Bananapants: A Bonkers Romantic Comedy

“There are certain people who you will always, always love.”

— Selena Gomez, Attributed

Ifell asleep. I must have, because I woke up to the feel of warm lips pressing against my shoulder. Cracking my eyes open, I waited and watched as Ava leaned away, frowned, then bent forward and pressed her lips to my shoulder once more. Her gaze seemed to turn mournful when she shifted herself back again.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, my voice full of sleep, and reached for her without thinking much about it.

“I wish we’d been friends when you got these.” Her fingertips grazed the scar on my shoulder, but then she came to me, resting her cheek close to the jagged mark, the length of her naked body pressing along the length of mine. “I wish we’d been speaking when these happened.”

I glanced down. Her index finger now traced around another patch of disfigured skin, this time on my chest, to the left of my heart. She must’ve been looking for scars on my body while I slept.

“How long was I asleep?” I caught her hand and stopped its tender tracing.

“Not long, and don’t change the subject.” She snuggled closer. “I wish I could’ve been there.”

I pulled the comforter up to cover the scar on my chest, then a little higher in case she’d spotted the one on my collarbone. “So you could reprimand me?”

Ava’s hand slid down my body beneath the covers and I was suddenly and forcefully awake. Sadly, instead of heading where I’d hoped, her fingers found my left hand and held it. “No. I wouldn’t have reprimanded you.”

She most definitely would’ve reprimanded me, especially for the scar on my shoulder.

“I wish I’d been there to take care of you or force you to go to the hospital. Some of these look like they needed stitches. Will you tell me about them?” Her voice sounded quiet and hopeful.

I didn’t respond right away. I’d already decided I would tell her about them. But I didn’t want to tell her about them all at once. Sorta like the details surrounding my childhood and teenage years and medical history, it was too much for even me to think about all at once if I tried, therefore it would be too much for anyone else to hear all at once.

It didn’t matter if I considered my history to be ten dump trucks full of horse shit or ten dump trucks full of fresh flowers, ten dump trucks of anything is too much all at once.

After careful consideration, I offered, “How about I tell you the story behind one scar every month?”

“What?!” She tried to sit up.

I pulled her back, disentangling our fingers so I could use both arms to keep her where she was. This, her lying next to me naked, was too nice to interrupt with a disagreement or a debate.

“How about two a month?” A very reasonable suggestion.

Ava huffed, her abandoned hand settling on my stomach, making the muscles there tense. “How about three a day?”

I shook my head, holding her tighter so I wouldn’t divert one of my palms to her breasts. “How about one scar, three times a month?”

“We’re negotiating now?” She laughed, her fingers on my stomach inching lower. The movement felt absentminded, but it made everything everywhere tense.

I caught her hand. “Don’t do—hold still. Your hand is so—just, hold still.”

She also tensed, but only for a split second. In the next moment, she shook me off. Ava sat up, gripping the sheet in front of her body, and peered down at me.

The vision of her, like this, her hair messy, her lips swollen from my kisses, and knowing she was naked behind that sheet, had a similar effect as her fingers on my lower stomach. Heat and a ferocity—so much more than simply desire—caused every muscle in my body to stiffen, like I’d been hit and I’d been too late to brace for the impact.

“Des, you can’t—” she started, but then her eyes narrowed. “Don’t look at me like that.”

One of my hands was already reaching for her. “Like what?” Keeping it real, my hands were probably the smartest part of me.

She pushed me away. “Whatever you’re doing. Stop it. I can’t think if you look at me like that.”

I shrugged. “Seems fair. I can’t think when I’m looking at you.”

Smiling widely, she smacked my hand again because it reached for her—again. I hadn’t told it to. See? Smart hand. Good hand.

Leaning away and fighting a laugh, she pointed at me. “You’re trying to distract me. Do you fear my superior negotiating skills?”

“Yes.” Since she kept batting away my attempts to touch her upper body, my hand slid under the covers in pursuit of her legs.

“Des!” she squealed, kicking when I touched her calf.

“What?” I asked innocently.

“I’m trying to talk to you.”

