by Claire Adams
Okay, this hasn’t happened to me since I was a teenager.
I must just be drunk, because I know how a bra clasp works, but this fucking thing isn’t coming apart.
“Doin’ okay over there?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I tell her. “Just give me a second.”
“You’re kind of losing your touch,” she says with a giggle.
Finally, I give up and she has to do it.
With her bra off, but her shirt still on, we’re back to kissing, and it feels pretty nice being with someone I know isn’t just going to leave me, and I really need to stop thinking about Leila. That’s probably what’s throwing me off tonight. I just need to stop thinking about Leila.
“You all right?” Wrigley asks, and I have to ask her what she’s talking about. “You just kind of stopped kissing me there, right in the middle of everything,” she says. “Are you sure you’re all right.”
“Yeah,” I scoff. “I’m fine. I don’t know what my deal is, but I’m fine.”
“Okay,” she says, and starts unbuttoning my shirt.
Yeah, this is nice. This is how I should be spending my free time: With this beautiful redhead who gets me, who I can be myself around, who’s clearly not Leila, but—goddamn it.
“Okay,” she says, her patience dwindling. “What’s going on?”
“What?”
“You’re just staring off into space now,” she says. “Our eyes were about two inches apart and you weren’t even looking at me.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I’m really fine.”
“Are you sure?” she asks. “We don’t have to do anything. Tonight’s been great already, so if you’re not up for—”
“No,” I tell her. “I’m ready. Let’s do this.”
“Okay,” she smiles and she leans back in, kissing me.
She leans back just enough to get her shirt off, and she pulls mine off while she’s at it.
Skin to skin now, she’s pressing herself into me, and her warmth reminds me of Leila.
Okay, I’ve got to just push through this. It’s understandable that I’d be a little hung up right now, but it’s over with Leila. She won’t even answer my calls.
“Okay, seriously,” Wrigley says.
“What?” I ask. “I didn’t do anything that time.”
“I’ve been trying to put your hands on me, but you keep pulling them away. Obviously, you’re not into this, so maybe I should just go.”
“No,” I tell her. “Really, I’m fine. I think I’m just a little out of it, but I definitely want to do this.”
“You’re sure?” she asks. “This isn’t one of those high-pressure situations where you tell me you’re not down to fuck and I have a conniption fit.”
“I promise,” I tell her, “I’m fine.”
“All right,” she says, and she’s kissing me again.
I’ve got to keep my mind focused here. I don’t know what’s with me, but the more Wrigley and I touch, the more I hear her breathe, the more I feel the soft warmth of her skin, the more I’m picturing Leila, and the more I just want to break down and cry.
Wrigley’s hand makes its way down my chest and settles on my upper thigh.
My head’s in the game now, and I’m holding her close while she reaches up and undoes my pants with one hand.
At least one of us still has game.
Pants open now, she reaches in, and nothing.
“Okay, you’ve got to tell me what the fuck is going on,” she says. “I’ve seen you a lot drunker than this, and you’ve always been hard and ready to go.”
“I’m just nervous,” I tell her. “It’s been a while since you and I have been together like this.”
“Nothing’s happening, Dane,” she says. “What the fuck? You’re not even sporting a halfie.”
I lean forward, elbows on my knees, palms over my eyes. “I don’t know,” I tell her. “I just can’t do it. It’s not you, I promise you that. I’m just in my fucking head and I can’t get out of it. I can’t let go and just let this happen.”
I’m waiting for a response, but none comes.
After all her time and effort, stalkerish though it may have been, she can’t be very happy with me right now.
“Fuck!” I grunt and pull my hands away from my eyes, but Wrigley’s just sitting next to me with a smile on her face.
“I knew it,” she says. “You really are in love with her, aren’t you?”
“What?” I ask. “No, I thought I was, but how can I be in love with someone who just—”
“You can’t help who you fall in love with,” she says. “It doesn’t work like that.”
“I thought this was what you wanted: you and I getting back to where we were before Leila and I—”
“That would have been nice,” she says, “but that’s not why I’ve been giving you such a hard time.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you really think I’m dumb enough to think that stalking you is going to make you want to be with me? That has never fucking worked and it never will. Anyone who says differently is lying to themselves.”
“Then why—”
“I wanted you to be sure,” she says. “I could tell that morning after we technically became a thing. Every time we talked about your roommate, you got this look in your eye. It’s the same look I had a long time ago and there’s not another one like it.”
“I don’t understand,” I tell her. “What were you trying to accomplish?”
“I was just planting seeds,” she says. “While I know that look, I also know you. I know that you wouldn’t just get out of your own way and let something happen—even being in love—without a little help, so I helped.”
“You’re talking Greek,” I tell her. “I don’t understand how any of that was supposed to help my relationship with Leila.”
