by M. Mabie
No. He’d changed tactics. Changed his tone. Changed his stance. He looked uncomfortable doing it, and truthfully I didn’t like it much either.
He’d said please. I guessed I was still soft inside from his gift.
“Okay,” I answered, but held up a finger. I had a stipulation. “Except, I’ll have you come back here. We can drink at my place tonight.”
“What time should I come back?” he said, through gritted teeth. He hated giving anything over to me. I wasn’t sure what time it was, but it was still early afternoon.
I relented, “What time works for you?”
He’d bought me ice packs. I’d pick my battles.
“It’s three thirty now. I’ll come back at six.” So decisive.
I clarified, “For a drink.”
“For a drink,” he agreed and relaxed a little.
I walked around the counter and playfully punched at his shoulder. “See we can be friends.”
I could have walked away, but I didn’t. He took the pretend punch in stride and leaned to one side as if it actually injured him. He looked so young and sexy and fun in that moment.
He taunted, “You’re really asking for it, friend.”
I stared at him a breath too long; he was so alluring. I blinked away thoughts of kissing his neck and smelling his skin.
I must stop.
“I have things to do.” Then, I looked at the boxes, thankful because they would be my favorite ones to unpack.
He cleared his throat. “You have things to do.”
FIFTEEN
PAST
REAGAN—Saturday, June 28, 2008
She had things to do?
I was missing a ball game with Justin. It wasn’t a major thing, we’d merely decided to catch an afternoon home game, but still.
She was being difficult, but I’d rather be with her than at the game. Yet, that wasn’t very smart.
I was really winning at life.
I readjusted my stance and asked, “Six? Are we having dinner and drinks or just drinks?”
Does she want to be in her place because of what I did and said last night up against the wall?
I noticed when I left options up to her, when I was amendable, she was, too. “Are you hungry?” she inquired and started walking toward the door. The sight of her ass in those jeans was so damned good my mouth watered.
“I will be.”
“I’ll order pizza.” She turned on her heel and waited for me, but I couldn’t move yet. My eyes roamed her body, she noticed and looked down at herself, then blushed. When she realized what was happening, she cleared her throat and looked at me wide-eyed.
I had to snap out of it. I repeated, “Pizza and drinks. I’ll be back.”
With her thumb out she shook it in the direction of my condo. “You said that. Now go.” Then her hand flipped and fluttered.
She shooed me.
She fucking shooed me.
“Move it,” she added, and that jumpstarted my feet.
What the hell was I turning into?
I bought her fucking ice packs but hadn’t known she was going to buy me fucking wine. And she was lying about it, too. It was a gift. Only she’d taken it back.
That had me thinking on my way down the hall to my apartment.
Why did she take it back? She knew I liked it.
Nora was messing with my head.
She’d been messing with my head for months now. Maybe I’d been messing with my own head. Fuck, I didn’t know anymore.
All I knew was I still fucking wanted her, and I couldn’t have her.
Friends.
Fuck that.
I turned on the game, when I walked back to my place, and shot Justin a text.
ME: Sorry, I’m not going to make it. Something came up.
JUSTIN: Not to worry. Game sucks.
I saw that for myself when I found the channel. It was so bad in fact, that my friend Paul from Seattle texted me to rub it in as well. It didn’t surprise me. We’d been giving each other shit since Kindergarten.
PAUL: Just saw your Cubbies get spanked. Are you crying?
ME: Don’t you have crime to fight or something?
PAUL: Nah. I’m off this weekend. Let me know next time you’re in town. We’ll go see a real ballgame. I’ll let you get me drunk.
ME: No. I’ll let you get me drunk. I got you drunk last time.
PAUL: Fine, princess. Drinks are on me.
The game ended, rather quickly, so I wasn’t sure what to do with myself.
I could always open my computer, do some work, but that was a rabbit hole I knew all too well. I’d be there all night.
I decided, even though I’d been taking the weekends off from the gym, I’d go for a run. It was either that or think about how fucking hot Nora looked in her apartment and jack my dick for the next few hours.
A run was more productive; besides, I’d probably be taking another cold shower when we parted for the night anyway. I’d been taking a lot of them.
My dick would have to wait.
When I got to the gym, I was glad it was empty. I turned my music up, and it flooded my head. The run turned into a full workout.
Lift. Push. Pull. Run. Repeat, but I still saw her ass every time I blinked.
Sweat poured off me, and I was happy for the wear. It calmed me, eased some kind of tension I couldn’t explain.
It was fruitless though, because when I got back to my apartment just over an hour later, I still jacked my dick off into a cold drain.
FIVE FORTY-FIVE.
I’m going.
I’d thought about a lot that afternoon, and I’d decided to change up my approach with asking her questions. I’d been asking the wrong ones. Going about everything the wrong way.
She’d told me her terms, I needed to see where they were amendable. Or I’d need to find a way to be flexible with my own. Although, I didn’t think either were likely.
“You’re early,” she greeted, and I looked at my watch. I wasn’t early.