“I’m not stopping you.” I sat up, giving my brilliant hand more latitude to sneak higher.

“One scar a week! That’s my final offer.” Still kicking—but without any real force—eyes on mine, she scooched back several inches, laughing and grinning in a way that made me think maybe her bedroom was my personal heaven.

“Three scars a month. I need one week off from depressing BS.” I lifted to my knees and chased her on the bed. My intelligent hands currently under the covers wrapped around her knees and pulled her toward me.

Instead of fighting, she continued to laugh, clutching the sheet and tracking me with her lovely, bright brown eyes. “Four a month, but they can all be clus—clustered together.” She’d stuttered because my hands had pushed the now-twisted sheet up, exposing the bottom half of her body, and were currently on her bottom, rubbing and massaging it.

Her back arched, an involuntary movement, and she exhaled a short breath, her eyes seeking mine. “Are you—are we going to . . . ?” Ava swallowed thickly, her gaze now sober and heated. But not anxious. If I read her correctly, she was excited.

I shook my head, unable to stop my small grin. “We shouldn’t for a few days, five at least. In fact, we should put underwear back on.” With every ounce of self-control available to me, I removed myself from her and the bed, searching for my boxer briefs and pulling them on.

When I turned, I found her on the edge of the mattress closest to me, sitting on her legs, her bottom lip pushed out. My attention dropped to her pout, my chest and other parts of me growing hot at the sight.

“Ava. Which drawer do you keep your underwear in?”

Her gaze moved over my body. “You look like an underwear model. Is it strange that I want to lick your abs?”

“Ava. Focus.” I tried not to let her compliments or questions affect me. Her overshares weakened my resolve. She was entirely too honest and too free with her thoughts. I loved this about her, but I suspected it would get us both into trouble.

Gently, I encouraged her to rise to her knees. She did. But then she let the sheet drop. A small sound left me, one that I might’ve considered embarrassing if I’d given it too much thought.

“Des—”

“We shouldn’t.”

“But I feel like I want to anyway,” she whined, her hands coming to my shoulders, then sliding lower to my back. “I want you.”

I caught her hands before they could dip inside my boxers. “Please,” I begged, my resolve weakening. “Please put on some underwear.”

In response, she shook off my grip, wrapped her arms around my neck, and brushed her nipples back and forth across my chest, making her bottom lip more pronounced. “Why don’t you want⁠—”

Fuck it.

I fisted the hair at the back of her head to hold her in place, leaned forward, and licked her pouty lip. She never finished her thought because next I bit it lightly and sucked it into my mouth, exactly like I’d fantasized about doing at least a thousand times. Then we were kissing. And rolling around on the bed. And touching each other. Everywhere.

She pouted. She teased. She pinned me down to lick my abs and I let her. She straddled me and stroked me through my boxer briefs until I was forced to lock myself in her bathroom and take a cold shower. But as the man she’d entrusted with her sexual education, I knew she needed time to recover. I wouldn’t allow us to do anything more than touch. For now.

“Why are you in such a good mood?” Sue paused her chewing to ask the question.

“Am I?” I asked, looking both ways before crossing the street. I was on my way to the “L” after riding along with Ava to work, a cup of Stumptown decaf in my hand, and the sky was blue.

“I’ve been eating corn chips for the last ten minutes and you haven’t said anything.”

“Huh.” I stepped to the side to avoid a woman with a stroller.

“‘Huh’? That’s it? That’s your only response?”

“Yep.”

Sue grumbled something I didn’t catch. I wasn’t curious, so I didn’t ask.

I lifted my hand to end the call. “If there’s nothing else.”

“I saw you were at Ava’s yesterday,” she grumbled, only louder this time.

“Yep.”

“And last night.”

“Yep.”

“And this morning.”

Laughing at her disgruntled tone, I climbed the station’s steps two at a time. “Sue.”

“Mayhaps, are you stalking her again?”

“I never stalked her. And no. I was invited.”

“Invited?”

“Let it go.”

Sue went quiet for a moment, but then I detected a new sound from her side of the call.

