didn’t she deserve to have her first time be with a sexy guy who looked like he knew what he was doing? 

The idea sent Ginny’s heart into overdrive, and her heart was a big part of her problem, but not in the romantic sense. She didn’t often have anxiety attacks, but when she did, they were frightening and memorable. Her heart would beat so fast she’d be sure death was imminent. Social anxiety is what the psychologist had suggested. Fear of rejection was a common problem. It was unpleasant, but not life-threatening. Sometimes she could control it with relaxation techniques.

Breathe in, breathe out. Slow, deep breaths. He’s not going to reject you. He said he’s interested, so quit being a chicken and call him right now.

Passionate Ginny took over. She dialed his number.

“Hello?”

Ginny’s mind went blank, completely blank.

“Ginny?”

She hung up and went back to slow, deep, calming breaths. Her phone rang. Steele, of course. There was no reason to panic. This was just a phone call. She wasn’t committing to anything. “Hi, sorry about that. I think my phone uh, hung up on us.”

“Your phone hung up?”

“Yes. It um, does that sometimes.” Breathe Ginny, breathe.

“Okay…”

Her mind remained frustratingly blank. She’d called him, so she should say something, but what?

“So uh, I was just wondering, did you send that message to anyone else?”

“No. It was a spur of the moment thing. I thought you might ask me out and I started imagining how it might go, the inevitable awkwardness of a first date, and the rest just came out.”

“You’re looking for a sure thing. I can relate. So much of dating is just people trying to say the right things to impress each other.”

“Exactly.” He understands. This is going well, don't hyperventilate.

“How about dinner tonight at the Rock Bottom Brewery, around seven?”

“That’s kind of late for dinner.”

“I’m working late tonight. We could just meet for drinks if you want.”

Her heart was thudding out of control. If she didn’t say yes quickly and agree to a time, Sensible Ginny would return, and it would be all over for Passionate Ginny. She’d remain a virgin forever.

“You still with me, Ginny?”

“Yes. I was just thinking.”

“Don’t do that. You’ll think yourself out of it.”

How did he know?

“What if this turns into one of those awkward first dates that I’m trying to avoid?”

“We could meet at my place instead of a restaurant.”

“Why your place and not mine?”

Are you nuts? How can you even consider inviting a strange man to your house for sex?

“If we’re at my house you get to choose when the date ends, no worrying that I might overstay my welcome.”

Sensible Ginny panicked and hit the end call button. She began counting her breaths, one two three. Her phone rang. Four five six. “Hi.”

“Phone hung up again?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“How about this, we meet at the restaurant, and if it feels right, you can come over afterward. If it doesn't, we end it there, no harm done.”

“Um…”

“I can give you what you want Ginny.”

The seductive tone of his voice sent a rush of heat all through her body. “Dinner, Rock Bottom at seven you said?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Ginny set down the phone.

You know this whole idea is crazy, dangerous, and wrong, right?

I went without sex for all these years while waiting for a man who doesn’t want me. I deserve this.

You know you’re not going to go through with it, so you might as well send him a text right now and let him know.

Or I can have dinner with him and just see how it goes.

Ginny proceeded to scrub invisible dirt from the bathroom. She dusted and vacuumed the main room. The mental argument continued, with each side sure they were in the right. She had no idea who would be winning when it came time to get in her car and go.

****

Already showered, shaved, and dressed in his best jeans and favorite shirt, Pierce scrubbed his hands one last time to remove as much of the grease as possible. When the effort proved fruitless, he trimmed his nails and used clippers to cut off the hangnails. He was trying to break his habit of tearing them, which made them bleed. He'd tried wearing gloves while he worked, but his hands would sweat and then break out in a rash, which was worse.

Is that all you want out of life—to go home every night with dirty hands and generic beer because you can’t afford better?

His father’s words, spoken a few days after Pierce had told his dad that he was going to trade school to be a mechanic, rather than attend the state university with Steele. They’d been in line at the grocery store, his dad buying wine for their graduation party. The guy in front of them had worn mechanic’s coveralls with his name on the front. He’d been fat and sloppy, covered in grease and buying a case of generic beer.

 Pierce suspected that he’d always be a disappointment to his father. Starting the business had been his idea. Now that it was becoming profitable, their dad gave Steele all the credit. Steele had majored in psychology and minored in marketing, and he understood people. He was a great salesman.

Pierce's dad may have been right about the grease-stained hands, but he was wrong about the beer. Pierce never bought the cheap crap. He could easily afford good beer.

When there was nothing more he could do for his hands, Pierce went into his bedroom to make sure everything was ready. He checked the contents of the cigar box on his nightstand to be sure that Steele hadn’t swiped his condoms again. The most annoying part of this was that Steele needed them more often than he did. Next, he stripped the sheets off his bed and put them in the hamper in the closet. Before he could remake the bed, his three-year-old nephew came in carrying his stuffed skunk under one arm.

“Hey, Runt.”

Caleb climbed onto the bed and held up his arms. “Flip me.”

Jumping on the bed was one of Caleb’s favorite indoor pastimes. Pierce spent the next five minutes helping his nephew work on his acrobatic act. When he stopped, Caleb screamed for more.