“Oh, don’t be such an idiot,” she says. “Even tonight’s about that. Do you really think I’m so deluded that I’d try to jump you when you’re clearly heartbroken? That would just be me taking advantage of you, and you’d end up resenting me for it. That last part is kind of why I’m telling you all this: I don’t want you to resent me for anything.”
“But you did try to jump me,” I tell her.
“You made the first five moves,” she says, “but I knew you’d stop it before it got that far. I didn’t count on your body saying no before you did, but that’s just the way it goes, I guess.”
“What am I supposed to do, though?” I ask. “I don’t know where she lives. She wouldn’t tell me. She won’t answer my calls, and anyway, I just spent the whole night with you—a lot of it with both of us naked, and—”
“Yeah, but notice anything?” she asks.
“What do you mean?”
She squeezes my still flaccid member and says, “Most of the time, all it takes for a guy to get hard is a pleasing view or a little friction, and I’m pretty sure I’ve been giving you both for about the last 10 minutes, and not so much as a semi.”
She lets go of me and starts getting dressed.
“I’m having a little trouble believing you’ve been doing all this just so I’d end up with Leila,” I tell her.
“It’s not just that,” she says. “I wanted to see if it was real or just a phase. I wasn’t lying when I told you that I wasn’t so keen on giving up on my fuck buddy, but you’re in a different place right now. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us to keep pretending like there’s still something between us.”
My head is hurting, and I’m not sure if it’s because of the alcohol or because what she’s saying actually makes a weird kind of sense. It’s definitely a Wrigley kind of sense.
“So, what do I do, though?” I ask again. “It’s not like I can just call her up and tell her the good news that I tried to get with someone else, but couldn’t get hard, so that must mean we’re meant for each other.”
“I think you know that the two of you are meant for each other,” she says. “But y
eah, I probably wouldn’t mention how you came to that particular conclusion. I get that the two of you aren’t really together right now, but I can see that disclosure backfiring. You know where she works, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay,” she says. “Send a letter to her at work. Don’t do anything over the top—you don’t want to embarrass her, but you need to let her know that you haven’t forgotten about her, that you still want to find a way to make things work if you can. After that, I don’t know, but I bet you’ll get a response.”
Well, this has easily been the strangest night of my life, but at the same time, I can’t help but think it could be one of the most important.
“You know what?”
“What?” Wrigley asks.
“You’re right. Thank you for whatever voodoo you’ve been doing to help me see that, but I can’t just give up on her and me. I need to know if there’s some way we can make this work.”
Wrigley tells me that it might be better for me to call her again when it’s not 4 in the morning, but the phone’s already in my hand. I turn on the screen, ready to late-night drunk-dial Leila when I see the notification at the top of the screen.
“You have one voice message.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Five Alarm
Leila
We’re back at my apartment, Will and I, and I’ve been doing everything in my power to feel okay getting close to him.
So far, it hasn’t been working so well.
When I first showed him in, I was fully intending on ripping off his shirt and seeing what it’s like to ride a fireman, but I just ended up taking him for a tour of the apartment.
When we got to my bedroom, I told myself that this would be a perfect segue back toward sex, but I just stood there for a minute before asking him if he wanted something to drink.
Even after he said no, I still walked away from him and to the kitchen where I keep the liquor.
Now, I’m going through the freezer, trying to pick one of my five half-empty bottles to sooth my nerves.
I finally settle on tequila.
Okay, so I grab the bottle of rum, too.
All right, so I’m grabbing all of the bottles and setting them out on the counter, and I jump when Will asks me what I’m doing.
“Just setting these out,” I tell him. “Just in case you change your mind and you’d like something to drink. I’m pretty sure we could make some cocktails out of this stuff if you’d prefer that to a straight drink.”
“No,” he says, “I’m fine. You go ahead and indulge, though.”
“All right,” I tell him, and I go to the cabinet and pull out a glass.
I fill the thing half full with a mix of every one of these liquors, and I try not to notice the shocked expression on Will’s face as I drink the whole thing down in one lift of the glass. I would say one gulp, but I’m not quite there yet.
“All right,” I tell him. “Would you like to watch a movie or something?”
“Are you okay?” he asks. “You just drank about eight shots there.”
“I’m fine,” I tell him, “just a bit nervous.”
Now that he mentions it, though, I am starting to feel a little sick to the stomach.
“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to,” he says. “I’m perfectly happy just hanging out for a while.”
“Let’s start with a movie,” I tell him. “We can always go from there.”
“All right,” he says, and smiles at me.
He really is pretty fucking gorgeous, and I don’t know why I’m thinking of Dane as that thought goes through my head.
My fireman is tan and free of tattoos. He’s just looks like he belongs on a stage, accepting some kind of award for bravery or public service.
“Go ahead and make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right in,” I tell him.
“All right,” he says, and walks into the living room.
With him safely out of sight, I take a few deep breaths and pop an antacid to try to calm my stomach. It’s not just the alcohol, although it is hitting me pretty hard already, but I don’t think I’ve ever been this nervous.
