smiled into the dark.
“I’ll tell you what, Max,” I said. “I particularly love House of the Dead, not to mention Time Crisis Two, but I’m also fond
of the old school. I can Tron, I can Mario. And if you really want to see something, then get me to an air hockey table.”
“Then I’ll tell
you
what, B.” Max sat up and reached over me for a glass of water. The little hairs on his chest tickled my arm. “I’ve got five
dollars that says I could kick your ass in air hockey.”
I scoffed. “You may as well give it to me now.”
“And why is that?”
“I was the air hockey interstate trimural champion for fifteen years in a row.”
“Pac Ten, huh?” he said, and he laughed.
For some reason, I wanted to hear him sleep. I lay perfectly still and waited for his breathing to get slow, low, and deep,
and when it did, it made me happy to the point of giddiness. Something about how he seemed so relaxed. So mine. So right there.
There’s so much there, there,
I thought. And this made sense to me. It really did.
CHAPTER
5
I love Duran Duran. They’re so eighties and weird and if Max knew I’d die. But I couldn’t help driving in my car, thinking
about Max, and blasting that song “Save a Prayer” over and over. I mentioned this to Kiki, and she said, “Some people call
it a one-night stand, but we can call it paradise.”
Once I’d resigned myself to how old he was—make that, how old he
wasn’t
—I consoled myself with the fact that at least I had all the hand in the relationship. I’d tell the Story of Max in the coming
years, and it would be like he was my last hurrah. I’d talk about how I was getting up there and guys my age and up were starting
to get paunches and taking “recreational” Viagra. Or, even worse, they’d go buy a BMW, get a hip haircut, and start going
obsessively to the gym. Kiki once dated a twenty-nine-year-old television executive who would only eat boiled chicken for
breakfast (with a well-packed bowl of marijuana on the side) because he was on the high-protein diet. And what, this was acceptable
just because he was so rich he kept his chicken and his chronic stashed in his stainless-steel Sub-Zero fridge? So Max was
going to be my nonchicken guy. My fabulous young boyfriend who could have sex for hours and who wouldn’t get fat. There were
other forecasted benefits as well …
“He’s younger than you, so naturally, he’ll worship you,” Kiki said over beers at The Shortstop, sneaking a cigarette and
trying to keep the smoke away from Nina, who’d quit and was being very holier-than-thou about it.
Nina waved her hands around her face like she was warding off a mosquito, and added, “Yet he’s socially potty trained, owns
his own business, and should know a thing or two about how to act at parties.”
“I’m all for it,” chimed in Collin, looking over his shoulder at a girl in a sailor-striped top and mandarin jacket. “Is she
famous?”
Me, Kiki, Nina:
“No.”
“Yet,” Kiki added, turning back around, “because of his youth, he can’t
really
be as experienced as you …”
“But that’s positive,” interrupted Nina, “in that the women he’s
dated
couldn’t have been as smart as you or as successful as you, either. Or as good in bed.”
“He’ll be amazed by your fabulous connections and all the parties that you’re on the list for,” Collin volunteered. “Speaking
of which, I was wondering if you could get me into that Playboy Mansion party next week.”
“She can’t take
you,
” Kiki said. “She has to take Max. He’ll die when she says hello to Hef, shows him around the Grotto … It’s a real opportunity.”
Max’s age had been making me feel insecure, but while listening to my friends plotting away, I was suddenly swimming in vast
seas of self-confidence.
Yes, yes!
I thought. I could bring Max to the Playboy Mansion
and
introduce him to Hef because Steph was his event planner—he’d
“I’ll tell you what, Max,” I said. “I particularly love House of the Dead, not to mention Time Crisis Two, but I’m also fond
of the old school. I can Tron, I can Mario. And if you really want to see something, then get me to an air hockey table.”
“Then I’ll tell
you
what, B.” Max sat up and reached over me for a glass of water. The little hairs on his chest tickled my arm. “I’ve got five
dollars that says I could kick your ass in air hockey.”
I scoffed. “You may as well give it to me now.”
“And why is that?”
“I was the air hockey interstate trimural champion for fifteen years in a row.”
“Pac Ten, huh?” he said, and he laughed.
For some reason, I wanted to hear him sleep. I lay perfectly still and waited for his breathing to get slow, low, and deep,
and when it did, it made me happy to the point of giddiness. Something about how he seemed so relaxed. So mine. So right there.
There’s so much there, there,
I thought. And this made sense to me. It really did.
CHAPTER
5
I love Duran Duran. They’re so eighties and weird and if Max knew I’d die. But I couldn’t help driving in my car, thinking
about Max, and blasting that song “Save a Prayer” over and over. I mentioned this to Kiki, and she said, “Some people call
it a one-night stand, but we can call it paradise.”
Once I’d resigned myself to how old he was—make that, how old he
wasn’t
—I consoled myself with the fact that at least I had all the hand in the relationship. I’d tell the Story of Max in the coming
years, and it would be like he was my last hurrah. I’d talk about how I was getting up there and guys my age and up were starting
to get paunches and taking “recreational” Viagra. Or, even worse, they’d go buy a BMW, get a hip haircut, and start going
obsessively to the gym. Kiki once dated a twenty-nine-year-old television executive who would only eat boiled chicken for
breakfast (with a well-packed bowl of marijuana on the side) because he was on the high-protein diet. And what, this was acceptable
just because he was so rich he kept his chicken and his chronic stashed in his stainless-steel Sub-Zero fridge? So Max was
going to be my nonchicken guy. My fabulous young boyfriend who could have sex for hours and who wouldn’t get fat. There were
other forecasted benefits as well …
“He’s younger than you, so naturally, he’ll worship you,” Kiki said over beers at The Shortstop, sneaking a cigarette and
trying to keep the smoke away from Nina, who’d quit and was being very holier-than-thou about it.
Nina waved her hands around her face like she was warding off a mosquito, and added, “Yet he’s socially potty trained, owns
his own business, and should know a thing or two about how to act at parties.”
“I’m all for it,” chimed in Collin, looking over his shoulder at a girl in a sailor-striped top and mandarin jacket. “Is she
famous?”
Me, Kiki, Nina:
“No.”
“Yet,” Kiki added, turning back around, “because of his youth, he can’t
really
be as experienced as you …”
“But that’s positive,” interrupted Nina, “in that the women he’s
dated
couldn’t have been as smart as you or as successful as you, either. Or as good in bed.”
“He’ll be amazed by your fabulous connections and all the parties that you’re on the list for,” Collin volunteered. “Speaking
of which, I was wondering if you could get me into that Playboy Mansion party next week.”
“She can’t take
you,
” Kiki said. “She has to take Max. He’ll die when she says hello to Hef, shows him around the Grotto … It’s a real opportunity.”
Max’s age had been making me feel insecure, but while listening to my friends plotting away, I was suddenly swimming in vast
seas of self-confidence.
Yes, yes!
I thought. I could bring Max to the Playboy Mansion
and
introduce him to Hef because Steph was his event planner—he’d
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