Sex Snob (3 page)

“Shane, I did them perfectly.
Don’t touch my bar,” I warned.

But he didn’t stop.
He pulled a ten pound weight off of one side and then headed for the other. “I’m in charge here, Amanda." He overly enunciated my name, clearly mocking me. “If I say it’s too much, it’s too much.”

I didn’t have the breath to keep arguing with him and continue my jumps, so I grumbled a “Fuck you,” and kept going.

“And square your hips at the top,” he added.

“Get off my ass and go bother someone else,” I hissed at him as I moved back to my open space for my second round of burpees.

“I would get off your ass
if it weren’t the size of a continent. Now, either do the movements correctly or hit the road. I can’t have you being reckless in here.” He stared at me for a minute, challenging me to continue arguing with him.

His words stung me, though I’d never show it.
I just looked back at him briefly before setting my jaw and saying, “Just go away, Shane.” I think his face had softened
slightly, but I didn’t look at him long enough to be sure. Instead, I averted my eyes and focused on finishing the workout and getting the fuck out of there.

The
twenty-five minutes seemed interminable, but finally, Kate called time and everyone collapsed to the ground. Everyone except me. I paced like a wild animal. Kate called everyone’s name to record how many rounds they had completed.

“Amanda?” she called.

“Five plus thirty-five,” I replied, signaling that I had completed five full rounds, plus twenty burpees and fifteen thrusters. I kept my eyes on the floor as I continued to pace.

Once she had called everyone’s name, I took apart my bar, returning everything to its rightful place, dropped my crate against the wall, and bolted toward my cubby to get my keys.
I bent down, grabbed them, and turned as I stood. But as I came up, I ran smack into someone, knocking me off balance. Two strong hands reached out and grabbed my arms, steadying me. I looked up.

Fuck my life.

“Sorry,” I muttered to Shane as I started around him before he could unleash a comment about how clumsy I was. But he didn’t release me. His thumbs brushed the skin on my biceps gently. I looked down at his hands, then back up to his hypnotic blue eyes and found myself briefly lost in them. I felt a crackle of electricity at our touch, unlike any feeling I’d ever experienced between us before.

An “Excuse me” from another CrossFit member broke me from my trance. Pulling away from Shane abruptly, I side-stepped him and started for the exit. Who does he think he is?

“Hey, wait, Amanda,” he uttered softly.

I stopped and took a deep breath before turning around and looking at him with the largest amount of hate in my eyes that I could muster.

“Uh,” he ran a hand through his short, rumpled
hair. He was clearly uncomfortable and I momentarily wondered why, before I reminded myself that I didn’t give a shit. I looked at him expectantly. “Uh, nice job today,” he finished.

I scoffed.
“Thanks,” I said sardonically as I whipped around and stormed out of the building.

***

I felt the tension radiating throughout my entire body. And anger. There was definitely anger. Though that anger was mostly directed at myself.
Why did I let myself become so affected by Shane’s comment?
“Stupid,” I growled through gritted teeth, smacking my palm on my steering wheel.

Because I had reacted like such a baby, he had taken pity on me and given me that lame
compliment and placating touch. I blew out a long breath. Though I had to admit Shane’s hands didn’t exactly feel unwelcome, this was not the kind of shit I needed in my head right now.
But I know what I do need.
I quickly changed lanes and hung a sharp left. I needed Kyle.

***

I pulled into the driveway of Kyle’s condo. His car wasn’t there; he must have still been at work. I glanced at the clock on my dashboard: 7:15. “Overachiever,” I mumbled as I grabbed my workout bag and headed for the front door.

I sifted through the keys on my key ring, quickly selecting the right one.
It was easy to pick out Kyle’s. When he had it made for me, he chose a key that had a picture of a giant cat on it. He handed it to me, and I looked at him, confused. I hated cats. So, he offered an explanation that was truly heartwarming, “If you keep fucking around, you’re going to end up like one of those people on
Hoarders
who has fifty cats roaming around your house and shitting everywhere.”
Such a sweetheart.
             

I had met Kyle about three years ago at a local bar.
I was immediately drawn to him. His hazel eyes were known to change colors in different lighting. That night they were deep brown with twinkling specks of bright green. And I could feel them latch onto me from across the bar. In return, my own eyes studied him from head to toe. His tall frame easily towered over me, and with his dark hair clipped neatly on the sides and gelled up slightly longer on the top, he reminded me of Superman. I
had
to talk to him.

We struck up a conversation and, after asking what he did for a living to ensure that he met Rule Number 2:
only date men who are as financially successful as I am, we headed back to his place. God, he is a
great
lay.
We tried dating for a while, but we weren’t compatible as a couple. We’re both too . . . wild.
But the sex was too good to walk away from, so we stayed friends and continue to have sex as long as neither of us is in a serious relationship.

I walked into Kyle’s foyer, dropped my keys on a table by the door and started down the hall toward the kitchen.
Despite the fact that I had been here probably over a hundred times, I was always surprised by the place. Kyle put no effort into his house at all. The walls were all white, his kitchen still had the original linoleum it was built with twenty-five years ago, and his cabinets were worn.
He’s a lawyer for chrissakes. Can’t he do better than this? I know I make over $80,000 and live in a two-bedroom apartment with a roommate, so I have no room to judge, but I like the company and at least my apartment has some decorative flair. Plus, ever since Lily got back from Europe after her horrible guy problems last spring, we’ve been closer than ever.

