How Long You Should Wait to Have Sex: a Novel Read Free

for life.” I realize that might be a little vague to someone who knows me about as well as a man with no tongue knows the taste of an ice cream sundae, so I add, “The kind of guy who likes to do the stuff I like, dancing, dinners, hiking, you know, a fun guy.” Then remembering how some of the fun guys I’ve dated turned out to be overgrown babies whose youthful love of life comes more from a case of arrested development than a general gratitude for how lucky they are to be living such a blessed life, I decide to tack on one more requirement, “And easy to get along with. You know, mature-ish.”
    Being on Facebook, it’s hard not to browse through some of the guys I’ve already dated, who for whatever reason didn’t turn out to be the one. I wonder if I should invite any of them. You know, in case it was just a matter of bad timing before. Some of them might be in a better place now. More importantly, some of them have really cute friends.
    Not Chris, he was too young. Chase was too drunk. Taylor was too obsessed with himself. Ryan made it clear that he only wanted sex, and he probably wouldn’t be that good at it. No, this is probably a waste of time. I need to move on to new frontiers, and not get distracted by old victories, most of which left me feeling defeated. Back to plan A.
    More texts, tweets, IMs. I wonder if this is the kind of thing it’s okay to send out a press release about? The wire would be the fastest way to get the message out to all my work contacts at the various local blogs and papers, which would cast a wider net. Considering that tonight is my last chance to accomplish this goal or forever live in infamy as a failure, I’m thinking yeah, I definitely need a press release.
    ~
    Moments after I send it out, my boss, Henry, walks into my office with a printed out copy of my public release.
    “I had been wondering why you hadn’t come out of your office all day. And then I got this. Is this what you’ve been doing on company time?” Um. Think fast, Sam. I am pretty much caught up on my business. I mean, I could be using this time to research prospective new clients, but I don’t have any unfinished business with my current clients, and it is my birthday… kind of.
    “Um… I didn’t take a lunch break. I did this during the time I should’ve been eating.”
    “And you really think you’re going to pull off this stunt?” he asks, incredulously. I realize that in some way, what I’m doing may seem a little extreme. But I think that one of the reasons I’ve been so successful in this career is that I’ve always understood one thing…
    “Sometimes, when you wanna meet your prince, you have to plan the ball yourself.”
    Henry smiles. He should, I’m quoting him.
    “And that, Samantha, is precisely why you are my top producer.” Then he adds, “Which isn’t to say that I don’t find your plan absolutely beyond the realm of sane thinking.”
    Then out of nowhere, he cryptically says, “Come with me. I’d like to show you something.”
    Now I’m worried. You never want your boss to come at you with any directives that could leave you vulnerable to being caught off guard over something you didn’t know you did wrong, especially when your boss is my boss. That’s the thing about Henry, you never know from moment to moment if he’s gonna say something to compliment you or destroy your self-esteem with a slashing blow straight to your soul. He travels easily between the two extremes, sometimes in the course of one sentence or paragraph, until it makes your head spin so fast that he can ultimately manipulate the outcome of any conversation. I guess he’s the perfect mentor for a girl who believes she can fix anything. Still, I try to hide my concern as I follow him through the bullpen, in the direction of his office, wondering what awful thing I’m about to get in trouble for.
    “You know,” he says, “when I said that thing about planning the ball, I was using the