She wore a red silk robe that landed mid-thigh. It didn’t show anything, but my imagination was overactive. My latest shower tug had been proof of that.
I did my best to keep my eyes on her face, and replied, “It’s about six.”
“I didn’t say about six. I said six,” she alleged, already goading me.
“Should I come back?” I was sarcastic but added a grin to smooth it over.
“No. I’m ready, just not dressed. I’ll be quick.” Then, she turned and let me in. “My wine should be cold now. The pizza will be here at six thirty.”
She padded across the floor, and when I heard her door shut, I finally allowed myself to look that direction.
The preemptive cold shower had been wise, but was it enough?
While she changed, I noticed the shelves in the living room that had been empty earlier. Now they were host to beautiful glass bottles, the lights installed on the unit made them sparkle like jewelry.
A perfume collection.
I looked at each one. Some of the names were familiar; some were not. Regardless, she had an impressive assortment. I’d never known a woman to collect perfume like that. Growing up, my mother kept the few bottles of perfume she had on a mirrored tray on her dresser.
Nora had hers displayed like art.
“Pretty cool, huh?” she asked quietly like we were at an exhibit.
She’d put on a pair of jeans, a sheer ivory sweater with a tight white undershirt. Sexy and relaxed. Mostly sexy.
“Do you wear all these?” She always smelled different, yet kind of the same. I wondered if she liked wearing specific ones for certain things.
“No. I never wear these. I have some duplicates though, but they’re not in these bottles.”
I wanted to pick one up and spray it, but something told me not to. That these weren’t for that.
There was one in the middle of the top shelf that looked more special than the others, and I pointed to it.
&nbs
p; “That’s my favorite. It’s probably the most precious.” The delight they gave her was obvious as she spoke. “I found a half bottle on eBay once, but I’ve used most of it.”
Then she jogged into her bedroom and retrieved the nearly empty bottle.
“Sometimes, if I set it in the sun, I can get a little out here and there.”
I was fascinated by her enthusiasm and welcomed the change. She was animated and relaxed. “If it’s your favorite, then why not use it?”
She laughed like I was absurd.
“Because it’s rare. If I got used to it, it wouldn’t be. It would just be some nice perfume.”
Peculiarly, that made sense.
Was that what she was to me? Rare. Would the same be true with her? Would the novelty of it all fade along with her allure?
Then, I looked into her eyes, content and unperturbed in her element.
“Smell the cap.” She popped it off and passed the crystal cap over to me, and I took it. It was the same shape as the vintage one on the shelf, but I could easily tell this one wasn’t as special.
I lifted it to my nose and breathed it in. It was a sweet lavender-like fragrance but had a spice to it as well. Very alluring. Very her.
I quickly pulled it away.
“It’s nice,” I said. Then I made light of it for no good reason. “They all kind of smell the same.”
“No,” she argued. “They don’t.” Hastily, she left the room to put it away.
I needed something to do—a distraction—so I busied myself with opening the wine and pouring two glasses all the way to the top. Exactly how she liked it. It was a good thing that I had five more bottles at my place, but she didn’t know that.
The pizza was excellent. She hadn’t asked what I wanted, but Neapolitan style was one of my favorites. Again, she’d proven she was a true food snob.
She knew what she liked.
I wanted to know what else she preferred, and why?
We’d comfortably danced around the conversation we always seemed to work ourselves into through dinner, and I’d already made a run to my apartment for a second bottle.
“Tell me what it’s like,” I inquired as we sat on her couch, which was an incredibly comfortable piece of furniture. It looked modern, but the seats were cushy and inviting.
She was at one end with her feet hitched up beneath herself, having moved her decorative orange pillows to a neutral place in between us. Another wall.
“What’s what like?” she asked, laidback and probably buzzed. She was much more agreeable than before.
I wasn’t trying to pry, but I was desperate for understanding. “What’s it like for you being with more than one person at a time?”
Her eyes crinkled as she took a sip before answering my question with one. “You’ve never had a threesome?”
I wasn’t embarrassed, but I already felt anomalous. However, it was vital I knew what I was up against if I chose to put up any kind of fight for her attention. If I got it, I’d want to keep it.
“No, I haven’t,” I admitted.
“That’s refreshing. I thought for sure you’d say you had—at least in college,” she said and shifted, getting more comfortable.
“Why is that?”
Her grey eyes rolled to the ceiling and returned to me. “Oh, I don’t know. Back to your question, do you mean why do I like it?”
“Yeah, what makes it so much better than being with one person?” I leaned back into the corner of the couch and propped my ankle on my other knee.
She sat back, too, and thought. Her eyes glazed over, and she was quiet. Once again, I wished I could hear what she was thinking.
Patiently, I sat there hoping for either understanding or something I could properly debate.
“I don’t know really,” she finally said, as she rested her head on her arm. “I like the excitement of not knowing what’s going to happen. I like learning, discovering new things I like. I think the first time with a new lover is very erotic. Nothing’s been repeated yet. Every sensation is new.”
