Handsome Devil: A Hero Club Novel

I’m finding it difficult to despise Henry as much as I did yesterday, which is…odd, for me. I’m all for letting people change my perception, but Henry has years and years of dislike to work his way out of. Somehow he managed to do it in twenty-four hours.

On top of all of that, I can’t seem to work my head around the thought of his plentiful experience in the bedroom. How many is a lot? My brain is calculating and it probably shouldn’t.

In the twenties? Fifties? Hundreds?

I want to know so bad, but I can’t really press him for it any more than I already have. I’m trying to find a way to ask what I actually want to ask him, which is way too forward to just come out with, even for me.

“Do you think you’ve gotten…better? Over the years?” I ask, biting my nail as I ask. This coffee is kicking in, and I’m energized and desperately have to pee.

He lets out a sigh. Clearly my questions make him uncomfortable, but if he doesn’t want to answer them, he won’t. This conversation is helping to pass the time.

“I mean…anything you do repeatedly over the course of twenty-one years you get better at, right?”

I plop back in my seat. “I don’t want to do it with a bunch of different people to get better at it. I’d rather just have one person to get good with. Know what I mean?” When he doesn’t really react, I continue. “I mean, it’d be even better if that person was good at it.”

“We really shouldn’t be talking about this anymore,” he says, shifting in his seat. I glance down at his pants, wondering if things are getting a little too exciting for him. For some reason, I only want to push him more.

I completely ignore his warning.

“I mean, Ben and I did some stuff. I gave him a blow job.”

Henry lets out a grumble, rubbing his brow line like I’m working up his anxiety. It makes me smile. I’m sure to him I’m just a kid, no older than his own. And really, I never had anyone to talk to about this stuff. Other than Kirsten, who is a free spirit in every way that counts. She treats sex like it’s just something fun to do, so I always assumed her perspective wasn’t right for me. I wanted something more, a connection.

“I think I got pretty good at those,” I say, continuing regardless of how uncomfortable Henry is looking. “Although he never actually went down on me. What a jerk.”

He glances sidelong at me with his brows lifted. “He is a jerk.”

I don’t know why I feel so comfortable talking to him like this, but I do. Even if he’s not. We each sip our coffees and talk about sex like it’s nothing more exciting than changing a tire or taking a yoga class.

“So, do you make the girls you’re with come?” I ask, knowing it’s probably a little too bold for his taste. Henry nearly chokes on his last bite of donut, the maple-bacon topped one I knew he’d love.

“Laila!”

“It’s a valid question,” I argue. “Ben sure never did. I’m convinced it’s a myth at this point.”

“I mean…I try,” he says, and I laugh.

“That sounds like a no.”

“Well that’s not fair,” he says, looking so bothered when I argue with him. “I’d like to think I know the difference between what’s real and what’s fake.” His thick brows pinch in the center of his forehead, creating a little horizontal line I desperately want to touch. Henry’s good looks don’t irritate me as much as they did yesterday. Now I find myself wanting to capture a piece of him for myself. I could never truly date someone like him, someone so much older and who acts so sophisticated, but it’s fun to mess with him, and I feel far more relaxed than I expected.

And let’s be real, I did not see our road trip conversation going in this direction.

“Wait,” he says, finally looking more relaxed. He holds up a hand toward me. “You always thought what was a myth? Men giving women orgasms?”

“Women having orgasms in general, I guess.”

His head turns toward me so fast I’m afraid he’s going to snap it. Pointing toward the road, I remind him to keep his eyes forward, but he’s still so shocked that he can’t seem to focus.

“What about by yourself?” he asks carefully, his voice faltering.

“Well, I mean sure, but it’s a lot of work. I can’t imagine a man being able to do that. And honestly, they’re not all that great. Nothing that would have me screaming or carrying on like you see some of those women in movies.”

He mumbles something as he finally redirects his attention to the road. I can’t quite make it out, but he can’t seem to shake off the shock of what I just admitted. But it’s true. I’m not afraid to admit I sometimes touch myself, but it’s nothing amazing. And Ben was never anywhere close to getting me there.

“Have you ever had sex with more than one person at a time?” I ask out of curiosity.

“Who do you think I am?” he answers with a laugh. “No. It’s been strictly one partner.”

“Oh.” That’s somehow disappointing.

“Would you…” he says, treading lightly. “Is that something you want?”

“A threesome? I don’t know. Seems like a lot to handle at once.”

Distantly on the turned down radio, John Mellencamp croons “Hurts so Good” again. I don’t miss the opportunity to crank it up and sing along.

I spend the next hour complaining about Ben and all of his flaws. He was a terrible kisser, he didn’t know what he was doing when he fingered me, and he liked to sleep with socks on—that one is a serious offense. Around lunchtime, we pull up to a restaurant off the highway somewhere in Iowa. Henry gives in and lets me pick the place since he knows I don’t want McDonald’s two days in a row.

