Malena Lott - Dating da Vinci

Until he wet the bed. My new, amazing, waited-fifteen-years-for-this miracle bed. Peed on like a cardboard box in a downtown alley.

I wouldn't have even minded if it had been Bellezza that did the bedwetting, but my twenty-five-year-old boyfriend?

“You have got to be kidding me,” I said, as I stared at the huge wet spot in disgust.

“Those fucking Jäger shots,” he said.

“Excuse me? Since when do you say the F-word? You join a fraternity and suddenly you've got a potty mouth and you start using my bed as one?”

“Get off the back,” he said, holding his head. “Going to take shower now.”

“And don't think I don't know you pee in there, too,” I said, standing on the bed. “From now on, if you think you can hold it until you hit the shower, my awesome bed and I would sure appreciate it.”

Da Vinci turned back to me and winced in the sunlight. “You going to complain all day or come in and make love to me in shower?”

“And another thing,” I said, wagging my finger at him. “I don't want you telling your frat buddies about our sex life.”

Stepping out of his boxers, he revealed an erection I could've hung a dozen suit jackets on. I tried not to look at it, but it was a beacon in the morning sun. A thing of beauty, work of art. “You take shower with me or what? I'm horny. And I only tell them you are very good at blow job. Most girls terrible at this.”

I dropped to my knees. I'd never been complimented on sex before. Joel had told me I was a good lover, but when he'd said it I felt like I was good as in average, not good as in good enough to brag about to all your buddies. “I am? Wait a minute, you did? How am I ever going to get a teaching job at the university if you're talking about our sex life? I'll be the laughingstock on campus. Professor Blow Job! I'll be forced to work at a community college the rest of my life.”

“Don't get panties in a twist,” he said, which was another terrible catchphrase he'd learned from college. He'd be Americanized in no time and ruined beyond repair. “Speaking of, I like your new panties very much. Black very sexy.” Da Vinci rubbed his belly and scratched his balls. I should've been terribly turned off by this, especially after what he'd done, but I was strangely turned on. There was something terribly wrong with me. He was no good for me, but all I could think about was having sex with him in the shower. Which I did. Twice. And we still made it to Rachel's studio in time for the taping.

After two Tylenol and two pieces of dry toast, da Vinci began feeling better and turned on the charm for the camera. I loved watching him work out, and he followed direction from my sister very well. He made the other four people on stage with him look like amateurs. You couldn't help but stare at him the whole time, and I heard the producer tell camera 2 to stay on him. I could see it now: Get Up and Move It with da Vinci, Texas! in big, neon lights. I silently wished he would kick my sister out of her time slot. See what that did to her precious ego.

Yet as I watched, I wondered if this was when the countdown to his leaving began. I couldn't imagine after 25,000 households saw the show that he would stay with me much longer, expert fellatio or no. I needed to have a grown-up conversation with him before things got out of hand, before the boys got too attached, and then there was my own attachment to consider.

Rachel beamed with pride as if she had discovered him. “Come on. Squeeze that tush or no one else will,” she said, which I'd only heard at least a hundred times on her show. She called it a “Rachelism.” Ugh.

When they wrapped, I picked up the boys at my mom and dad's and met Cortland at the dog park, where I'd hoped he would show up looking disheveled and unattractive, but there he was, dressed sharply in a brown wool sweater and tan corduroy jeans, looking handsome and approachable. So approachable, in fact, three women were talking to him.

When I walked up, they must've thought I was the wife or girlfriend, because they quickly dispersed with disappointment in their eyes. No wedding ring, but obviously taken. I'm surprised Rachel didn't force him to wear a neon necklace that read, “Back off. I'm dating Fitness Star Rachel Taylor.”

“Hey, you,” he said coolly. Bellezza took off, leading the boys around the park, eager to run and play with the other dogs. It was William who seemed to be on the leash and not the puppy. I had been a worried parent for no reason.

“Bet you've picked up a lot of women at the dog park,” I said, noting the women who had left and eyed me with envy.

He shrugged. “I don't date women I meet at the dog park anymore. It's where I met my ex-wife.”

“Fair enough. Where's Rach and Princess?” Princess was Rachel's Chihuahua, an obnoxious little lapdog she had bought the day after Cortland and I had picked up Bellezza. She hated to be left out. Cortland and I had gotten a good laugh out of the fact that she was the type to want a toy dog, but I knew it was more than that.

My whole life Rachel had wanted whatever I had. The week after I'd announced that Joel and I were getting married and planning a summer wedding, she and Michael announced their engagement and spring wedding. When I told her Joel and I were trying to get pregnant, she said she and Michael were also trying. It took her three years to get pregnant with Zoe, and knowing what she puts Zoe through, I was thankful she never reproduced again. I wondered if she and Cortland were going anywhere. Were they a fling? Getting serious? Would they have babies together? God, they'd be obnoxiously cute.

Like a punch to the gut, I realized this was the first time I wanted something my sister had. “The taping went so well that they decided to do another. I left so I wouldn't be late.”

“I appreciate that. Your sister always makes me wait. I can't stand that.”

“No wonder my dad likes you. He's a stickler for time, too.”

“Don't I know it? A surgery ran over a couple weeks ago and I was five minutes late for our tee time and he let me know about it. I felt like a kid in the principal's office.”

“It's best to know how crazy we are before you join our family.”

Cortland raised his left brow. “Why? You think I should marry your sister?”

I began feeling flustered and couldn't think straight. “Of course not. Or of course. I mean, what do I know? Or care? Of course, you should do what you want to do.”

“You still don't like your sister very much.”

“I love her. I'm just glad I don't have to live with her. It's you that has to make that decision.”

“Well, I did give her my house key,” he said, sticking his hands into his pocket.

“Oh,” I said, feeling my throat close up. “Well, looks like you're moving in that direction then.”

“Not necessarily. I don't know why I did it, truthfully. I guess I was feeling some pressure that she wanted our relationship to be going somewhere, so instead of saying anything, I handed her a key. Dopey caveman sort of move, I know. At least she can come and go as she pleases.”

“Right,” I said. “Like a maid.”

Cortland began to laugh and it was contagious, an icebreaker, demolishing something-sexual tension or jealousy or I don't know what, but it felt good. A house key meant they'd be having sex soon. Again, not that I cared.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement among the upper-class women wearing their cashmere jackets and designer jeans and boots that I half-hoped would get covered in dog poo. Were they talking about me? One woman stepped apart from the pack and I recognized her, even thirty feet away. Monica.

I couldn't run. Couldn't hide. She was coming toward me and I would have to think of something to say. My day that began with da Vinci peeing in my bed followed by great sex followed by meeting Cruella Fiancée. Life was one wicked roller coaster ride.