Pierce held him upside down and swung him back and forth like a pendulum as he walked into his sitting room. The basement had been partially finished when they bought the place two years ago. It was Pierce’s part of the house. There was a family room with a bar in the corner, a bedroom, and a bathroom. Upstairs were two bedrooms, a bathroom, the living room, and the kitchen/dining area which they shared. Sharing the mortgage meant more money to put into the business. It also made it easier for Pierce to help out with Caleb.

Steele came down the stairs. “You’re going for it?”

“Hel—I mean heck yeah.” Pierce had been working on his language ever since his nephew’s daycare provider had complained that Caleb was teaching the other kids to swear.

He set the boy right side up. Caleb tugged on his pant leg, begging to be swung some more. When Pierce didn’t oblige, he crawled underneath the coffee table and started telling his complaints to Mr. Stinky.

“How do you know Ginny isn’t playing you?”

“I don't. She did say that she only sent the message to me.”

“You mean me.”

“Whatever.”

“How did she seem on the phone?”

“A bit nervous,” Pierce admitted, thinking of Ginny’s accidental hang-ups. “But that's not surprising under the circumstances.”

Steele put his fingertips together and tilted his head to the left, a sure sign that he was about to say something he considered deep or insightful.

“Here it comes,” Pierce said.

“You know what they say about things that seem too good to be true,” Steele said.

“Now you sound like a mother.”

“But not our mother. She makes those things work for her.”

This was true. Their mother had married three more times after leaving their father, each husband more prosperous than the last. Her fourth husband had left her a wealthy widow. She now lived in a mansion in L.A. and had no intention of marrying again. Her current boyfriend was ten years younger than her, a professional masseuse, when he wasn’t auditioning for acting jobs.

“Assuming this is for real, there has to be a reason Ginny’s waited,” Steele said. “If she wanted to have sex she’d have done it a long time ago. I wonder what’s holding her back.”

Pierce shrugged, “I don't know.”

“By taking her to dinner, you're making this a date, which proves my theory that this is going to get complicated.” 

“Dinner isn't complicated. It's food. We're going to eat, get to know each other a little, come back here, have a drink, and then have sex. Nothing complicated about it.”

“Are you going to tell her that you’re not me?”

“If it’s only going to be a one -time thing, there’s no reason to. Explaining would be awkward.”

“Having sex while pretending to be me isn’t awkward?”

“I won’t be pretending anything. It’s just a name. Why, are you worried about your reputation?”

Steele laughed. “Good one. I guess it doesn't matter what name you use. It’s not likely to happen.”

“What makes you say that?”

Steele shrugged, “Just a feeling.”

“Well, I have a feeling that you’re wrong.”

“Yeah? How strong is your feeling? Willing to put fifty bucks on it?”

“Sure.”

“Fifty bucks says you don’t devirginize that girl.”

“Fifty bucks and the loser cleans the kitchen for a month,” Pierce said.

“Deal.”

****

What did women do to get ready for sex? Ginny had showered and carefully shaved her legs and bikini line. She was wearing a matching panty and bra set. The big question, of course, was what to wear over them? After trying on and discarding several outfits, she settled on navy Capris, her favorite sweater, light blue cashmere, and comfortable, slightly worn, gray flats. 

Ginny was halfway to the restaurant when she realized she’d been wearing this same sweater in the photo on the dating site. It was too late now to go home and change. Great, he was going to think she only owned one sweater.

Sensible Ginny began arguing with Passionate Ginny.

You don't know anything about this man. If you do this, you'll be putting your life in his hands.

No, I'll be putting my body in his hands. I have a feeling those hands will feel amazing. 

You can’t do this.

I can do this. I am doing this. You can’t stop me.

Driving, rather than taking the bus, meant she had to search for a parking space. After driving around for ten minutes, she found one, three blocks from the restaurant. She walked fast and arrived three minutes early. They’d agreed to meet outside the entrance. Maybe he wouldn't show up.

It had been sunny most of the day, but now it started to sprinkle. Ginny wished she’d brought a rain jacket.

A motorcycle pulled up to the intersection.

The rider, face obscured by a helmet, wore a motorcycle jacket, black boots, and dark blue jeans. Steele? Her heart started pounding. She felt a sudden urge to hide. The light changed. He went around the corner, right past her. If it were Steele, he'd be looking for a parking spot.

Ginny paced in front of the restaurant. Finally, she saw him, helmet under one arm, walking toward her. He was even better looking in person. His dark hair was shorter than in his photos and spiked. He had a neatly trimmed beard. As he got closer, Ginny felt her lower body react---with a sudden, intense, urgent need--- to pee.

Steele walked with an alpha male strut. He was nothing like Jason. She could see that already. This was probably a good thing. He would not be an inadequate imitation of her dream man. He’d be a whole different sub-species. Possibly a less evolved, somewhat primitive subspecies. This was exactly what she needed, according to Passionate Ginny.

“Hi.”

Ginny tried to respond. No words came out. Oh God, she was going to faint or pee or, or something, she didn’t know what.

“You could have waited inside.” He held out his hand, catching raindrops.

