Crushing on You

by Jen Trinh

  He kissed my hand. “And why you don’t date Asian guys.”

  I kissed his neck. “Why I didn’t date Asian guys.”

  We turned our heads and kissed each other. Then kept kissing, and kissing, until the oven beeped and the lasagna was ready.

  I’d never tasted one better.

  ◆◆◆

  That night, while we lay cuddling in bed, I asked him, “So how did Cassie end up telling you about me?”

  Ian massaged my scalp with his magical fingers. I closed my eyes and leaned into his touch. “I had just broken up with my girlfriend at the time and she was going through her roster of female friends to set me up with. And I wasn’t lying—she really did say that you’d be perfect for me, except for the No Asian guys thing.” He kissed my hair. “Guess she was right.”

  I snuggled closer to him and drew circles with my fingers on his smooth pecs. Totally hairless. I filled my lungs with him, practically snorting from his skin, then sighed contentedly. His scent, once so aggravating, was now so soothing, so utterly addicting.

  “She’s a really good friend,” Ian commented, oblivious to my huffing.

  “Yeah, she is. I’m really lucky to have her.” I rubbed my nose along his bristly jaw. It was the perfect scratching post.

  “No, I’m really lucky that she brought us together.”

  “Yes, you’re really lucky.” I laughed and kissed his cheek, shifting my leg up onto his hips. As usual, his penis was rigid and ready beneath my thigh. I giggled. It was still so gratifying to witness my effect on him.

  Maybe he’d get even luckier tonight.

  I traced my fingers along the ridges and valleys of his abs, sighing. “Mmm, your abs are so hot. Like a sexy ice cube tray.”

  He snickered. “Thanks?”

  “Or like...a sexy lobster tail.” He laughed as I lowered my head and planted kisses in the valley between his pecs, all the way down to his belly button.

  I stopped and lifted my head, inspired. “No! I know. It’s like sexy day-old challah bread.” I licked his abs as if tasting the golden egg wash crust. “I want to turn you into bread pudding and eat you up.”

  He jerked his knees and rolled onto his side, guffawing. “Is that how you like your dirty talk? Are you still hungry or—”

  I pushed him back down and shut him up with a long, tender kiss. “There’s just something about you that makes me want you in my mouth.”

  His eyes danced with amusement. “Same here.” He lifted his hands to my chest and kneaded my breasts through my oversized sleeping shirt. “I want to...juice your overripe oranges.”

  I struggled to keep my face straight, fighting both laughter and the feeling of his wicked hands. “I want to suck on your...giant...rod of ginger.”

  “It’s a knob, not a rod,” he corrected, deadpan. He slid his hands down from my breasts to my ass, pulling me against him. “And your ass is like...two big, juicy...cloves of garlic stuck together. Goes great with my ginger.”

  I laughed and kissed him, once, twice, three times. “We make a really weird meal together.”

  He smiled up at me, his sweetest, most heartbreaking smile. “It’s perfect.” Then he kissed me back, his delicious, soft tongue brushing against mine. I traced my hand from his challah bread down along his happy trail, then slipped my hand under the waistband of his boxers. His penis rose to greet me, and I leisurely brushed my fingers up and down his shaft, relishing every answering twitch of his cock.

  He broke our kiss, his breathing shallow. “Aren’t you on your period?”

  Still stroking him with one hand, I rose up onto my elbow and knees and kissed a trail down his neck. “So? Maybe I really do want to suck on your knob.” I scuttled further down the bed and lowered his boxers over his hips, then slipped them off his legs and tossed them onto the floor.

  “Anna,” Ian breathed, eyes hooded. He was so gorgeous, naked. All perfect lines and curves, golden skin and tantalizing shadows. I groaned, just taking in the sight of him and his thick, rigid knob.

  I really did want to eat him up.

  Keeping our eyes locked, I placed my hands on either side of his hips and slowly bent down. I kissed the tip of his penis, then continued kissing down the shaft, down, down, until I could swirl my tongue on his salty sac…then licked all the way back up to leisurely circle my tongue around the head, taking my time, loving the sound of his labored exhalations, the feeling of his legs tensing below me. His penis was rock-hard and ready to eat. I took the tip into my mouth and gently sucked while curling my tongue around him, barely able to wrap my hand around his thick shaft.