“What are you doing? What’s that typing?” Based on the frenetic noise caused by her keyboard, she was rage typing.

“Oh, so you can’t hear me eating corn chips but suddenly you can hear me type?”

“You’re typing loudly.”

“HA! I knew it!”

“What?” I glanced at my watch, then up at the train readout. The next one was expected in two minutes.

“You’re wearing the same clothes as you did yesterday.”

I stiffened, then I spun in a circle, searching the station’s ceiling. “Did you just pull up the CSCN?” CSCN stood for Chicago Street Camera Network.

About ten years ago, the city had invested in the installation of high-quality cameras on every street corner, multiple in every “L” station and in every train car, all monitored by an AI designed—you guessed it—at my father’s company. Coincidentally, crime had dropped sharply.

The only reason Sue could access CSCN was because of her friendly relationship with Alex Greene. If he didn’t want you in, you weren’t getting in.

“Yes. Yes, I did. And, seriously, my dude? You are stalking her. Did you sleep outside her apartment all night in the rental?”

“No, I had Guiero pick up the rental yesterday afternoon, that’s why I’m taking the train now.”

Sue wasn’t listening. “For realsies, staaaahp. She has guards.”

“She doesn’t. Alex let her send them home on Sunday night.” I left out the fact that Alex’s four guards had appeared at her apartment this morning, drove Ava to work, and had promised to be with her at all times unless Alex Greene or Fiona Archer said otherwise.

“How do you know she sent the guards home on Sunday if you aren’t stalking her?”

After an exhaustive search, I couldn’t find the camera Sue had hacked, but it didn’t matter. “Like I said, she invited me over, okay? I was inside the apartment.”

“You were . . . ?”

The sound of the train announcement over the loudspeaker meant I had to pause before answering. “Yeah. I’m helping her with something.”

“Like what?” Sue snorted. “Getting laid?”

The train pulled up, the doors opened, and so did my mouth. I had every intention of changing the subject or giving a noncommittal, sarcastic answer, but for some reason, no words came out.

“Oh my God.”

“Sue—” Shit.

“You slept with her.”

Scanning the interior of the train, I navigated to the section with the fewest people. “Sue⁠—”

“Des. Really? She’s such a decent lady. I really like her. I was impressed.” She sounded disappointed in me, and in a way I’d never heard from her before. “You’re a bad dude, man. I don’t even know what to say to you right now.”

“I’m not a bad dude,” I whispered, turning away from the older woman with a scarf covering her hair. “I’m seriously helping her.” Technically true.

“You’re helping her by sleeping with her? Really? And out of the kindness of your heart.” She made a tsking sound. “A real fucking saint. Ha! See what I did there?”

“No.” I covered my mouth as I spoke. “She’s also helping me with something—listen, it’s complicated.”

“It always is with the bad dudes.”

“Sue. She asked me to help her. She’s”—I scanned the inhabitants of the car, no one seemed to be paying any attention to me—“inexperienced. She asked me to help and I⁠—”

“You slid right in there, stealing home, sneaking bases. You better hope her mom never finds out.”

“Shut it and fucking listen for a second. She’s never slept with anyone. She wanted her first time to be with someone she trusted. I’ve never had a girlfriend. She agreed to help me, and I agreed to help her. That’s it.” All technically true.

“What? What do you mean ‘that’s it’? You alleviate her of a pesky hymen and now she’s giving you boyfriend lessons? Is that what you’re trying to sell me?”

“That’s exactly it.” Leaning forward, I placed my elbows on my knees and kept my head down. Hopefully, this would keep the sound of my whisper from traveling. “I’ve never been in a relationship. I’ve avoided them for so long, and now I don’t know what to do. She’s going to teach me how to date, how to be good at being a boyfriend.” True, true, true.

Did I actually want boyfriend lessons from Ava? Yes. And no. Yes, I wanted her to teach me how to be her boyfriend. No, I didn’t want to apply these lessons to anyone but her. Now, had Ava misunderstood me and thought I wanted boyfriend lessons for general application to a wider population? Maybe.

. . . Probably.

