The True Love Experiment (DNA Duo, #2)

by Christina Lauren

in the end, romance isn’t about the fantasy of being wealthy or beautiful or even being tied to the bed.” More laughter, but I have their attention now. “It’s about elevating stories of joy above stories of pain. It is about seeing yourself as the main character in a very interesting—or maybe even quiet—life that is entirely yours to control. It is, my friends, the fantasy of significance.”

I pause again, just like I practiced, because all these babies have been raised under the dreary cloud of the patriarchy and I consider it my mission on earth to smash that with a proverbial hammer. The truth that we all deserve significance needs time to sink in.

I tell them that if they put in the work, if they allow that there will be blind curves and ups and downs, if they allow themselves to be vulnerable and loved and honest with the people who mean something to them, things really will turn out okay.

“It’s the classic chicken-and-egg dilemma: Has the writer’s block killed my romance boner, or has losing my romance boner killed my actual boner?” “There are a lot of boners in this situation.” “If only! And once you’re single for so long, you aren’t even sure whether you’re suitable for a relationship anymore.”

“I don’t know who Felicity Chen is if she’s not treating dating like it’s an extreme sport.” I point at her again, energized. “Exactly! That’s another fear I have! What if I’ve depleted the local resources?”

“Last week I considered going jogging in flip-flops just to remind myself how sex sounds.”

His hair is so perfectly coiffed that from a distance it looks like a Lego hair block.

He wears silence easily, doesn’t rush to speak, and I begrudgingly acknowledge that I respect this about him because it’s something I’ve never mastered.

I worked on a project once where an expert said intolerance is a failure of curiosity, and it’s always stuck with me. Am I being quick to judge things I know next to nothing about? “Okay. Yeah.”

Normally, I’m hard to fluster. But the duality of the intensity of her demeanor and ease in her body is distracting.

Being near you… it makes me feel like myself again, but a much more grounded version.”

it’s refreshing to have someone simply say what they think. Things are weird? Let’s talk about it. We’d like to fuck but can’t? Let’s admit it and both move on. I’ve never met anyone like her.

I can hear my pulse in my ears. Is this thirty-seven-year-old Fizzy’s kink? Honesty, accountability, and open communication?

“I pretend you’re a lot of work. It gets me points with the boss.” “I am a lot of work.” This makes him laugh. “Felicity, you are the easiest thing I’ve ever done.” I look up at him, watch his words land on his own ears. A flush crawls up his neck and turns the tips of his ears pink. “You know what I mean.”

“Why do you think you’re so complicated?” “Because everyone else does.” I shake my head, rolling to my side to face her and propping my head on a hand. “Not me. You’re a Rubik’s Cube with four blocks.” She laughs, reaching across her body to smack my chest. “Hey.” “A maze with a straight line through the middle. It’s just that most men are quite stupid.”

It hits me like a thunderbolt: only someone who knows me from the inside out can satisfy and torture me like this in equal measure.

There’s a universe expanding in my rib cage, stars and planets and all kinds of dangerous sparking debris that could destroy me. I’m consumed by a distracting ache, a sharp want, a desperation for this thing I have already in my arms. I know what this is even if I’ve never felt it before. I’m falling in love.

“But we have to believe that the people we care about are conscious, accountable people,” she continues. “The fact that he told you, that he’s really done the work to grow… I mean, most men aren’t that evolved at thirty-three, let’s be honest.”

“Connor did something dumb when he was in his twenties. Fizz, you of anyone should understand that.” She doesn’t mean it as a dig. She’s paying homage to my battle scars, my medals of honor for adventure, my backlist of sexual exploration.

I feel awful for Natalia. But also for the anonymous woman who didn’t realize she was part of a young guy’s kamikaze mission.

Getting these words out feels like fitting my whole body through a straw.