  After a moment, I popped his penis out of my mouth, leaving a trail of saliva that dripped down his full length. I met his hungry gaze.

  “Fuck.” Ian had one hand behind his neck, holding himself up in a crunch position to watch me. Damn. Those abs would be the death of me.

  I rose and kissed Ian on the mouth, slowly, deeply. I poured all of the emotion, the affection and gratitude that I felt for him into that kiss...and I melted at all of the passion and tenderness, the reverence that he gave back.

  Then I broke our kiss, gave him a mischievous look, and returned to sucking his cock in earnest.

  He groaned as I took him deep into my mouth and swirled my tongue again, bobbing my head up, then down, up, then down, faster and faster. His free hand brushed my hair aside and held it out of my face, on top of my head. I made eye contact with him as I sucked, wanting him to see and feel how much I savored him.

  “Fuck!” Ian was still staring at me, his face contorted as he struggled not to come. “Anna...Anna...just get on.”

  “Wha?” I said, mouth still full.

  He gently tugged on my scalp and lifted my head up. “Just let me fuck you.”

  I raised an eyebrow at him and smirked, continuing to lazily pump his shaft with my hand. “You don’t care about my period?”

  “Fuck no. Just get on.” He eyed me thirstily, like he really could use some fresh squeezed orange juice.

  I grinned at him wolfishly. “Can we take this to the shower then? Spare your sheets?”

  He smirked. “You really seem to like being fucked in the bathroom.”

  I giggled and pulled him out of bed and towards the shower.

  ◆◆◆

  The next day, we were back to our giddy, affectionate selves. I openly held Ian’s hand as we entered the office, and the many looks from our colleagues did not escape me. I didn’t care.

  I even changed my laptop background to my favorite photo of us from Cassie’s wedding, the one of us walking towards the ceremony, laughing and smiling together. I constantly had spreadsheets and emails up on my laptop, so I hoped that no one would see it but me. But whenever I did glance at it, my heart fluttered and my chest swelled with emotion. It was a perfect photo.

  I met more people, got set up with a company credit card, introduced myself to some of our vendors, and started working on some plans for the company holiday event. I actually had fun at work that day, way more than I’d ever had at Lynd & Cannoli.

  I left the office and went home late with Ian that night, energized and ready to work on my music writing again. It was a little bit odd that I was busier than before, yet also more motivated. I guessed it was because I had more stimulation, more things going on in my life that I could draw inspiration from. I was no longer isolated and lonely, and it felt good.

  And while we worked in the same office, Ian and I hardly ever interacted. He was a busy guy, often running in and out of meetings or being pulled into discussions about this problem or that tool. When he wasn’t in meetings, he was laser-focused on his computer. He didn’t stand around and shoot the breeze by the coffee machine, like many other Stumpstashers did, and he left me to my own devices for lunch (which he hardly even ate, most days). He gave me the space to mingle with our coworkers and make friends, and for that, I was grateful.

  I didn’t have to try very hard—my fellow Stumpstashers were so friendly and wel
coming, and nearly everyone stopped by my desk to introduce themselves. I was invited to lunch, coffee, and drinks by multiple coworkers that first week, although some of those people were definitely asking me out on dates. I erred on the side of caution and only accepted an invitation to the weekly company happy hour. Emily, whom I remembered from Cassie’s wedding, had been the one to ask me. So on Thursday at 5pm, a group of roughly 20 of us headed over to the bar next door to the office and took over the back room.

  “Are there always this many people?” I asked Emily as we settled into our seats.

  “Ha, no. The group is usually much smaller. But more people come out when there’s a special occasion, like a product launch or when there’s a new Stumpstasher. I think most of these people are here for you!”

