Reality TV Bites

by Shane Bolks

  “Sure you don’t want any gelato?” he murmurs, his voice a deep growl.

  “I’m sure,” I pant. “Unless you’ve got mint chocolate chip or”—He cups one breast, taking the nipple between thumb and forefinger. I gasp—“or Rocky—Road—or—oh, my God—oh, do that again.”

  I’m embarrassingly eager and fervent, breathing hard and pressing against him, dizzy with need. I try to slide off the counter, but Dave catches me halfway and lifts me back up.

  “Not so fast.”

  “Isn’t that my line?”

  “Not tonight.”

  I shiver. He grips the waistband of my boxers and tugs them down. I wriggle out of the shorts, eyeing the height of the counter. Dave’s tall, but not that tall.

  “This isn’t going to work,” I say. “The—oh!”

  He runs a finger up the inside of my thigh, and I squirm.

  “What’s not going to work?” he asks, leaning forward to kiss my abdomen.

  “Um, mmm.” I close my eyes, and when I open them, he’s looking up at me. Oh, God. He’s got to think I’m an idiot. How can he stand there, that half-smile on his lips, looking so completely cool and unflustered?

  “The—the—” I gesture to the surface I’m sitting on.

  “Counter?”

  I nod. “It’s too high.”

  “It’s perfect.”

  “No, but—ummm…”

  He tilts my hips back and kisses my belly, making a slow, wet trail downward.

  What seems like hours later, I have to agree that the height was perfect. I’m sprawled naked on the counter, Dave stroking my calf leisurely. I keep thinking I should sit up, but I’m too limp and heavy.

  “How are you ever going to use these counters again?” I murmur.

  He gives me an uncomprehending look.

  “I mean, like, to slice tomatoes?”

  “You’re worried my cooking might be affected?” He grins. Ugh! I hate him, so lucid while I’m barely coherent. It should be the other way around.

  He wraps his arms around me, pulls me up. “Maybe it’s time we went to bed.”

  I freeze. More? More! Of course, more. He’s still aroused. “The bedroom?” I let him take me into his arms. “Please.” I wiggle forward and slide down.

  Dave doesn’t move, so it’s skin-on-skin, and my heart starts pounding again. My feet touch the floor, my body pressed tightly against Dave’s. “Mmm…warm,” I say, putting my arms around his neck and pulling him down for a kiss.

  After a moment, Dave pulls away. “Before we do this, before we go in there, I’ve got one request.”

  I roll my eyes. “I know, I know. Oral sex.”

  He grins. “That would be nice, too, but what I want is you.”

  “What do you mean?” As soon as I ask the question, my legs begin to quiver and my stomach clenches.

  “I want you.” I stare at him, and he reaches up to cup my face. “It’s all or nothing with me, Allison. I’ve tried it other ways, and it doesn’t work for me. I want to be with you—not the rich girl, not the interior decorator, not Miss Designer Label.”

  I shake my head again. “That is me.”

  “No. You jealous of me kissing Cindy”—he puts a finger over my lips, stifling my protest—“you apologizing to Pudding Girl for kicking her when she’s about to take you down, you doing a striptease so you won’t ruin my upholstery—that’s you.”

  “No, those are me on a bad day.” I bite his finger lightly.

  “Maybe your bad days aren’t really so bad. Look how this one turned out.”

  Hmm. I’d like to argue with that, but as usual, I’ve ended up having more fun wrestling and chugging beer with Dave than I ever do at society parties, fashion shows, even shopping. Well, maybe not shopping.

  Dave runs a hand over my hair and kisses me softly. There’s a tenderness in his touch that I’ve never felt before, and I sort of forget about shopping. I forget about everything but me and Dave.

  I come awake slowly, feeling the slow caress of Dave’s fingers up and down my arm. I open my eyes, and he’s propped on one elbow, watching me.

  I give him a cat smile. “Ready for more?”

  “No.” He gives me a warning look. “And I mean it this time. You’re going to kill me.”

  I snuggle into him. “There are worse ways to die.”

  “Yeah, but I need to live because I intend to enjoy you again later.”