That wasn’t my problem. I’d been honest with her in the kitchen at her place. I’d meant every word I’d said. I would leave if she wanted me to. I didn’t want her hurt. I’d date her and stay in Chicago as long as she wanted me here. I did want to help her and I did want her to date me, even if it was just trading lessons. I was fine with whatever she wanted. I would do whatever she wanted.

But I wasn’t the thought police, how Ava had interpreted my words was up to her.

However, Sue was used to my technical honesty these days, which was likely why she continued to push the issue now.

“Since you’re being purposefully vague, let me try to recap.” I heard Sue’s fancy ergonomic chair squeak, which meant she’d leaned back. “You and Ava aren’t dating for real. But she’s dating you to teach you how to date other people. Maybe. One day.”

“Whether we’re dating for real is irrelevant. As I said, she’s teaching me how to be in a committed relationship with her.”

“And you two are sleeping together.”

“Yes.” I cringed as soon as I realized I’d answered honestly. “I mean, that’s none of your⁠—”

“But you’re not dating for real?”

“Irrelevant. She’s helping me⁠—”

“That means no. No, you’re not dating her for real. Then why are you sleeping together? Because I know you know how to do that. And sleeping with a pretend girlfriend isn’t substantively different than sleeping with a hookup.”

“She’s not a hookup. Ava doesn’t have experience with things. So I’m teaching her how to do, you know, things.” Why my face was on fire, I had no idea. This conversation with Sue reminded me of the time Nana Eleanor caught me with an antique Playboy magazine. I really had been reading it for the articles!

“Now you’re teaching Ava how to have sex? I thought you were only doing it once, for her first time.”

“It’s not like that. It’s—she’s—” I huffed. “Why am I telling you any of this? It’s none of your business.”

I couldn’t outright admit to Sue that I wanted to date Ava for real, and I considered us dating for real now. Sue liked Ava and might butt in, tell her how I felt, what I wanted. Ava didn’t need to be burdened with my feelings right now. She needed to try things out between us with no pressure. The very last thing I wanted to do was pressure Ava. Sue and her big mouth could ruin everything.

“Uh-huh. Uh-huh. While you’re at it, you guys should teach each other how to get married.” Her chair creaked several times in a row, making me think she was now rocking back and forth. “You’ve never done that before either.”

“Sue—”

“Oh! Another thing. You’ve never had a kid. Maybe you two could teach each other how to raise kids, give that a try. So get married, have kids, retire in Arizona. It’s all pretend, what does it matter? Then when you’re eighty-nine, you can try it out for real with someone else. Or, oh! Give dying of old age while holding hands and in the same bed a try. I mean, while you two are teaching each other things.”

“Love ya. Bye.” Sitting back in my seat, I lifted my fingers to my ear to end the call.

“Wait. Wait. Hold on.” She huffed. Loudly. In my ear. “Before you hang up. How are you going to get that client schematic for the Cypher microarray system? You had no ideas on Saturday. What’s the plan?”

“I’m going to my hotel for a swim, to shower and change, then I’ll head to the Harding Building.”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to ask Henri for the client schematic?” Sue popped a corn chip in her mouth. I definitely heard the malevolent masticating this time.

My response came through gritted teeth, my voice low. “No. I’ll see if Quail has access to it.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“I’ll tell him I have an idea for the security problem, pretend like I was bringing over the client schematic for the microarray from my father, that I lost it, and that I need it in order to explain my idea. Then I’ll have to hope he retrieves a copy of the one given to Henri when the system was originally installed two years ago.”

“You think Quail keeps that kind of paperwork?”

“I do.” I nodded even though she couldn’t see me, my attention moving to the map on the other side of the car. My stop was next. “Their backup servers are in that compound. I bet he keeps a copy of everything related to the security.”

“Well, good luck,” she said.

I was about to thank her when she blurted, “And, for Christ’s sake, admit that you and Ava are together. If not to me, admit it to yourself. This was your plan all along, wasn’t it? You’re in love with her, don’t pretend you’re not. And why wouldn’t you be? No one carries a photo of a woman in their wallet for⁠—”

“Goodbye, Susan.” I hung up.