Friendly Persuasion. Dawn Atkins
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place, Ross started rushing through the apartment picking up stuff.
“Don’t fuss on my account,” she said. She’d been to his place numerous times and he’d never batted an eye when she had to push stuff off the couch just to make a place to sit. His frantic cleanup now charmed her.
His furniture consisted of funky items he’d scored at yard sales and nostalgia shops, along with things he bought off friends who needed money. He had a fish tank made from an old-fashioned clear gas pump in one corner and a Roy Rogers lamp-end-table ensemble next to an orange Naugahyde sofa.
Only the art was decent—fabulous, actually. Art photography, original oils and several sculptures. His record albums—he collected vinyls of blues artists and had a mint condition turntable—were in orderly racks. Ross had taste, just no concern.
Cords from three video game controllers were tangled in the middle of the floor and the couch cushions were propped against the cocktail table—backrests for gamers, no doubt. “Mind if I put these back?” she asked, picking up a cushion.
“Be my guest. I’ll get us a couple beers.”
She sat down on the recushioned couch and thought about what she might be doing—having sex with Ross. She shivered.
She did want to learn to separate sex from love, and she’d been attracted to Ross from the day they met. She’d always envied the women who knew him as a sexual partner. Then there was the thrill of knowing he wanted her enough to plan ways to convince her to do it.
But what about their friendship?
Maybe being friends would make it easier, like he said. It would save time, get past all those awkward getting-to-know-you moments….
Was she losing her mind, thinking of sex with Ross as an efficiency measure? Maybe the ground rules would convince her. Or scare her off.
The hand she used to take the beer from Ross shook so badly that he put the bottle on the table, sat beside her and rubbed her cold fingers between his warm ones. “Don’t be nervous, Kara.” He looked into her eyes. His were velvet green with brown lace. Hazel, except sexier. “We’ll take it slow. Nice and slow.”
A shiver crawled up her spine. “How about those ground rules?” she said, extracting her hands to go for the notepad she kept in her purse.
“Let’s just talk, okay?” he said, taking away the pad and pen. “We’re friends, remember? Friends talk to each other.”
“Right.” She took a deep breath and blew it out.
“You’re blotching. You always blotch when you’re nervous.” He studied her a moment longer. “I do know you,” he said on a sigh, and thrust the pad at her. “Go ahead and write. You’ll jitter if you can’t.”
Relieved, she labeled the list Sex with Ross—Ground Rules. “Okay. Number one.” Before Ross could suggest something, she said, “Friendship first.”
“Absolutely,” Ross agreed. “Nothing gets in the way of that.”
She wrote it down. “How can we be sure?” She frowned.
“That’s rule number two,” he said. “The minute either of us feels weird, we quit. No questions asked, no harm, no foul.”
“Maybe that will work.” She wrote it down, then bit her lip.
“Rule number three,” Ross continued. “Stay focused on the goal.”
“Goal? I’ve never heard you use that word,” she said.
“Let’s say I’m motivated,” he said with a suggestive lift of his brow. “The goal is to show you how to have fun with sex.”
“But it can’t just be me. You have to have fun, too.”
“Oh, I’ll have fun. Don’t you worry about that.” He gave her that look again.
She shivered again.
“Next, this can’t interfere with dating other people,” Ross said. When she looked at him quizzically, he shrugged. “There’s a hottie I’m working on at LG Graphics.”
“And who could forget Lisa, the accountant with the high IQ from the Upside? You’re such a hound,” she chided. But then added, “Actually, that’s perfect. If I know you’re seeing other people, I couldn’t possibly get attached.” This just might work. “Number five is we have to be honest,” she said, writing the words BE HONEST in all caps. “No being polite just to please the other person.”
“And if we’re not sexually compatible, we quit. That’s number six, I guess.”
She stopped, her pencil in midair. “You think I’m boring, but I’m really not. The granny panties were only because—”
“Relax.” He chuckled. “I just mean sex is like dancing—sometimes your rhythms don’t match. No biggie.”
“I guess so.” She frowned, worried.
“I’m sure we’ll be fine. You’re hot, I’m hot, we’ll be hot together.” He winked. “Oh, and if there’s something you want me to do—sexually—you just say it and I’m there.”
“Okay, but nothing too racy.”
“Nothing you don’t want,” he said, but his eyes said, Or that I can’t talk you into.
She gulped. “I guess. But if it gets too, um, complicated, I can quit, no questions asked, right?”
“Rule number two, remember? No harm, no foul. Any more rules you can think of?”
“You’re positive about rule number one? Friendship first?”
“Absolutely. I couldn’t survive Siegel on the rampage without you keeping me from putting my foot in my mouth. Anything else?”
She pondered, taking a deep swallow of her beer. This was completely new territory for her, so she had no idea what rules she might desperately need at some point. “One more,” she said. “If we need a new rule at any time, we can add it.”
“Oh, God. The Queen of Revision appears. Now this feels like work.”
“Being flexible is a good thing,” she said.
“Mmm, I’ll say. I know a woman who can lift her ankles way up to her—”
“Stop it, you’re scaring me,” she said, slugging him. “I’m no contortionist, so don’t expect anything spectacular.”
“You might surprise yourself,” he said, low and sexy. “We might unleash a tigress.”
A nervous giggle erupted from her. “I’d settle for a sex kitten.”
“Oh, me, too. With sweet little claws that dig in just this side of pain.”
Her insides heated up. “Anyway, I guess that’s it,” she said. “Shall I read them back to you?”
“I got it,” he said, “and you do, too.”
“Okay, then.” She slid her notepad back in her purse. She’d make a copy for both of them later.
Then, there she was, sitting knee to knee with Ross, with nothing to do but look into those hot green eyes and wonder about the woman with her ankles up to her whatever. She grabbed her beer bottle to take a drink and banged it into her teeth. “Ouch.”
“Careful with that thing,” he said, taking the beer from her icy fingers and putting it beside his on the table. He extended his arm along the couch behind her and scooted closer. “All this talk has me in the mood. How about we get started?”
The only light in the room was the golden glow through the stretched rawhide on Ross’s Roy Rogers lamp. Romantic in an adolescent kind of way. And Ross smelled good, she noticed—clean and fresh with a sporty scent. He had such a sensuous