  Tania, my boss, suggested that we all go around and introduce ourselves. There was Emily, as well as Tom and a few other people whom I remembered from Cassie’s wedding, Priya, Rich, and Tony. Besides one female software engineer named Laila, everyone else was a dude, and even though I repeated their names in my mind, I just could not keep their names and faces straight. There were too many hoodies and too much flannel.

  A waiter came by with waters for everyone, then went around and took our drink orders. Multiple people offered to buy me a drink, but I only accepted Tania’s offer.

  As the waiter made his way around the table, Emily looked around and asked, “Where’s Ian?”

  Rich snickered. “Ian never comes out.”

  “He came out once, when we launched the new mobile app,” offered Priya.

  Rich rolled his eyes. “For like five minutes. That guy never hangs out, never even tries to talk to us except about work. He’s so unfriendly.” The intensity of Rich’s dislike surprised me.

  “He’s not that bad. Just kinda awkward sometimes,” said Emily, who was watching my face.

  “We’re software engineers, we’re all awkward,” said someone whose name I’d just learned a minute ago, then promptly forgot. Matt? Mike? “But Ian doesn’t even try.”

  Rich continued, “I’d be surprised if he had any friends.”

  Priya turned to me and asked, loudly enough for everyone to hear, “Anna, aren’t you dating Ian?”

  I nodded, meeting Rich’s widening eyes. “Yeah, I am.”

  Rich didn’t say anything, just looked away and sipped his water.

  “Did you guys start dating after Cassie’s wedding?” asked Tom, eyes a bit too wide.

  “Ah, kinda.” I nervously sipped my water.

  “If you guys are dating, then he can’t be that bad, right?” Priya asked, clearly trying to throw me a bone. “Have you met his friends?”

  Did Ian have friends? I decided that Lina didn’t really count, as we only ever saw her at the gym. I slowly shook my head. “We’ve only just started dating, so I...I haven’t met his friends yet.”

  Silence. Rich and Matt / Mike exchanged a meaningful look.

  Emily came to the rescue. “So you were Cassie’s roommate in college, right?”

  ◆◆◆

  A couple hours later, Ian and I were making a pizza together for dinner. I chopped the vegetables while he worked on the dough, skillfully flinging it into the air, stretching and flattening it out with each upward toss.

  “The happy hour today was interesting,” I said, slowly slicing a bell pepper.

  “Oh yeah? What happened?” Ian asked. He set the prepared crust on the floured countertop and stirred the sauce.

  “I kinda got the impression that some of our coworkers don’t really like you.”

  He chuckled. “I can guess who. I’ve killed some projects because they didn’t make sense for us as a company, and it definitely upset some people.”

  I nodded. Typical office politics. “But they also asked me if I’d met any of your friends. I said that we just started dating, so I hadn’t met them yet.”

  Ian continued stirring the sauce and didn’t look up. “I see.”

  When he didn’t say anything more, I innocently asked, “So when will I meet them?”

  He finally looked up and met my eyes. Exhaled slowly. “I don’t have that many friends here. Most of my friends from high school and college live elsewhere. You’ve met Cassie and Lina, at least, and I chat with other folks at the climbing gym sometimes. I’ll introduce you to them next time I see them.” He went back to tasting and seasoning the sauce.

  “I see.” I did, and I knew that I had no right to judge. I didn’t have that many close friends in New York, either. I had a bad habit of just hanging out with whichever guy I was with at the time and his friends.

  I hoped that wouldn’t remain the case, or else it would just be the two of us. And maybe Lina, I guess.

  ◆◆◆

  On Saturday, Ian brought me along to the climbing gym again. Lina was there, too, as usual.

  “Hey, how’s it going?” she cheerfully asked, patting my back. “Ready to send that red V1 today?”

  Sending a route meant successfully getting to the top of it, and there was a red bouldering problem in the corner of the gym that I hadn’t been able to send the last time I’d been there. It was the only V1 left in the gym that I hadn’t completed yet, so out of pride, I’d refused any beta (climber lingo for advice)—I wanted to get it on my own. Lina and Ian respected my wishes and kept their beta to themselves, but despite trying over and over, and even secretly watching both of them warm up on it, I just couldn’t send it.

