The F It List - Alexis Winter Page 0,4

my realization last night that in every relationship I’ve been in, I’ve changed myself, I decided I’d make a list of the things I want to do to be right with myself before another relationship comes along—things that will make me a better person, and a more experienced person. Getting right with myself will only make me that much better in a relationship, and after doing all this work on myself, I won’t want to bend to someone else’s will in order to fit into their life. I want to volunteer at a soup kitchen, help make the world a better place, and donate my time at an animal shelter. I want to play golf—I’ve never played golf! Go camping. Catch a fish. But I also put in a few relationship goals as well. Things like kiss in the rain, dance under the moonlight, have an orgasm . . .

Okay, let me explain. I’ve been in a few relationships and I went on a ton of dates before Jimmy. I even slept with some of those guys, but the one thing they all still have in common is that none of them ever got me off. I’ve been close . . . I think. But no one has ever been able to push me over the edge. And it’s irritating. I want to know what everyone’s talking about. I want to feel the heat in my veins. I want to feel the explosion in my own body. I want to know what it’s like to give yourself over completely to another person like that.

I’m so caught up in my list, which now has 20 items, that I haven’t touched my food. My hand is flying across the page, writing one thing after another. I never even realized how much stuff I haven’t done—not until I started writing them all down. I’m so caught up in my own thoughts and my list that I don’t even hear the door to the break room open. I don’t notice that anyone’s walked in until I hear that deep, friendly voice.

“Whatcha doing?” Grayson asks, tossing something into the microwave and startling me. He slams the door shut then taps on the buttons until it lights up and the tray starts spinning.

“Oh, nothing,” I say, holding back a surprised yelp. I drop the pen in my hand and place my arm over the paper to hide everything I’ve written. I look up at him and force a smile. “How’s your day going?”

He smiles and shrugs. “It’s all right, I guess. It’s a Monday, that’s for sure.” The microwave beeps and he takes his burger out and carries it to the table to sit next to me.

With him so close, I no longer feel comfortable working on my list, so I close the notebook and pull my meal closer as I begin to eat.

“Whatcha working on?” he asks as he unwraps his burger.

“Just a silly little list I’m making for myself.”

“What kind of list? A shopping list?”

I giggle, feeling embarrassed just talking about it. “No, not exactly. It’s just a list of things I want to do now that I’m single. I’m trying to make myself happy instead of leaving it up to someone else.”

His blue eyes meet mine and they’re shimmering. “I like that idea.”

“Yeah?”

He nods. “What are some things you want to do?”

I stab at a noodle and take a bite. “You know . . . just stuff.” I refuse to look at him now for fear that he’ll somehow be able to drag the truth out of me.

“What kind of stuff?” he presses.

“Like going camping, taking a hike, catching a fish. That kind of thing.”

“You’ve never gone camping?” His tone is amused but his face communicates shock.

“I grew up with a single mom, all right? No, she didn’t take me camping.”

“Well, that’s an easy one. What else you got?”

I shake my head. “It’s my thing. Don’t worry about it.”

The moment the last word leaves my mouth, I feel my arm—the arm that’s resting on top of the notebook—shift. It’s suddenly flat on the table and the notebook is now in his hands.

I jump to grab it, but he slides his chair back across the floor out of my reach.

“Give it back!” I demand, standing up and having every intension of chasing him down to rip it out of his hands before he reads that one very embarrassing part: Have an orgasm.

“Golf? I can help you with that. I used to play golf in