Amanda felt guilty she was using the 'shelter in place' order to end her relationship with Craig. For the last two months, they'd tried to move from friends to lovers, but failed. They'd been best friends for years, and she was thrilled when he confessed he'd had a crush on her. They were sure their friendship would carry them through any rough patches. It didn't. What didn't matter as friends did as housemates--the million day-to-day differences that now drove both of them crazy. While he observed the 'one cooks, the other does the dishes' rule, he let the dishes piled up in the sink for days before washing them. In the middle of a movie, usually at a critical point in the story, she'd hit pause because she wanted a cup of tea and a snack. She could take half an hour. Meanwhile, he was chomping at the bit. When she finished in the bathroom, it was clean and tidy. When he finished, there was water everywhere. The easy camaraderie of hanging out as friends had been replaced by a tense atmosphere defined by nit-picking, frustration, frequent arguments—and bland sex. After they watched the Governor announce the order on television, Craig simply said, "I think we both know it's better if I stay with my brother. I'll leave in the morning." She nodded and didn't argue. She felt terrible at how relieved she felt.
When their pizza arrived, they sat on the couch in front of the television. She poured the wine, held up her glass and frowned. "I'm stumped for an appropriate toast."
"How about, 'To loving someone and not being able to stand them'?"
She slumped in her chair. "Sad, but true."
Sorrow filled their faces, and they wiped away the tears inching down their cheeks. Craig got up and returned with a dusty bottle of tequila and shot glasses. "I'm sorry. I need something stronger."
"Me too," she sniffed.
He filled the glasses and they immediately downed them.
The comforting warmth felt so much better than the cold sense of failure and regret, she refilled them. But she couldn't get past the grief and guilt until the third shot—when, looking at Craig's crystal blue eyes and tousled blond hair, she was reminded how handsome he was. Very buzzed and feeling uncharacteristically daring, she heard herself suggest something that wasn't at all like her. "I want our last night together to be special, so I think we should have breakup sex."
He chuckled. "Are you a glutton for punishment?" he asked wryly. "Two months of bad sex wasn't enough for you?"
She flinched at the memories. "I mean breakup sex with a twist. We both say something we always wanted to do but never had the nerve to ask. No judging. We promise to do whatever it is. It can't be any worse than what we've been doing," she laughed.
"Ladies first."
She did another shot, let the heat permeate her body, and screwed up her courage. "Just once, I want to fuck like a really bad girl," she said firmly. "None of this sensitive—and boring—'making love' we've been dong."
