Jennifer Weiner is the author of nine best-selling books. Her latest novel, Who Do You Love, tells the story of Rachel Blum and Andy Landis, who meet as children in an emergency room waiting room, then meet again and again throughout their teens and into adulthood. adulthood. (they dated in college). in this scene, the characters see each other for the first time after a breakup three years earlier.
They walked in silence through the parking lot. when they got to her car, he hugged her, pulling her tightly against him, a hug still on the right side of her decency, one that could still be considered friendly, but just barely. when they parted, her face was flushed, her eyes sparkled.
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“I hope it won’t be another three years before we meet again.”
Instead of responding, Rachel moved closer to him, placed her small, warm hand on the back of his neck, lifting her lips to his. they kissed, first softly, then more urgently, his tongue in her mouth, her hips tilted against his, her breasts against his chest, her whole body sending a message that was undeniable. . “do you want to go up?” she asked. she had left her bags in her apartment, with the agreement that they would pick them up after dinner and he would take her to the hotel she had booked. More than once, when they had been talking, he had offered her bed, saying she would sleep on the couch, and Rachel had politely but firmly turned him down.
Without saying a word, she climbed into the passenger seat, smiling at him and saying “yes.”
As soon as he closed the front door, they started kissing again. his tongue fluttered against his, and his hands were buried in the softness of his hair, and it was as if time unwound, taking them right back to when they were teenagers. she pulled her close, thinking that she would never bring her close enough, that if she could get her inside him, like a mother putting a baby into her coat, she would. he would keep her warm, he would keep her safe, he would keep her with him, always.
taking her hand, andy led her to his room, which looked like every room he’d ever lived in: a bed, a dresser, the posters on the wall. she nibbled on her chin, her ear, touching her face with her fingertips, sighing, whispering, “you feel so good.” her one time, she pushed him back, leaned on her elbows and asked, “how long has it been?”
andy knew what she was asking, and it wasn’t how long it had been since he’d seen her. she thought of her latest romance, if she could call it that, ten minutes of unseemly awkwardness in a downtown bar bathroom. “It’s been a little while,” she said. that girl, god, he wasn’t even sure what her name was, she had scrawled her phone number on her hand with eyeliner, if she remembered correctly, after neither of them could find paper or pen . The following week, when they met for drinks, Andy realized that they had absolutely nothing to say to each other and that when he didn’t have four beers in her, she looked like an eel, with a narrow body and a big, wide mouth. of horse.
Not many of the runners had serious girlfriends. hookups were more common, a night out or a weekend with another athlete who got the deal, or a woman who would join you at a competition or at a bar. Andy remembered the time he had spent with a television reporter covering the Olympic trials in Atlanta. he had put on a girdle and got angry when he laughed. “It’s a staple,” he had said, his pretty face looking less pretty as he frowned. after they finished, he was starving, but all she had in the refrigerator of her chrome and stainless steel loft was seltzer and a jar of pickles.
rachel no, he realized, now that he had rachel in his arms again, her lush curves and smooth skin, her beautiful hair, her beautiful scar. that was the problem with the reporter. that was the problem of all of them. none of them were rachel.
He felt her slide across the bed. she unbuttoned her pants, placed his briefs over her hips and brushed the length of his cock with her palm before bringing him to her mouth. She sighed, her eyes closed, thinking how amazingly good she felt, when Rachel gave a hoarse moan, then moved her mouth from root to tip and whispered, “Look at me.”
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He looked up and saw that her eyes were open, locked on his, as her mouth opened, cupped her cheeks, and slid all the way down. she wondered if some other guy had asked her — I want you to look at me when you do it — or if she’d seen it in a movie, or she’d read about it in some magazine. ten secrets to excite your boy. Rachel’s expression turned from heat to confusion as she felt him begin to soften.
“what?” she asked.
“shh,” he said, pulling her so they were face to face again. he slid her hands between her legs, arranging his fingers and thumb the way she had taught him. except that it wasn’t right. she had not taught him. together they had figured out how to make him come. he caressed her, her lips on her neck, nibbling and kissing her way down to her earlobe, where she had always been ticklish. “ooh,” she whispered. “Ooh! Oh, oh, oh,” she sighed, as he moved her fingers against the slippery seam. . . and then he forgot to pose, forgot to try to look good and was lost in her own pleasure. Andy watched her close her eyes tight as she pressed her thighs against his wrist and lifted her hips, once, twice, three times before she froze, every muscle in her thighs, belly, and buttocks tightening and quivering, and he felt her. felt contract. against her fingers.
Before she could recover, he rolled her onto her back and slid inside her. after the first push he had to stay still, knowing that if he kept moving, if he gave himself up to the exquisite tightness, to the heat, he would explode. he wanted her to come at least one more time, with him, and he didn’t want her to tease him, like she used to sometimes if they hadn’t seen each other in a long time and he finished before she’d had a chance. chance to start.
“It’s not a race,” he said. “You’re not trying to beat your personal record here.” he had always taken care of her. . . or sometimes when he was sleepy he would just cuddle around her, holding her, his fingers inside her and her fingers working on her clitoris, and they had nursed her together.
but he wanted it to be good that night. he wanted everything to be perfect.
He reached down and stroked her cheek, then her hair. “oh god,” she whispered, twisting her hips in a way he knew she’d send him right to the edge of her. “oh wait. do you have a condom?” she whispered her.
andy opened the drawer of his nightstand and opened a trojan. Rachel watched, frowning. “Tell me they sell them loose,” she said.
He kissed her, pleased that she was jealous, thinking he would tell her anything she wanted to hear, and finally slid inside her again. she opened her mouth and closed her eyes, and then neither of them spoke. she had one hand on her shoulder, the other slowly caressing her back, from the nape of her neck to the base of her spine.
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“You feel so good,” she whispered. . . and then andy she couldn’t hold back anymore. he plunged inside her, deep into that maddening grip, that heat. Rachel moaned, his hands clasped on her shoulders, her breath against her face, his voice in her ear, urging him on.
“oh baby,” he gasped as she put her lips against his ear, whispering his name over and over, like a chant, a song or a prayer.
if there was going to be awkwardness, it would happen when they were done; when they looked down and saw that he was still wearing her socks and she still had her panties hooked around one ankle. the condom would have to be thrown away, the weirdness of a woman in his bed for the first time in months, and surely rachel would have something to say about his decorating skills, how his bedroom was as stark and empty as a room. cheap hotel. , no bookshelves, no dining table, from college on the walls. But as soon as they were done, Rachel rolled into her arms, snuggled against her chest, and said, “I missed you!” in the friendly, happily surprised voice of a woman who had met an old best friend at the grocery store. With her hands clenched into fists, she punched him in the chest, as if it was her fault that they had been separated.
“I missed you too,” Andy said. he had been smiling for so long that he was sure her face would hurt in the morning. “I feel like…”
“what?” she asked. “how you feel?” he remembered how she had always been questioning him, questioning him about her emotions, pressuring him to give her something other than “fine” or “happy” or “tired.”
“as if nothing had changed,” he said. “Like you went out to buy bagels or something, and now you’re home.”
“I’m home now,” he said.
who do you love? by jennifer weiner. Copyright © 2015 by Jennifer Weiner, Inc. Published by Atria Books, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc. on August 11, 2015. isbn 978145167818 $27
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