  I laugh, roll on my back, and pull the sheet under my arms. “So, can I ask you a question?”

  He raises his brows skeptically. “It’s not enough you’ve got my body, now you want my mind, too?”

  “Right. For some reason I get the feeling that I’m the one with the emotional intimacy issues.”

  He doesn’t argue, even though I want him to. I want him to say, “Get out of here. You?” But it wouldn’t be true. I’m obviously way more comfortable with the physical.

  And tonight the physical wasn’t even so comfortable. Not that it wasn’t awesome. Dave and I connected. It felt like our first time and the hundredth time all at once. But it wasn’t like any other time for me—any other but one.

  My first time. That first time was missionary position, and the thing I most remember is the feeling of powerlessness—the sensation of stifling weight and my insides being ripped apart. I hadn’t wanted to stop. I’d just wanted to slow down, to understand what was happening, to let the pain dissipate into something tolerable.

  But I’d had no control.

  I’ve never let that happen again. I’ve had sex lots of ways, but the only acceptable positions are those where I’m on top or equal to the guy. I don’t do missionary. I mean, the guy might roll me over for a moment, but it doesn’t last long.

  With Dave I didn’t realize I was under him until the end, when he rolled off me and pulled me into his arms. That whole time I never thought about being pinned under him, being powerless. I mean, there were other things on my mind, but that’s never stopped me from freaking out before.

  Now, waking up with him beside me, I feel vulnerable, and I need to expose a chink in his armor, to even the score.

  I narrow my eyes at him, searching. “Okay, so you never talk about ex-girlfriends.”

  “You don’t talk about ex-boyfriends.”

  “That’s because you can read about him in the paper. Now, don’t interrupt. My turn for questions.”

  He spreads his hands apologetically.

  “Also, I don’t have any of my ex’s clothes in my closet. When did you break up?”

  He rubs his temple. “You really want to get into this?”

  “Yes.” I pull his hand down and rub my cheek against it, then reach up and smooth the line between his brows.

  “Okay, but this has got to go two ways.”

  “Fine.” I swallow, knowing he was going to say that. Maybe wanting him to say it?

  “Fine? Red, I’ve known you more than three months and you’ve never yet answered a personal question.”

  I stretch. “I’m more amenable after an orgasm or two.”

  “Then you should be downright submissive by now.”

  “Are you going to answer the question?”

  He leans his shoulders against the headboard, and I pause to admire his flat stomach and the way the sheet rides low on his hips before looking up at him.

  “We broke up six months ago. She was using me to get a ring out of the guy she really wanted. He’s in the military. I knew about him, but I thought it was over.” His jaw is tense, but his voice is cold and unemotional. I can feel my eyes widen. Dave is always so easygoing, so relaxed.

  I sit up, facing him, legs pulled under my chin. “So, she thought if she made her boyfriend jealous, he’d propose?”

  He nods.

  “Did it work?”

  “I don’t know. I think he was seeing someone else, too, so maybe they deserve each other.”

  We’re both silent for a few moments. The street outside is quiet now; the bars have close
d and everyone’s gone home. There’s only the distant sound of traffic and the ever-present Chicago wind.

  “Did you love her?” I say without thinking. Way too personal there. “Oh! Never mind. I can’t believe I just said that.”

  He gives me a puzzled look. “Why? It’s not a secret or anything. Yeah, I loved her—at least I thought I did.”

  “So, is that why you didn’t want to sleep with me?”

  “You’re never going to forgive me for that rejection, are you?”

  “Like I’m really upset.”

  “Uh-huh.” He looks toward the ceiling, as if appealing to some divine power for patience. “Okay, my turn. Have you ever been in love?”

  I stiffen. “You don’t pull any punches, do you?”

  “I’ll take that as a no.”

  I look down, tracing the blue and gray pattern on the sheets with my finger, wincing at my chipped polish.

  “But you must have had serious boyfriends.”

  I nod. “Yeah, and that’s why I couldn’t stay with any of them. I didn’t love them.” I glance up at Dave. “I tried really hard, and I thought maybe I could be happy without love, but I wasn’t.”