I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and headed upstairs to take a shower. I picked up my phone on the way and shot a text to Kyle:

Hey, I’m at your place, so don’t bring any skanks home :)

I walked into his bedroom and opened
his drawers, pulling a pair of mesh shorts and a T-shirt out. The shorts were too long, since Kyle was about 6'2, but his clothes always fit well enough otherwise, thanks to his lanky runner's build. I kept telling myself that I should stash some clothes here so that I didn’t always have to steal his, but that seemed weird. You didn’t keep clothes at your best friend’s/fuck buddy’s house.
Did you?

Leaning
into his walk-in shower in his master bathroom, I turned the knob all the way to the right so the hot water would steam up the room. I began to undress, when I caught sight of myself in the mirror. I sighed and stepped closer, placing my palms on the vanity and leaning on them. Staring intently at myself, I tried to understand what had happened tonight. I didn’t even like Shane. Why had his comment upset me so much?

The reality was that, even though I have a ton of self-confidence, no girl likes to hear negative comments about her body from any guy, let alone a hot one. He had made me feel self-conscious.
And I was never self-conscious. Was it because he was so gorgeous? No, that couldn’t be it. Zach had been gorgeous and I couldn't have given a fuck less what
he
thought of me. What did it matter what Shane thought? I couldn’t deny that the longer I knew him, the more his snipes bothered me. I just couldn’t help it.

I stared into my eyes, trying to find the answer to
my question, but the steam overtook the mirror before I reached any conclusions. Turning brusquely, I walked toward the shower, spun the knob to cool the water slightly, and stepped inside.

As the water cascaded over me, an unwelcome thought popped into my head.
Only one other person had ever made me feel self-conscious:
Nate.

I scrubbed my hands over my face trying to wipe the thoughts away, but they wouldn’t budge.
Nate was the best and worst thing to ever happen to me. He was why I had my rules.

I had met Nate right out of college.
He was ruggedly handsome, with black hair that he kept buzzed short, honey colored eyes, and perpetually tanned skin. He had played football in college, so he had the lithe, muscular build of a wide receiver. I fell for him immediately.

We did everything together in the beginning.
I didn’t feel whole if I wasn’t with Nate, and he seemed to feel the same way. We began working, and life started falling into place. I had done an internship my senior year with an accounting firm in the city, and they had hired me on after graduation. I busted my ass, and it didn’t go unnoticed. After about a year, I was entrusted with some larger clients and I rose to the challenge. My salary increased exponentially and I was making $60,000 a year by my second year with the firm.

Unfortunately,
Nate’s employment wasn’t quite as thrilling. He had majored in business, but had never done any internships because he was so focused on football. So, he graduated with no experience and no connections. He finally landed an entry-level position at an insurance company. When he took the job, I had encouraged him, saying that if he put in the time and effort, he would build up a solid resume and he could get in somewhere else. He was spurred on by this and worked hard. At first.

A year later, we decided to move in together.
It seemed the next logical step. By this point, we had been dating for a year, then we’d live together, hopefully get engaged soon after, and finally live happily ever after. I had been really naive.

It didn’t take long for Nate to become resentful.
He could barely pay his half of the bills, so I took more of them on. I told him I didn’t mind, and it was the truth. But he did. He grew sullen and withdrawn around me. He rarely took me out, always saying that he didn’t have the money. I offered to pay a few times, but stopped
when he stormed out one night after berating me for an hour, telling me that he didn’t need another mother to take care of him and that I rubbed my success in his face.

We lasted two more months.
Then, I came home one day to find all of his shit gone (and some of mine) and a note:

I can’t pretend that I love you anymore. Sorry.

That broke me. I questioned everything that had happened between us for the past year and a half. Had he ever loved me? If so, why had he stopped? Could I have prevented this? Been a better girlfriend? Was there something wrong with me? Was I not good enough?

Finally, after a truckload of soggy tissues, countless cartons of ice cream, some texts to Nate begging him to come back
(to which he never responded,
the asshole), and an intervention by some of my girlfriends, I realized that the issue wasn’t with me. Nate couldn’t handle that I made more money than he did. This was what eventually led me to adopting Rule Number 2. I refuse to date men who didn’t earn at least as much money as I do. It only causes problems.

So, once I got my emotions back in check, I hit the dating scene.
Hard. And as I got more sexually . . . experienced, I realized that Nate wasn’t all that good in bed, either. He was selfish. Hence, Rule Number 1. I could’ve spent my whole life with a guy whose idea of foreplay was telling me to get on top. That would’ve been utterly tragic.

I scrubbed shampoo into my hai
r as I thought about how far I’de come, but yet how much of my life is still affected by my relationship with Nate. It’s been nearly four years, and I still have wounds so deep it seems as though they may never completely heal. The thought is depressing. Which is why I didn't often think of it. I’d had enough depression for one lifetime.

I dipped under the showerhead in an attempt to drown my melancholy mood away.
And it actually did make me feel better, though not as good as it felt when Kyle slid into the shower behind me. I hadn’t even heard him, the stealthy bastard.

“How long have you been home?” I asked quietly, relaxing into his embrace as he wrapped his arms around my belly and bent his knees slightly so he could push
his erection into the meat of my ass.

“Five minutes.
Thanks for the heads up about the skanks. Things were almost super awkward,” he said, and I could feel his smile against my neck.

I elbowed him playfully. “Please.
You weren’t with skanks. You were still at work like the geek you are.”

“Did you just call me a geek?”

“Yup,” I stated confidently.

“I’m not sure ‘geek’ is the right noun to use when describing me,” he whispered into my ear as his strong hands lowered and his fingers found my clit.
“Try again.”