The dynamic between us has changed, and I feel a little more like we’re friends than yesterday.

We walk into a sweet little restaurant with one waitress who points us toward a small table where we sit across from each other. I don’t even get a chance to look at the menu before my phone is ringing. Looking down, I see Kirsten’s face on the screen. Henry sees it too, so I pick up and look at him with concern as I answer.

“Hello?”

“Hey! How’s the trip?” she asks. It’s loud behind her, like she’s on the casino floor.

“We’re making good time. Just stopped for lunch in…” I lean forward and whisper. “What state are we in?”

“Iowa,” he answers in his stupid British accent. There’s a gentle smirk on his face that creates little crevice-like dimples in his cheeks. Stupid. Dads are not supposed to be that hot.

“We’re stopping for lunch in Iowa,” I tell Kirsten.

“Well, try to have some fun!” she says, and I honestly wonder if she’s drunk. Looking down at my watch, I see that it’s almost noon here which means, it’s like ten in the morning for her.

“I just want to get to you. Then I’ll have fun.” The waitress comes to the table and I order a water with lemon and a chicken salad while Kirsten drones on and on about Vegas.

“I’m just saying,” she says. “You guys should spend this time getting to know each other.”

My eyes go wide as she says that because I know he definitely heard it.

“Just don’t…you know…bang my dad!” she shrieks and I nearly knock the whole table over as I try to climb my way out of the booth to get away from him.

“Jesus, Kirsten,” I whisper aggressively into the phone as I step outside. It’s too cold out here, so I quickly rush back into the restaurant and head for the ladies room. It’s not the best place but it’s better than standing in the snow without a jacket.

“He totally heard you say that by the way. Thanks,” I mutter.

She howls with laughter.

“You know I’m just kidding,” she says. “You can bang my dad if you want to. I don’t care.”

“I’m not going to bang your dad,” I argue. Just then a toilet flushes and an old woman steps out of the stall, staring at me with a stern expression and giving me a gentle shake of her head.

“Well, you need to bang someone!” she yells, her tinny voice from the phone echoing through the small bathroom as the old woman washes her hands all the while staring at me with a disapproving scowl.

I wait until she leaves before I respond to Kirsten. “I don’t need to bang anyone. What I need is to get to Vegas to be there for your wedding.”

“Ugh,” Kirsten responds, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

“What was that for?”

“Andy is having second thoughts. I just knew if we waited a couple of days he would back out.”

Oh yeah, she’s definitely drunk.

“Well, if he’s going to back out after a couple days…”

“I know how it sounds, but he’s just overthinking it. We’re so much happier when we think with our hearts, not our heads.”

“Heads are for thinking, Kirsten,” I say carefully. I’m not usually the one to be the devil’s advocate where Kirsten is involved. If she wants it, I’m her biggest cheerleader, no matter what. That’s my job. But her dad has gotten into my head, and he’s making me rethink everything. About her and me.

This whole time I’ve been so set on making everything with Ben so perfect that I neglected to ask myself if I was happy or if it was right. And when Kirsten popped up with this wedding idea, I didn’t stop for a second and ask if this was the best idea. I just wanted to complete the picture perfect image in my head.

“Oh, you have been talking to him, haven’t you? You sound just like him!”

“No! I’m totally on your side here, Kirsten. I just don’t want you making a big mistake.”

“Whatever,” she mutters, and my shoulders sag. I can’t stand when she’s mad at me. “I’ll be there tomorrow night, okay? The day after tomorrow, we are doing this, so go have makeup sex with your fiancé because you’re marrying him in two days!”

My weak attempt at hyping her up is failing. I can hear her sucking down whatever she had in her empty cup across the line.

“Okay,” she mutters, her voice echoing in her glass.

“We’re about to get on the road. We have to get to Denver tonight. I’ll call you in the morning, okay?”

“Okay,” she says again. She sounds so despondent it has my heart plummeting in my chest.

As I make my way back out to the table with Henry, I suddenly feel so different about him after just getting off the phone with Kirsten. It’s like I suddenly remember he’s my best friend’s dad.

“Everything okay?” he asks, reading my worried expression.

“Yep. She’s just day drinking and gambling.”

“Lovely,” he mutters, grimacing at his phone.

I want to tell him that she’s having second thoughts. The words are on my lips, but I can’t bring myself to say them. If he knew that she was thinking of backing out, it would be ammunition for his mission of talking her out of it. Having any doubts before getting married has to be a major red flag, right?

The waitress brings our food, and I notice the way her eyes settle on Henry. A sting of jealousy courses through me. I still can’t get over his body count and wondering what it might actually be. A good looking guy like him? I bet he can get just about any girl. Doesn’t hurt that he’s a surgeon. Ugh. He’s infuriating. Why does someone so hot have to be so off-limits?