Wet

She nods, lifts herself off the floor and reaches for my hand.

I wipe the sweat off my brow and close my eyes to keep the red room from spi

She places her hands on my shoulders and I immediately sense the teacher of small children in her as she speaks to me in a soothing voice. “It’s okay. It must be the absinthe. Here, lean forward and drop your head between your knees. Stay like that. I’m going to get you a glass of water and a cool cloth.”

I nod as I drop down and face the fabric of the couch. “Yeah, water please,” I mumble.

I hear her walk away and my mind races, trying to figure out what to do. I don’t want to hurt this girl’s feelings but she’s a whack-job. I’m half waiting for someone to pop out and say I’ve been pranked. My mother would lose her shit if she knew how much she missed the mark on this girl.

When she returns I slowly ease up and take sips of water while she studies me. I shake my head. “You know I really didn’t see any of this coming from our previous two dates.”

She nods with a solemn expression. “I know. I keep this side of myself very private. It’s precious and should only be shared with someone who appreciates it.”

“And that would be me?” I ask with my eyebrows scrunched together. I’ve never felt so freaked out by a woman.

“Yes, I’m certain it’s you.”

She leaves the room again and returns with a small fancy bottle filled with a clear liquid. Before I can ask about it she lowers herself to her knees again and offers me the bottle.

“This is holy water from Lourdes in France. Will you sprinkle it on me?”

I take the bottle and hold it up. It looks like tap water to me. “Are you sure this is holy water?” I wonder how many guys have sprinkled this stuff on her and then taken her virtual virginity or whatever the hell she called it.

“Yes.” She tips her head back like wants me to pour this over her head or something.

“Umm, Lourdes?”

She lowers her chin and looks at me. Her expression is so peaceful it’s creepy.

“I’m not sprinkling anything on you. I mean that’s really cool of you to resurrect your virginity and all that for me, but I think I have to pass.”

“What?” She frowns and looks so crestfallen that I have to imagine not a lot of dudes have turned her down. “I was so sure,” she whispers.

“But I’m not so sure.”

“Maybe we should just try.”

I hand her the bottle of water and stand up, sca

I’m almost to the front door when I turn back. “Actually, I’m super-duper sure, like one hundred percent sure, and I just remembered that I have a really early meeting tomorrow.”

“On Saturday?” she asks with a pout as she slowly stands up.

I nod. “Yeah, but thanks a lot for di

Her eyes narrow but I shoot out the door before she can do her voodoo stuff on me.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt as relieved as when I hear that click as I pull the door firmly shut behind me.

Chapter Seven

GET A LEG UP

In the gothic aftermath I try not to call Elle to vent. God knows I try, but the compulsion is stronger than my will. I need to hear her voice. I know it will ground me.

“Hey, Paul Junior. What’s shakin’?”

I let out a big sigh of relief remembering that not all women are scary.

“I’ve been dating.”

“Dating? You mean like with a girl?”

“Not a girl, a woman,” I huff.

“Oh yeah, sure . . . sorry. You know what I meant. I was just stu

“Maybe you’ve inspired me the way you just put yourself out there.”

There’s a long silence.

“What?” I ask.

“Well if I inspired you, why didn’t you ever take me on a date? Am I merely a conduit or something? I know, me and my filthy mouth represent everything you don’t want to have in a woman. Right?”

The fact that she’d be pissed off at my omission didn’t occur to me. As I try to figure out a pithy answer she jumps in.

She sighs. “So how was the date sex? Was it hot?”

“I didn’t sleep with her.”

“Seriously?”

“I’m serious.”

“Then what did you do? And don’t tell me you talked.”

I lean back in my chair and stretch out my legs. “Well we did. And we ate food. And we saw a movie.”

She chuckles. “Sounds freaking awesome. What did you see?”

My mind races but comes up empty. “I didn’t pay much attention. Some historical chick flick.”

“Did she at least give you a hand-job in the theater?”

“No. See . . . there goes that filthy mouth of yours.”

“What’s wrong with her? Has she even touched the anaconda?”

“Nope.”

“You know, I’ve got to say Paul . . . your street cred is going down the toilet.”

“Well, this girl’s . . . different. It’s kind of hard to explain. Hey, what are you doing?”

“Watching the game.”

“What game?”

“What else? My kick-ass Trojans and those wimpy UCLA Bruins. Some serious booty is getting kicked tonight!”

Oh, for God’s sake. This woman likes football? It’s almost more than I can take.

“Can I come over and watch with you? Is the Viking there?”

“The Viking?”

“Balding, beady-eyed Stephan.”

“Stop it with that! No, he’s not here. He’s on a business trip. Besides he’s only for sex. He probably doesn’t even watch football. He’s probably reading the Atlantic in his hotel and wondering about the future of urban pla

“And smoking a pipe,” I add.

“What? Mr. Clean would never smoke a pipe! That’s a dirty business.”

“Of course. I should have thought of that,” I agree. “So I can come over?”

“Sure. I’m wearing grubby sweats, but we’re just buds, so that’s cool. Right?”

“Yeah, very cool.”

I show up at her front door with a six-pack and I blink when she opens the door. Her hair is in a messy bun, she’s holding a bowl of popcorn, and her tight sweatpants have a hole in the knee, yet she’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.

“Hey, you,” she says, nodding her head to the right. “Come on in. It’s second quarter and my boys are up by ten.”

“You need to know that I’m UCLA all the way, baby.”

She almost drops the bowl of popcorn. “What the hell? You better be joking!”

“I’m not.” I pull open my jacket to reveal my UCLA T-shirt.

Huffing, she turns toward the den. She doesn’t even look back to see if I’m following her. Finally, she turns and makes a face at me. “Hey traitor, you coming or what?”

I grin and follow her down the hall. Once we settle in, she pretty much ignores me for the second quarter. She also yells at the TV a lot. This side of her is a revelation. I wish Dad were here, he’d be in heaven. None of our women-folk can stand football—even my butch sister, the firefighter.

To consume the beer I brought, I have to go to the kitchen and find a bottle opener all on my own but she seems to start to warm up when I open a bottle for her too.

At halftime she gets chatty. “So tell me about the girl.”

I take a long slow swig. “What do you want to know?”

“I’m of the female species, Paulie. I want to know everything. How’d you meet her?”

“Ma knows her from church. She teaches Sunday school.”

Elle practically spits up her beer. “You’re dating a Sunday school teacher? Does she know your background?”

I give her a stern look. “That’s irrelevant.”

She rolls her eyes. “She may not agree with you on that point, bucko. You were a total man-whore.”

“You know, you’re a little hard to figure out.”

She takes a sip of beer. “How so?”

“Well here you are this badass tomboy, Elle. And last week’s Tinder Elle was all sexy and provocative. And then I’ve also met apple pie, Elle . . . sweet as sugar.”

“Hmmm,” she says.

“So which one is the real Elle?”

The corners of her mouth slowly turn up. “All are! There are lots of sides of me and I like it that way.”