his touch. We sit on my couch. He takes my hands and we start kissing with an urgency that feels like an affair. It is a serious word-a scary word. It conjures images of Sunday school and the Ten Commandments. But it is not adultery. Nobody is married. Yet. I push it all out of my mind as I kiss Dex. There will be no more guilt, not for this next parcel of time.
Suddenly, perching on the couch seems ridiculous. My bed would be so much more comfortable. Nothing more has to happen just because we're on a bed. That is a teenager's perception. I am a grown woman with life experience (albeit limited), and I can control myself on my own bed. I stand up and lead him over to the other side of my studio. He follows me, still holding my hand. We sit on the foot of the bed. Dex slips his feet out of his loafers. He is not wearing socks. He moves his big toes up and down and then rubs his feet together. He has high, graceful arches and slender ankles.
'Come here,' he says, pulling me against him and both of us up toward my pillows. He is strong, his skin warm. We are now on our sides, our bodies against each other. He kisses me more, and we topple over in his direction. He stops kissing me suddenly, clears his throat, and says, 'It's so strange. Being with you like this. And yet it also feels so natural. Maybe because we've been friends for so long.'
I tell him I know exactly what he means. I think back to law school. We weren't best friends in those days, but we were close enough to learn a lot about each other, stuff that comes out even when your focus is on contributory negligence and ways to rescind a contract. I mentally catalog all that I learned about Dex in the pre- Darcy days. That he grew up in Westchester. That he is Catholic. That he played basketball in high school and considered walking on at Georgetown. That he has an older sister named Tessa who went to Cornell and now teaches high school English in Buffalo. That his parents divorced when he was very young. That his father remarried. That his mother beat breast cancer.
And then there was all that I learned via Darcy, details of his personal life that I've found myself conjuring and pondering in recent days. Like that Dex is grouchy in the morning. That he does at least fifty push-ups before bed every night and that he never leaves dirty dishes on the counter. That he broke down when his grandfather died, the only time she has ever seen him cry. That he had two serious girlfriends before Darcy and that the one named Suzanne Cohen, who worked as a research analyst at Goldman Sachs, dumped him and broke his heart.
When I add it all up, I know a lot. But I want more. 'Tell me everything about yourself,' I say, sounding eighteen.
Dex touches my face and then draws an imaginary line along my nose and around my mouth, resting his finger on my chin. 'You first. You're the mysterious one.'
I laugh. 'Hardly,' I say, thinking that he is confusing being shy with being mysterious.
'You are. You were a closed book in law school. All quiet, not wanting to date anyone-despite plenty of guys trying… I could never get much out of you.'
I laugh again. 'What's that supposed to mean? I told you plenty in law school.'
'Like what?'
I rattle off some autobiographical details.
'I'm not talking about stuff like that,' he says. 'I'm talking about the important things. How you feel about things.'
'I hated Zigman,' I offer weakly.
'I know. Your fear was all-consuming. And then you did a great job when he finally called on you.'
'I did not,' I say, remembering how I stumbled my way through a long, painful line of questioning.
'Yes you did. You just didn't think you did. You don't see yourself the way you are.'
I avert my eyes, focus on a spot of ink on my comforter.
He continues. 'You see yourself as very average, ordinary. And there is nothing ordinary about you, Rachel.'
I can't look back at him. My face burns.
'And I know that you blush when you're embarrassed.' He smiles.
'No I don't!' I cover my face with one hand and roll my eyes.
'Yes you do. You're adorable. And yet you have no idea, which is the most adorable part.'
Nobody, not even my mother, has ever called me adorable.
'And you are beautiful. Absolutely, stunningly beautiful in the freshest, most natural way. You look like one of those Ivory girls. Remember those commercials?… You're probably too young. You're like a J.Crew model. All natural.'
I tell him to please stop. Even though I love what he has just told me.
'It's true.'
I want to believe him.
He kisses my neck, his left hand resting on my hip.
'Dex.'
'Hmmm?'
'Who ever said I didn't want to date in law school?'
'Well, you didn't, did you? You were there to learn, not date. That was clear.'
'I went out with Nate.'
'Not until the very end.'
'He didn't ask me out until the very end.'
'Brave guy.'
I roll my eyes.
'I almost asked you out, you know that?'
I laugh at this.
'It's true,' he says, sounding a little bit hurt.
I give him a dubious look.
'Do you remember that time when we were studying for our Torts final?'
I picture his thumb on my face, wiping away my tear. So it had meant something.
'You know exactly what I'm talking about, don't you?'
My face feels hot as I nod. 'I think so. Yeah.'
'And when I asked to walk you home, you said no. Shot me down.'
'I didn't shoot you down!'
'You were all business.'
'I wasn't. I just didn't think at the time…' My voice trails off.
'Yeah, and then you introduced me to Darcy. I knew then that you had zero interest.'
'I just didn't think… I didn't know you saw me that way.'
'I loved spending time with you,' Dex says. 'Still do.' He stares at me, unblinking.
I tell him that he blinks less than anyone I have ever met. He smiles, says he has never lost a staring contest. I challenge him, making my eyes as wide as his. I notice that he has a dark speck in his left iris, like an eye freckle.
Seconds later, I blink. He flashes a quick, jubilant smile and then kisses me more. He changes the intensity and pressure and amount of tongue, the kissing ideals that are all too often abandoned once in a long-term relationship. Kissing Dex would never become stale. He would never stop kissing me like this.
'Tell me about Suzanne,' I say when we finally separate. 'And your high school girlfriend.'
'Alice?' He laughs, sweeps a piece of my hair behind my ear. 'What about her? Ancient history.'
Everyone knows that you don't discuss exes when you're in a fledgling relationship. Even though you are dying to know those details from the very beginning, that is something you bring up much later in the game. You don't have to be a Rules Girl like Claire to have that concept down. Dating someone new is a fresh start for both of you. No good can come from rehashing past-and by definition failed-relationships. But compared to the fact that he is engaged, ex-girlfriends are an innocuous topic. There is no need to strategize here in my safe studio. The rules don't apply. It might be the only advantage to our situation.
'Were you in love with them?' For some reason I need to know.
He rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling, concentrating. I like that he thinks about my questions, just as he did during law-school exams. I remember him staring into space for the first forty-five minutes of an exam.
