Page 165 of You've Got Hate Mail
Or maybe she was talking to herself.
Maybe she loves the way she orgasms.
Yeah.
That’s what she means.
She knows this isn’t forlove.
It’s friends with benefits. And she loves her friends.
Yep.
That’s my explanation.
29
SCREAM (LOUDER FOR BETTER REASONS)
Cricket
I am a disaster.
A happy, satisfied disaster, but still a disaster.
I told Heath I love him.
Twice.
During sex.
He didn’t say it back.
Not that I expected him to—we’re not dating, and honestly, how’s a guy supposed to believe a woman mid-orgasm?—but that insecurity and fear that I’ve had since never feeling like I measured up in childhood is lingering once again in my head and my heart.
Is he taking me out to dinner because he feels obligated?
Do women sayI love youduring sex with him often enough that he doesn’t think it’s a big deal?
Does he love me back but can’t say it because of his no-dating rule?
Right, Cricket. Right.
As if me sayingI love youduring sex is my biggest problem right now.
No, notproblem.
Obstacle.
Yeah. I have a bigger obstacle to overcome now.
“How many people are usually at this bar?” I ask Heath as he steers us into the town about ten minutes from the winery. The street is lined with quaint buildings—some stucco, some pink, some brick, some stone.
It’s like Makepeace, except with wooden sidewalks and more buildings and more cars and more people. We can’t see the rolling hills and the gentle mountains that I’ve become accustomed to seeing every day. Not here in Foxwood.
“Fewer the earlier we get here,” he replies. “Gets crowded by about seven.”
It’s five fifteen.