With Dane, I was hardly ever nervous. I got butterflies and all that, but it was always accompanied by a wonderful feeling. Right now, my anxiety is wrapped in a sort of visceral terror that I’m not sure what to do with.
Momentarily, the thought to take another drink pops into my head, but I almost gag just thinking about that possibility.
I pull some microwave popcorn out of the cabinet and pop it in. It’s not so much that I’m really that in the mood for popcorn, but I would like an excuse for taking so long.
“What do you want to watch?” Will asks from the other room.
“I don’t know,” I tell him. “What are you in the mood for?”
“Something light,” he says. “Something funny.”
“Sounds good,” I answer. “Check the bottom two shelves. That’s where I keep most of the American movies.”
“Yeah,” he says. “I see you’re really into foreign films.”
“Uh huh,” I answer, and I hope he doesn’t hear the annoyance in my voice.
Why am I so annoyed?
The microwave beeps and I burn my hands in the steam, pulling the popcorn out of it.
“Fuck!”
“You all right in there?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I tell him. “Popcorn’s hot. I’m fine.”
“Need some help in there?”
I’m bombing the crap out of this date.
I finally get the popcorn into an oversized bowl and make my way out to the living room.
“How about When Harry Met Sally,” he says. “I haven’t seen it in—what’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I’ll be right back.”
It’s not my brightest moment, but I quickly set the popcorn on the coffee table and I’m running to the bathroom.
My stomach seemed to be doing okay right up until he held up When Harry Met Sally.
I try to be quiet, but of course, I’m not.
After a minute, there’s a knock on the door.
“Are you okay in there?” Will asks.
“Yeah,” I tell him. “Sorry, I guess I did overdo it on that shot, but I’ll be fine. Just give me a minute.”
“Maybe tonight’s not such a good night,” he says, and I feel like an idiot.
I don’t know what to say to him, so I don’t say anything. I just lie here on the floor and start to cry.
He knocks again, asking, “Are you all right? Do you need some water or anything?”
“Yeah,” I tell him, wiping my eyes with absolutely no lasting result. “I’m fine. I’ll be right out.”
“Okay,” he says. “I’ll stay until I know you’re going to be okay.”
Humiliation meets even more humiliation.
This isn’t how it was supposed to work out.
Dane and I were only together a very short while, and when it became clear that he wasn’t ready or willing to move with me, that was supposed to be the end of it. I was supposed to meet a nice guy here, though I didn’t expect it to happen so quickly.
I never imagined I’d actually meet a fireman after a week and that he’d come home with me on the first night.
I’m doing a great job of fucking this up.
I pull myself off the floor and flush the toilet. Before I open the door, I quickly brush my teeth and gargle with mouthwash.
My hopes aren’t too high about anything still happening, but the least I can do is be presentable.
My eyes are puffy, but some cold water eases the swelling. Within a couple of minutes, I’ve dried my eyes and I open the door.
Will is sitting on the couch.
He goes to speak, but I start first.
“Is there any possible way we can just pretend the last 10 minutes never happened and just go from here?” I ask.
“Listen,” he says, “my ex-wife was a big drinker,
and while I’m certainly not about to tell you what to do with your life, I really don’t think I can go through that sort of thing again.”
“I really don’t drink that much,” I tell him. “It’s just. I don’t know, it’s been a rough week.”
Without any prompting, I just start telling him about Dane and how I left things. He listens patiently.
“…so I guess it’s just a little hard for me getting back out there so quick after everything, you know?”
“Yeah,” he says. “I can totally understand that.”
“That’s right,” I say, smacking my forehead. “This is your first time out, too, isn’t it?”
“That’s okay,” he says. “I think this is probably the best thing that could have happened for either of us tonight.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, we’ve both gone through some heartache, and maybe we can help each other make it through, you know?”
“Yeah,” I smile. “So, any chance you’re still up for a movie?”
“Nah,” he says. “I’m actually pretty tired, so I think I should get going—”
“Don’t go,” I tell him. “You’ve humored me this long, the least I can do is offer you a place to sleep for the night.”
“Yeah?” he asks, thinking it over. “Do you mean that?”
“Of course,” I tell him.
He slips his shoes off and lies down on the couch.
“You might find it more comfortable in my room,” I tell him.
I’m out on a ledge here, especially given how things went after we got here, but he smiles at me and sits up.
“All right,” he says. “I’d like that.”
I’m not entirely sure how I turned things around so quickly, maybe it’s something to do with the male sex drive. Who knows? Regardless, we’re barely through my bedroom door before I’m kissing him hungrily.
He takes off his shirt, and I could just bite him he’s so sculpted.
I kiss his bare chest and he pulls my shirt over my head.
I’m still a little nervous, but all things considered, this couldn’t be going better for me.
That is, until he kisses my neck and I start to feel sick to my stomach again.