“I’m an Oregonian. I don't mind the rain.” It was her second lie of the day. She hated the rain.

His hand came to rest on her lower back. “Ready to go in?”

The heat of his hand penetrated her sweater, spreading upward to her face and downward to unmentionable places. Somehow, she managed to nod.

In the lobby, a group of people was already waiting. Steele spoke to the hostess and was told that it would be ten to fifteen minutes. Ginny needed to use the restroom but was determined to wait until they'd been seated.

He started to speak but seemed to change his mind. Ginny tried to think of something to say. Again, nothing came to her. She shuffled uncomfortably from one foot to the other. After a minute or two she couldn't wait any longer. “Excuse me for a minute. I have to go to the uh, restroom. I'll be right back.”

When she got back to the lobby, the attractive young hostess was giving Steele a hundred-watt smile. Her smile lost wattage when she saw Ginny.

They were led to a booth. The pressure was on. What were they going to talk about? Ginny's knee began to bounce. She noticed that Steele’s front teeth overlapped slightly, which was odd because she could have sworn that they were straight in his photo. His lower lip was fuller than the upper one. His hands were on the table. Ginny noticed that his cuticles were torn and there was grease deep in the creases and under his nails. “Are you a mechanic?”

He pulled his hands back and looked at his fingers. “No amount of scrubbing can get rid of the evidence.”

Evidence? The word made him sound guilty. “According to your profile you own a business.”

Ginny didn't hear the accusation in her voice, so much as she saw it reflected in his eyes.

“You think a mechanic can’t also own a business?”

She'd offended him. Wasn't this how it always went? When she liked a guy, she inevitably did or said something wrong. Or the anxiety would kick in, and it would be over before it began.

“I’m sorry if that didn’t come out right.” Ginny’s voice sounded squeaky to her own ears.

“No big deal.” He said quickly. “My brother and I own Vaughn Brother’s Bikes. We repair and sell motorcycles. I’d rather work with machines than people, so I do most of the repairing and St—he does most of the selling.”

“Oh. I think I've seen your place. It's next to a coffee shop, The Jittery Java.”

“My brother spends half his morning over there. I’ll never understand spending four bucks on a cup of coffee.” He picked up his menu.

Ginny did the same, taking a deep breath and attempting to relax her shoulders at the same time. His work must be a sensitive topic. She wouldn't mention it again.

The server arrived to take their drink order. Steele ordered a beer. Ginny said she’d stick with water.

“Just water?” he asked.

“I don't drink alcohol. I don't like the taste of diet soda, and the regular kind has too much sugar. I don't want to get cavities.”

“You worry about cavities?”

“Calories and cavities. Don't you worry about cavities?”

“No, never had one in my life.”

“Perfect teeth?”

“They're not perfect. They're crooked. Of course, that's my fault for not wearing my retainer.”

“I hated those things,” Ginny said, thinking she must have imagined that his teeth were perfect in the photos. “But I wore mine anyway. You must have been rebellious.”

“Yep. I bet you were a good kid. Got good grades and never got into trouble.”

“I skipped a class once.”

“Once?”

“I got caught, so I never did it again.”

He smiled.

The server arrived with their drinks and took their order. Ginny chose a salad with grilled chicken, dressing on the side. Steele ordered a steak.

“So why did you skip class and how did you get caught?”

“Jason, who was, and still is, my best friend, got into a big fight with his mom and he was so upset he was sick. I skipped class to be with him. I might have gotten away with it if I hadn’t written a fake note about a dentist appointment. The secretary called my mom.”

“Busted.”

He smiled, and her stomach did a little dance. Ginny quickly lowered her gaze. She focused on her water glass, holding it with both hands twisting it back and forth. “My mom said that if I'd told her what was going on, she would have excused me, but since I lied, I got Saturday detention.”

“I got detention for skipping all the time. I just didn't go.”

“Didn’t you get in bigger trouble?”

“Oh yeah. I was always in trouble back then.”

His hand moved across the table, catching the glass and stopping its constant movement.

Ginny released the glass and put her hands on her lap, heat filling her cheeks.

“Sorry, it was…”

“Annoying you,” Ginny said. “Sorry.”

The food arrived saving them both from further apologies.

Ginny had always found it difficult to eat when she was nervous. It wasn’t a problem with her stomach. The tricky part was getting the food onto her fork and keeping it there until it reached her mouth.

Steele wasn’t having any such difficulties. “How’s your salad?”

“It’s good.” Ginny stuck her fork into her salad and brought it to her lips. Half the lettuce fell back onto her plate. She quickly glanced at him, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

His eyes darted away, which she appreciated. 

When they were done eating, Ginny’s nervous energy began anew. Her knee bounced beneath the table. Her fingers strummed on the tabletop. He reached over and covered her hand.

“Sorry.”

“It wasn't bothering me. I was just…”

Holding her hand, that’s what he was doing. She turned her hand over, so they were palm to palm. She looked into his eyes and liked what she saw.

“What do you think, Ginny? Want to come back to my place?”

Ginny felt a sudden powerful reaction in her lower body, and this time it had nothing to do with her bladder. “Okay.”

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