Brett lay on the bed still in his underwear, a light film of sweat on his skin. Did he have to be so goddamn gorgeous? It wasn’t fair. I averted my eyes. I didn’t want him to see how much I wanted him. I couldn’t handle more rejection.

“Jackie?” His voice was husky.

“Yup?”

“Come over here.”

I walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. I wasn’t getting my hopes up. He stretched over and pulled the towel from my head, then slowly tugged the robe off my shoulders. Pulling me down until I was facing him, he kissed me lightly. I kissed him lightly back. He stroked my arms. I stroked his arms. Then he took me into his embrace and slowly we began making love. He was gentle, I was gentle. No ripped clothing, no hair pulling, and no crotchless panties.

“Well, that was nice,” Brett sighed when it was over. He kissed me on the forehead, rolled off me, went into the bathroom, and shut the door.

A moment later the shower turned on. Unsure what to do, I slipped into my robe, lit a cigarette, lay back on the pillows, and reflected on our lovemaking. The sex hadn’t been as long or wild or as passionate as I had pictured, but it had happened, and he had clearly wanted me. Still, something wasn’t sitting right. Our coupling had been successful if you measured success by us both achieving orgasm. And Brett had been a perfect gentleman, making sure I came first. “Nice,” Brett had said. And it was nice. So why did I feel discontent? Maybe there was something wrong with me. Maybe those contraptions and contortions with Palucci had ruined me for nice, normal sex. I was crazy about Brett. Possibly in love. Maybe nice was how sex was supposed to be when you met the right person.

For the rest of the weekend, I kept myself in check, consciously slowing my racing libido to match Brett’s. We played tennis, brunched in Montecito, and took long walks on the beach. In the afternoons we made love, but I discovered that when I took any initiative Brett’s penis wilted. So, I completely surrendered the lead, matching his rhythms like an obedient high school band member. A cheerleader, but not a head cheerleader. The kind of girl I imagined Brett would have been attracted to in his hometown.