  With his height and long arms, Ian had swung up through the hardest part and easily caught the next hold, which I’d dubbed the devil hold because of its deep red color and horn-like, curved shape, as well as its ability to bedevil me. But when I tried to copy his motion, my fingers barely curled over the lip of the hold, then slipped off, each and every time. Maybe if I jumped and committed harder...but no, no matter how much I threw myself at it, I just couldn’t stick it.

  Meanwhile, Lina gracefully rocked her body over a foothold and maneuvered into a position where she could easily reach the devil hold, despite being slightly shorter than Ian. She was still taller than me, though, and when I tried copying her method, I still couldn’t quite get my fingers fully over the lip before my foot slipped off and I banged my knee on the wall.

  Random strangers in the gym tried to help me too, even though I hadn’t asked for their advice. “Lean into the wall!” or “Swap your feet on that lower footchip!” they said. I gritted my teeth and grew more and more annoyed until Lina told them to stop “spraying beta” at me.

  After several more tries, I slumped down between Lina and Ian and grumpily watched as a tall teenager warmed up on my project. With her smooth and steady movements, she made it look ridiculously easy, and was up to the top and down again in less than ten seconds. I huffed in annoyance and said to no one in particular, “Ugh, I wish I were taller. I’m too short to get this stupid problem.”

  Lina coolly shrugged. “Being taller isn’t necessarily better. There’s no single best body type. Everyone has their own unique strengths and weaknesses, and climbing well is about finding your own method, a balance of things that works for you and your specific situation.” Psh, easy for her to say—she was tall and totally shredded.

  Ian chuckled at my dismissive eye roll. “Lina’s right, though. Check this person out.” He gestured with his chin towards an older woman who was around my height or slightly shorter, and who had just hopped onto my project.

  The start was straightforward, and she cruised through it the same way that I did, grasping and stepping easily through a series of large holds, which Ian had told me were called jugs. But when she got to the crux, the big move where I kept getting stuck, she put her leg up onto a higher hold, much higher than the one on which Lina’s or Ian’s legs had been. I hadn’t even considered that my foot could reach that high. The woman successfully grabbed the devil hold, then was all the way at the top and back down again in a flash.

  Lina’s eyebrows and lips quirked up at me, as did Ian’s. I
grimaced and looked away, but got up and tried the V1 again. Using the higher foothold that time, I finally sent it.

  I was grateful when Lina and Ian didn’t say anything, just high-fived me when I went to sit back down.

  “Okay, fine, teach me everything,” I told them.

  So throughout the rest of that session and the sessions after, they did. Flag your foot out here for balance. Engage your core and keep your hips close to the wall. Don’t overgrip, drop your knee in, maintain tension...They were two climbing encyclopedias, and I absorbed as much from them as I could.

  And just as I’d suspected I would, I enjoyed climbing. A lot.

  I loved the sense of accomplishment after conquering my fear and successfully sending a route. My progress was measurable, concrete, and steady, and it was gratifying to improve in something that was both physically and mentally stimulating.

  I loved the muscle soreness after a long session. I felt stronger, more confident in myself, and more at ease with my body, proud of my newfound ability to do a full pull-up.

  And I loved watching Ian’s rippling back muscles as he made his way up the wall. The way it looked...mmm, I was going to turn into a back girl instead of a pecs girl. He was such a beautiful physical specimen, and I wanted to explore every dip and curve of his body.

  I couldn’t keep my hands off of him when we got home.

  In general, life at home with Ian was as blissful and passionate as you could imagine. I was worried that we’d become attached at the hip, but we didn’t. He gave me space, more than Asher ever had, yet he was always there when I wanted him. He was careful to invite me to do things with him, to never assume that I would join in just because we lived together. I was glad to have found an easy rhythm with Ian, and things were so good between us that, after the first week, I stopped checking for new apartment listings.

  I wish I’d kept looking.

  ◆◆◆

  “Did you want to do something next week? We get Thanksgiving and the next day off!” I’d just received a company-wide email reminding me of that fact. Maybe Ian and I could take a romantic road trip—