  Dave takes my hand and twines his fingers in mine. I tighten my hold on him and whisper, “I don’t know if I can fall in love.” When I look at him, his face is open and nonjudgmental. I can go on or I can leave it at that. He’s not going to pry; he’s not going to judge me; he’s not going to coo and offer me pity.

  “My brother got in some trouble when he was a kid. Stole a car at seventeen, arrested for heroin possession at nineteen.”

  “How old were you?”

  I should stop now. I shouldn’t tell him this. But I can’t get it out of my head. It’s eating me up, and I have to let it go or it’s going to take over. And if Dave hears this and he still wants me, then maybe this is someone I can really trust. Maybe Dave and I have a future.

  I hear myself say, “We’re four years apart, so I was fifteen. My parents were really busy—parties every night, galas, benefits—and they didn’t pay that much attention to what we did. Gray started hanging out with these junkies, you know? They’d be in his room all night shooting heroin.”

  “You didn’t tell your parents?”

  “I don’t think I really knew what was going on, but even if I had, I wouldn’t have said anything. I had a crush on one of the guys Dave hung around with. Chris. He was older, you know, and I thought he was really cool. I wanted him to like me.”

  Dave’s hand grips mine harder. “You don’t have to tell me this,” he says quietly. “You don’t owe me full disclosure.”

  Exactly what I’d been thinking. I swallow. “I want to,” I whisper and take his other hand in mine. “I want you to know me, and I don’t want anything between us. You don’t believe me, but I really like you.” The words are incredibly hard to say, and I’m trembling inside as I squeeze them out. “If I act kind of aloof, I think it’s because I don’t want to get hurt.” I meet his eyes and hold his gaze. “You could hurt me, Dave.”

  He nods and squeezes my hand. No platitudes, no promises that he won’t. We both know that’s not how real life works. Life is hazardous. I’ve never achieved anything worthwhile without first risking everything, and if I want this to work, I have to take the risk.

  “Chris hurt me. I don’t know, maybe it was my fault”—I hold up a hand—“and don’t give me that bullshit about how I was too young and wasn’t to blame. I wanted him to notice me. I was a cheerleader, and I went around in my little cheerleader outfits.”

  He shakes his head. “Ruthless.”

  “I know. If the guys were out by the pool, I’d decide my tan needed work and put on a skimpy bathing suit.”

  “Did your brother see any of this?”

  “Yeah. But he was so strung out. I think he said something to Chris one time about me being jailbait, but that didn’t stop him—us.”

  “You were a virgin?”

  “Yeah, and believe it or not, there was a time I didn’t have a lot of experience. I mean, I guess I knew what he wanted, but I didn’t really get it. Sex was something to make him like me, but when we finally got to that point, I was scared.”

  “He raped you?” Dave’s grip on my hands hasn’t tightened, but his voice is hard, angry.

  “No. I didn’t say no. I didn’t know how to, maybe. He fucked me and he was gone. He got what he wanted and moved on, I guess. I was freaked out, crying and afraid I might be pregnant, and Gray finally forced me to tell him what was wrong, and I think he went after Chris. I don’t know exactly what happened, but I think they were kicking each other’s asses, and the police showed up and Gray had heroin on him and went to jail.”

  “Fuck,” Dave whispers.

  “I know. And all these years Gray’s blamed himself for not watching out for me, and I blame myself for him going out that day. If I hadn’t told him what happened, he wouldn’t have been arrested.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I ruined his life, Dave. You don’t know how hard it’s been for him to get past his record.”

  “Hey”—Dave pulls me to him, hugging me against his warm, bare chest—“Gray made his own choices. He had the heroin on him and he went after that guy. You’re not responsible for that. You were a kid, and you were in over your head.”

  “I knew what I was doing,” I murmur into the hollow between his shoulder and neck. I close my eyes, feeling very tired suddenly. “I always know what I’m doing.”

  “Yeah? What are you doing right now?”

  “Sleeping.”

  “In my bed. Naked. With me.”

  I smile. “Yep.” I pull his mouth down to mine. “See, I know what I’m doing.”

