“Marcus is the closest you’ve come to having feelings for someone, I take it?”
She nodded. “Yeah, that’s true enough.”
“True enough?”
“True enough for the purposes of this conversation.”
“Meaning, that’s a dead-end line of questioning, where I’m concerned.”
She sighed, took my hat off, set it on my head, and scrubbed her hands in her hair. “I need a shower, dammit.” A huff. “Fuck, fine. So, there was Jimmy Nawrocki. I had a major crush on him, my sophomore year at U-Conn. Huge crush. Mainly sexual infatuation, and that only got worse when we…well, we spent a week in a hotel together between semesters.”
I laughed. “A whole week? Damn.”
She smirked. “It was a good week.”
“I’ll bet.”
“What’s your record?”
“Record for what?”
She bumped me with her hip. “Longest sex marathon. Not a single session, but most number of back-to-back sessions with the same person without leaving.”
I hummed. “Without leaving? That’s tricky. I’d say Helen, because basically we hooked up every moment we were together, stopping only to eat, sleep, and go to the bathroom, and that was a week. But she had to go to work, so that eliminates her based on your criteria.” I shrugged. “Probably it’d be Britt. She performed before me, I went immediately after her, and we hung out, partied, and had fun with other acts most of the night. Ended up at her hotel, and stayed up for…god, nearly three days I guess, essentially just having sex or waiting for me to get hard again. Passed out for twelve hours, woke up, got room service, did another almost three days straight, drinking and fucking. It only ended because we both had gigs.”
“So, I’ve got you beat on total time, but you’ve got me beat on longest amount of time without sleeping between.” She laughed. “‘All right, we’ll call it a draw.’” She said this in a bad English accent.
I smirked at her. “You quoting Monty Python at me now?”
“Nick, that friend with benefits I told you about. That was his favorite movie. We watched it at least once every time we hooked up. I can quote the whole thing.”
“So.”
She snapped her fingers. “Didn’t work? Damn.”
“Not gonna distract me that easily.”
She sidled closer; turned to face me at an angle, pressing her breasts against me. “How about this?”
“Why don’t you have sex without a condom, Lex?”
She frowned, but didn’t pull away. “Obvious reasons—infections and pregnancy.”
“And?”
A shrug. “It’s too…personal. Too intimate.”
I nodded. “I get that.” Slid my arm around her waist. “How’s this tie into what happened in the closet?”
She bit her lower lip, heaving a deep breath—and what that did to her cleavage did threaten to distract me. “You were bare, and it felt good. Too good.”
“And?”
Another sigh. Damnable swelling cleavage stole my gaze from the deep lush brown of her eyes. “And then, when you were coming, I had this…I don’t know. Vision, maybe. It felt like a memory, but it wasn’t real, it obviously hasn’t happened, but it felt like it. I don’t know. It was fucking weird, is what it was.”
“What did you see?”
“Us,” she whispered.