I felt my breathing grow deeper hearing her singsong voice tell me candidly what she liked. I wanted her.
“Can’t it be like that between only two people?” I challenged.
Her tongue swept across her wine-stained bottom lip. “Yes, I guess so, but there are other things I like about it. It’s nice not being someone’s only source of pleasure. Sometimes it’s nice just being a part of it.”
I disagreed. There was nothing more arousing to me than her singular pleasure being in my hands. Alone.
“Are you always with a man and a woman?”
Why had I asked that? I didn’t really want to know the answer.
She didn’t look even the slightest bit ashamed when she answered, “No. I’ve been with more than one man at a time.”
Ten.
Painfully, I needed her to keep talking. I had to know what I was up against. I also had to offer as much as I asked for. Still, I didn’t want to picture her with anyone but me. Not one other. Not two others. Not...God, had there been three men? The thought of it made my head swim.
Nine. Eight.
“It’s not as sinister and wicked as you think, Reagan.”
My neck grew tense, and I was uncomfortable. It wasn’t that I thought it was wrong, and my mind was probably playing tricks, but all I could imagine was two guys passing her back and forth. Taking from her.
She reached over and touched my leg, trying to comfort me as she spoke. “It’s beautiful watching someone pleasure someone else right in front of you. It’s not scandalous. Not to me.”
“So you like to watch?” She was so complicated. It wasn’t something I’d even considered, outside of watching the occasional porn video.
“I love watching.” Her tone changed, quieted, and she’d shifted more and more as she spoke.
What I’d interpreted as her getting comfortable, may have been something completely different. Because hearing her say such illicit things, such private things, I couldn’t help but be turned on. Even though I hated the thoughts, something about the lilt in her voice made it seem not as insidious as I perpetuated.
Her eyes glassy, she continued, “Having two sets of hands on my body, having two mouths kiss my skin...”
I only have two fucking hands and one fucking mouth.
Seven. Six. Five.
I tried to steady my rapidly accelerating pulse. I’d been the one who’d opened Pandora’s Box.
“I don’t think you’re giving everyone else enough credit.” Maybe I couldn’t please her as much as two men. Two anybody. But I doubt she knew anyone who wanted to try as badly as I did.
She refocused on me. “I could say the same thing to you.”
Again, we were on the fence.
Sick of the barricade of differences we had, I sat there and counted backward, barely hearing what else she was saying.
Four. Three. Two. One.
I wanted her, and I needed her to want me. Just me, but she wouldn’t.
Zero.
I fucking hated it.
SIXTEEN
PAST
NORA—Wednesday, July 2, 2008
I hated how even as the words were leaving my mouth, all I could picture were his hands on me. His mouth on mine.
It drove me insane that I was thinking like such a hypocrite.
All the while, as he sat there on my couch, I spoke about how fantastic it was being with more than one person, but I wasn’t craving anything more than him at that moment. Just him.
Never had I experienced that kind of honed-in desire for a single other person before, and it confused me.
I had to change the subject, or at least aim it at him, so I finally asked, “What makes monogamy so special?”
As was his custom, he thought before he spoke. “Being what someone else needs is a mighty powerful thing. Knowing another person in a way no one else does. Earning someone’s trust and using that to build something strong. It’s not all ab
out the sex, Nora. It’s about being crucial to someone. Vital. Necessary.”
It was such a Reagan way to think.
He looked off behind my head and finished after taking a drink. “It’s about knowing you’re their priority. It’s about knowing they belong to me, and I belong to them.”
I wondered what that would be like.
Was he different than anyone I’d ever met before, or just different in that I listened to what he said because it came out of such a sexy mouth? I’d never been interested in relationships—platonic or otherwise. I didn’t even love my family like that.
I knew he’d never give in though. He’d never change, and that was the one reason I’d never be able to change for him or give him what he’d described.
However, he deserved it from someone. It just couldn’t be me.
And didn’t I deserve what I wanted too? Even if I wasn’t sure what that was anymore.
Regardless, it would never go both ways. There was no compromise between what we wanted. My way and his way couldn’t exist together, especially if I was the only one brave enough to give in.
The conversation fizzled out, it seemed both of us were in our heads.
I didn’t mind the company when it was peaceful. Thankfully, he was easy to be in a room with, without conversations. It had been nice, but the time for those sorts of questions had passed, and I still didn’t feel like I knew anything more than I did before.
We gradually moved on to other topics. Work. Different places we’d traveled. Wine and food.
Soon I yawned, and he looked at his watch. “I’m going to go.”
“Okay,” I agreed, both ready for sleep and disappointed it was over. I genuinely enjoyed spending time with him. He was kind of amusing—not as funny as he thought—but definitely more comical when it wasn’t intentional.
He was different than most of my other friends, and that went farther than just sexual preferences. He came from a great family, who he cherished. Loved his job. Obviously, he cared about his health and wellbeing, as fit as he was. There were many qualities about him I admired. He was attractive in ways I’d never looked for in a lover before.