  16

  Night and Day

  Sex seems different in the morning. What was really hot the dark night before feels kind of awkward when you wake up next to the guy in bright sunlight. Another bit of advice: Don’t stay the night. A lot less uncomfortable that way.

  Not that I follow my own advice in this case. I don’t have anywhere to go anyway. But I guess Dave does because when I wake up, he’s not beside me. His side of the bed is cool, and I don’t hear him moving around. Immediately my stomach clenches. Is this it? Now that Dave’s seen the real me—warts and all—he’s not interested?

  I get up and pad into the living room. His clothes are gone, and mine—technically also his, but the ones I was wearing last night—are slung over a chair. I stare at the T-shirt and boxers. It’s hard to believe that a week or so ago, I was a wildly successful interior designer, drove a BMW, wore Versace and Gaultier, and dated European royalty.

  Look at me now. I’m jobless, my car is in a cornfield somewhere in northern Illinois, I’m naked, and my commoner boyfriend—if he is even my boyfriend—has taken off. I walk into the kitchen. And he didn’t even make coffee before he left.

  Guess there’s nothing to do but get dressed and make it myself. Then I’ll call Rory to come pick me up. I turn to leave the kitchen but can’t stop myself from glancing at the counter next to the sink. The dish soap is knocked over, the sponge is still sopping wet and in the sink, and the cutting board is on the floor.

  I bite my thumb, warmth oozing through me at the memories. I’m still standing there, staring at the counter, when the door opens and Dave walks in. In one hand, he’s got a tray with two cups of coffee, and in the other a paper bag.

  He stops when he sees me and smiles. “This is nice.”

  “I was about to get dressed. Where were you?”

  “Went to get breakfast, but I don’t think I’m hungry anymore.” He sets the bags on the kitchen table and pulls me into his arms. Suddenly all my fears and worries—my job, my car—are gone.

  Back in bed, Dave tells me that before he picked up breakfast, he filled a canister with gas for my car.

  I set my bagel on his chest. “So food, shelter, fuel…did you pick up anything for me to wear?”

  He grins. “Sorry,
Fashion Girl. The mall isn’t open this early on Sunday.”

  “Oh, my God.” I sit bolt upright. “Where’s your phone? Can I use it?”

  “Yeah.” He hands me a cordless phone. “What’s wrong?”

  I shake my head. “The pictures with Nicolo came out yesterday morning, and I haven’t talked to my parents or Gray yet. Even Rory doesn’t know what happened to me after I left her place. I better call them before they stick my picture on the back of a milk carton.”

  “I’d buy that milk.” He kisses my forehead. “Go ahead. I’ll take a shower, then we can go get your car.”

  I dial Rory first. I don’t have to explain as much with her, and chances are, my parents have called her looking for me.

  Hunter answers. “Dave?”

  Fudge. Caller ID. Forgot about that. “No, it’s Allison. Is Rory there?”

  “Yeah. Why are you calling from Dave’s?”

  I wish I could bury my head in the pillows. I hadn’t really considered whether I wanted this thing with Dave to go public, but I guess the decision’s been made for me. “Hunter, it’s kind of a long story.”

  He’s silent. I hear the water in Dave’s bathroom start and the sound of him brushing his teeth. Come on, Hunter. I know you’re not Einstein, but you can figure this one out. Finally, Hunter takes a sharp breath on the other line. “Oh. Holy shit! Um, okay, here’s Rory.”

  “Allison? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Then why is Hunter acting like C-3PO on crack?”

  I sigh. “I’m at Dave’s.”

  “Are you serious? Wait. Are you at Dave’s or at Dave’s?”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m at Dave’s.”

  “So you’re at Dave’s or at Dave’s?”

  “Rory, we had sex, okay?”

  “Aagh! I can’t believe it! Is this some kind of Jedi mind trick—no, you wouldn’t do that. Was it good? No, wait. I don’t want to know that about Dave. Okay, how about, did you do it more than once?”

  “Rory, have my parents called you? I left my cell on your kitchen table, and I forgot to call when I got to Dave’s last night.”