I stood up gracelessly, plopped down on the bed, and removed my shoes and socks.He moved the dishes over to Shanna’s side and put up the picnic basket.“…wow… a guy who makes me dinner, and cleans up…” I giggled as I stretched out on top of the covers.“Damn straight.”He started blowing out the tea lights.“…no… leave them… they’re pretty…”“Okay,” he agreed, but moved the ones on the floor over to the window ledge. Then he kicked off his clunky boots, pulled off his socks, and laid down next to me on the bed.The weight of his body next to mine sent another jolt through my lower extremities.“Turn over on your side,” he commanded me gently. “I want to spoon you.”“…oh…” I said, catching my breath. “…okay… but no forking…”He frowned. “Forking?”“…joke… sounds like…” and I silently mouthed ‘fucking.’He burst out laughing. “Okay – no ‘forking.’”“…okay…”I turned over onto my side and he snuggled up against me.Sweet baby Jesus.As soon as I felt him against me, I was wide awake, an

I grabbed a couple of Kleenexes and wiped off my hand and then his stomach and cock. I loved the weight of it lolling there in my hand, not fully erect, but still thick and long and beautiful.Then he pulled me down next to him on the bed and we kissed again. He pressed his body against mine, muscular and hot and slightly damp from where he had come. We lay there like that for four or five minutes, just kissing and making out and touching each other in the afterglow.But when I felt him growing hard again, pressing against my stomach… when I felt his hand travel down to my thighs and touch me on my lips… I put my hand against his and broke away.I shook my head ‘no.’He stared at me. “What’s wrong?”The buzz from the wine was gone. The flood of hormones had temporarily abated. And I wasn’t turned on enough – not yet, at least – to ignore what I was doing. Not a second time.“I can’t,” I whispered.“What’s wrong?” he repeated, more insistent this time.It was like I hadn’t been think

I know what you’re saying.Why did you leave him? Why didn’t you break up with Kevin?!WHY?!I’ve asked myself that every day for the last four years… but I always come back to the same answer.On one hand was the only boyfriend I’d ever had. I’d lost my virginity to him. He was the only guy I’d ever gone all the way with… and until those last few days in Athens, he was the only one I’d ever kissed. He’d liked me back when I wasn’t pretty. We had three and a half years of history, and an entire future planned. We were going to go to college together, then we were going to go to New York City, and then to exotic countries, and write and get married and see the world.On the other hand was the hottest guy I’d ever met. But I knew he was a womanizer. No matter what he said to me, no matter how much I wanted to believe him, there was this lingering fear that I was just another conquest. He had slept with dozens and dozens of women – used them up and then tossed them aside. Or at least ne

I was remembering all these things on the flight to LAX.I was replaying them all in my head as I got my bag from the luggage claim and hailed a taxi outside.And I was trembling with fear… and maybe something else… when the cabbie dropped me off outside of the hotel.It was a new place. Fancy shmancy. Called the Dubai.It looked like a fitting place for rock stars. Lamborghinis and Porsches out front… red velvet carpet… valets in white suits… a cavernous lobby of black and white marble trimmed with gold, trying hard to look like a fever dream out of 1001 Arabian Nights.I wheeled my crappy little rolling suitcase over to the front desk. A bellhop tried to take it from me, but I politely declined. Then I talked to the supermodel concierge about the cheapest room they had, which I’d only gotten because Rolling Stone was footing the bill and had to maintain appearances.I looked around the lobby, filled with men in Armani suits and women who had more silicone in them than body fat.Than

We walked out of the bar and through the lobby. I looked towards the bank of elevators passing by on our left. “Aren’t we going up?”“Yeah, but ours is over here,” he said, pointing past the check-in desk.“You have your own private elevator?”“Well, they didn’t build it just for me, you know.”“Where does it go?”He smirked at me. “The penthouse. We are rock stars, after all.”“The penthouse has its own private – ”“I haven’t seen you for four years, and you want to talk about elevators?” he teased me.“Fine,” I huffed. “What do you want to talk about?”He shrugged. “I dunno… you graduated, I’m assuming?”“Yes.”“Syracuse, wasn’t it?”Now it was my turn to be impressed. “Good memory.”“What else have you done?”“What do you mean?”“Like, what other big things have you written?”I thought he was making fun of me, so I said sarcastically, “The last Time magazine Person of the Year article.”He looked over at me, stunned. “What? Really?”I gave him a bitter look. “No, of course not. I d