Love Expectations (Season 1 of Nata and Phillip's Romance) ✔️

6. 'The only virgin thing about you'

Phillip

The party is winding down, but there's one more person I must meet before I leave. I spot the Dean in the middle of the thinning crowd of fellow alumni and their plus ones.

"We can't only show them the academic route," the silver-haired man I don't recognize gesticulates widely in apparent displeasure with Dean Kaas.

The Dean throws me a look I interpret as a plea to give him a minute as he finishes what sounds like an unpleasant conversation. I motion to the bar and let the man do his job. Placating people is rarely fun, but something I know a lot about. Tends to take time. If I weren't driving, I'd get a Romos Gin Fizz from the open bar. But I'm still on duty. Alcohol and clear head don't mix. I hail the bartender. "Virgin Cucumber Gimlet."

"That drink is better be the only virgin thing about you." A sporty blonde with a face that reminds me of Chester's wife sets her cocktail next to mine. Definitely not virgin.

Company wasn't part of my plan tonight, but my overreaction on the rooftop might be the indication I needed that my short stay in Chicago could be a perfect opportunity to break my dry spell before I fly back to New York. I bite my lip and check as much of her body as I can see without moving my head.

She catches me in the act and brushes my elbow with hers in what could be mistaken for an accidental touch. "Are you here alone?"

"Not anymore." I dole out a lazy grin that triggers her to lower her eyelashes and bite her lip. She's mirroring me. A classic move. Whatever she's interested in tonight, I'll deliver. Mutual benefits is what I'm all about. "Thank you for not letting me sit here by my lonesome."

"Glad to be of service"—she sets her hand on the sleeve of my shirt—"Mr. Van der Heuvel."

She knows who I am and what I'm about. My reputation is well-earned, ever since I was fifteen and onto my third girlfriend. Conquering women has been the easiest way to validate I'm exceeding everyone's expectations.

"So am I," I say in my flirtiest tone. "So am I."

Or at least I should be. This beautiful's woman's interest in making my bed warmer tonight was so easy to achieve. My breaths are even. My heartbeat normal. I peek at the Dean, still chatting with the same man. If I remember correctly there's a decent restroom on the other side of the building that has a lock. No need to involve beds.

Maybe that'll wake me up more than the liquid death by sugar Nata insisted on calling a coffee. Tomorrow morning, I'll text her about our meetup at an appropriate time for an old friend to reach out without appearing overzealous. A spot behind my ribs fizzes as I imagine her narrowing eyes and some sarcastic remark about me sticking with tea again. My heart makes itself known, pulsing in the bottom of my throat.

Why am I more excited about coffee with Nata than whatever this interaction is going to lead to? Because Nata was a friend. And the woman whose soft finger is tracing phantom letters on the back of my hand is a stranger. I can't compare apples and oranges.

"You're an alumni as well?" I start up a conversation the details of which I will not remember by tomorrow morning. A bathroom quicky with a beautiful stranger and a long-overdue heart-to-heart with a long-lost friend are not comparable

My father stopped dating altogether and lived like a monk after Mom died. He said no other woman would ever fill her shoes. I could never understand that.

I didn't need anyone to fill Mom's shoes, but having a warm, supple body, someone who can't keep her hands off me, and who I can make cry out my name with the tip of my tongue or my fingers, is not about lacking a mother-figure in my life.