Love Potion #2. Margot Early
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noticed that he didn’t pick up the vial. It was empty but for any last drops that might remain. Abruptly, she laughed.
“What?” said Paul.
“You. You’re so afraid. Everybody in the world laughs at love potions and thinks they don’t work.” Though Cameron also believed in the efficacy of the potions, she didn’t find them to be a big deal.
“Everybody in the world didn’t grow up with two witches,” said Paul emphatically.
“It’s not even a love potion,” Cameron needled him, unable to resist. “Maybe you should see if there are a few drops in there for your emotional equilibrium.”
“I’m not the one bursting into tears over a—” He stopped.
Cameron’s eyebrows drew together. “A what?”
“He’s so—preening. He belongs on cable. With his girl curls, that Jim Morrison do. It’s hilarious.”
Cameron pursed her lips briefly at this unfair description of Graham. She was beginning to enjoy herself. “You sound jealous.”
“Of Graham Corbett?” To Paul’s dismay, his voice cracked.
Cameron picked up the vial and carried it over to the stove. “What if I just put the last drop in your tea?”
“I won’t drink it,” he said, shaking his head.
Cameron rolled her eyes and set the vial near the sink to rinse and reuse for an herbal tincture. A pity that such an attractive man—and Paul was downright handsome—should be hopeless as a mate for anyone. Not because of anything to do with his faith in love potions. Just because he was so determinedly unattached. Which was childish.
A little catch in her heart warned her, cautioned her. But she had nothing to fear from Paul. Not emotionally. Not in any way.
She vividly remembered four or so things about their Halloween encounter back in college. One—her own costume. Two—surprising tenderness, or maybe a tender surprise. Three—the glitter in his bed in the morning. Four—his announcing upon awakening that the sex would wreck their friendship. She knew that excuse was covered extensively in the useful book He’s Just Not That Into You. Because it was a lie. It meant, I don’t want to have sex with you again. Period.
Paul had rejected her. This permanently eliminated him from her pool of men with whom she might have an intimate relationship in the future.
As she was thinking this, he said, “You know what the Chinese remedy for lovesickness is?”
“What?” said Cameron without interest. There was no remedy.
“To make love with someone other than the object of your attraction.”
Cameron eyed him suspiciously. “You’re not propositioning me, are you?”
Paul hadn’t been. He had been trying to goad her as she was goading him about the love potion. As far as he knew, Cameron hadn’t been on a real date in years, and he’d been planning to suggest Sean Devlin as a possible choice. But now they’d entered murky waters. Possibly deep waters.
He didn’t know Cameron’s entire sexual history, but knew she’d done more than her share of fending off unwelcome advances on dates. He thought of her, in a brief unspoken second, more like a breath, of someone innocent and vulnerable, the girl he used to surf with, kick Hacky Sack with, toss a Frisbee with. One night she’d been in his bed, full-breasted, so sexual, so different. Now, suddenly, she was both those things. And he felt protective toward her.
He tried to answer and couldn’t. Sleeping with Cameron… He liked the idea and also thought it was a mistake, not part of his plans. But he felt a curiosity, curiosity about who she was now, what they might be together. And his mouth said, “It’s an idea.”
Cameron almost gasped with the shock of it.
It was unthinkable.
She and Paul were friends, just friends. In any case, she liked sex, but she wasn’t much into the sport of it, and what he was suggesting sounded like sport. Suppose she did it, would this Chinese cure work? She wasn’t in any danger of falling in love with Paul.
A shudder swept over her with her next thought, a thought she tried to suppress.
Cameron was terrified of pregnancy. There were good reasons for this, several. And she knew her fear was irrational. But it was a fear that had many times made her decide not to go home with someone she might otherwise have accepted. Which was crazy. Birth control did work. And she and Paul would use condoms. It would be fine.
That’s always what you think, Cameron, and then the next day you freak out.
But it was nonsense. She’d talked about it in therapy. She could handle that fear. Because it wasn’t rational, and she was a very rational woman. Which left only the question of sex as sport. “I’m not the kind of woman who does things like that,” she said emphatically. She took honey from the cupboard, leaving the door open.
Paul noticed that she had considered.
She said, “Want some toast?”
“Sure. Things like what?”
“Casual sex.” She popped two slices of rye bread into the toaster.
“I wasn’t thinking casual,” Paul said. Though he’d accepted his share of invitations from eager women, the idea of “friends with benefits” slightly offended him. Sex was sex, friends were friends, lovers were rare. “More of a—” he sought for the right words, and found some he thought would appeal to her pro-therapy, talk-everything-through outlook “—healing experience.”
“Like last time,” she couldn’t stop herself from saying, “when you rejected me in the morning? I haven’t forgotten, you know.”
“Rejected you?” He frowned, eyebrows drawing together.
“You said it would ruin our friendship or something like that.”
Paul considered. “I do kind of remember that.” What had been in his head? he wondered now. Probably his inherent dislike of denigrating friends to “friends with benefits.” But why hadn’t he wanted more with Cameron, a real relationship? At the time, she would have made an excellent girlfriend.
Now, since the subject had come up, it was beginning to occur to him that he wanted to know Cameron as a lover. Again. He had some memories of the night they’d spent together, but they were mostly visual. “I think it would make you feel better,” he said, unable to keep from smiling. Feeling mischief sweep over him. “If it doesn’t work the first time, we’ll do it again. We’ll do it until we cure—” he found he couldn’t utter Graham Corbett’s name “—your affliction.”
“I’m not afflicted.” Spinning back toward the toaster, she banged into the open cabinet door and cried out. She swore, it hurt so much.
She heard Paul get up from the table and bit down tears.
He turned her around and said, “Let’s get you some ice. Looks like you’re going to have a shiner.”
“Great,” she gasped through the pain.
Spontaneously, he kissed the tip of her nose. But then his lips drifted to her cheek, down to her mouth.
At first, she did not respond, and he was about to move away when she began kissing him back.
He could smell the bread toasting, but he’d lost all interest in food.
She kissed him. She felt his mouth open slightly, and so did hers. She felt the tip of his tongue caress her lips. She whispered, “Okay.”
Paul let her body settle against his, touch everywhere, let her feel what was happening to him because of her. His mind spun, seeing the teenage tomboy she’d been, the vulnerable person she still was inside, the lover he didn’t really know.