by LL Meyer
He finally lifts his head and seems surprised that I’m so close. “Sorry,” he whispers, trying to get his elbows under his weight again.
“Nooo,” I protest as space is created between us. Soon he’s laughing because I’ve got myself latched around him and he’s trying to sit up. He ends up sitting on his knees with me on his lap, still inside of me, our foreheads together.
“Lil?” he says in a shaky voice.
“Yeah?” I breathe.
“That was . . . incredible.”
“Oh, God,” I moan. “It was.”
He reaches between us to grip the edge of the condom, and I flinch as he slides out of me. Unwrapping my limbs from him, I settle back on the bed, watching him dispose of it in the garbage can beside my desk. On his way back, he shuts my bedroom door.
“Good thing Crazy didn’t come home,” he says, settling my head against his chest after he lies down beside me. “She’d have gotten an eyeful.”
I giggle tiredly. “She wouldn’t have believed it. I’ve never had a guy in my room before.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “Was that your first time?”
Considering what he knows about me, I know what he’s asking. “No.” Then I giggle some more. “It was my first time doing that. But not my first time doing it.”
He laughs. “I think it was my first time doing that.”
Really? “It’s not usually like that for you?” I finally ask him, my fingers idly stroking the soft hair on his chest.
“No, not like that.”
I don’t know what’s come over me, but I’m giggling again. “My first and only time lasted like three minutes from beginning to end and was completely forgettable. I’ll never forget what you just did to me.”
“Aww, Pretty Girl. You’re making me blush.”
I sigh tiredly. “It’s about time.” The beat of his heart is lulling me to sleep. “Dane?” I whisper. “I don’t want to be a bad host or anything, but is it okay if I sleep a little? I’m so tired.”
He doesn’t answer me, just pulls me closer, stroking my hair until I fall into happy oblivion.
I wake to the sound of “Hey, Lil!” and two harsh knocks on my bedroom door and then, “It’s Friday, don’t you have to . . . holy shit!”
Charmaine makes this high-pitched noise of delight and Dane groans into my back, pulling me tighter against his chest.
“Sorry, but it’s 7:30. Don’t you have to work at 8:00?”
“Oh no!” I jerk upright, and too late, remember that I’m completely naked.
“Holy crap!” she exclaims. “You owe me every detail.”
“Just get out,” I plead. “I have to get ready.”
She takes her fiendish smile with her and shuts the door.
“Dane! I’m so sorry. I have to go to work.”
He grumbles with displeasure as I pull away from him. I start digging through the clothes on the floor. Finding my work shirt, I pull it to my nose to see if it’ll get me through another day. I swear under my breath as I toss it in the general direction of my laundry hamper.
Starting at the top of my dresser, I yank a drawer open and grab some clean underwear. I’m slipping them on when I hear him laugh. I turn to scowl, but the sight of him in my bed, his dark hair tousled, and half his chest showing as he props his head up on his hand, has me melting. “What’s so funny?” I whine. “I’m late for work.”
“Take the day off,” he says like it’s the simplest thing in the world.
“I can’t ‘take the day off,’” I say with air quotes. “They’d fire me.”
“Well, I’m not saying don’t show up. Call in sick, or don’t you get personal days or something like that? Or can’t someone cover for you?”
“If I don’t go to work, I don’t get paid, and then I don’t pay my rent, or my tuition, or eat dinner.”
“Oh, come on,” he pouts. “You can’t have your way with me and then dump me as soon as you need to go to work. My ego is fragile.” Now he’s smiling wickedly, his eyes raking down my nakedness. “It needs stroking.”
We’re wasting time, but I can’t seem to muster enough urgency to get myself moving, not with him in my room anyway. The sight is just so incongruous to my normal life. “Don’t you need to go to work?”
His smile broadens. “If you don’t go, I won’t.” He looks like a kid in a candy store. “Puleeze, sweet Lily, my Pretty Girl. Somewhere breakfast is waiting for us.”
I try to hide a smile by pursing my lips. “Sweet Lily, my Pretty Girl?”
He smirks. “Too much? Should I have kept it to a simple Pretty Girl?”
The thought of going to work without showering pales to the nth degree compared to going out for breakfast with him. “No, I can’t,” I whine lamely. “I already have to miss two days next week because of exams.” I’m so cranky now.
I spy my bra on the floor.
“I’ll pay you not to go.”
I pause, the clasps of my bra forgotten for a moment. “You did not just say that. That’s so close to prostitution, it’s not even funny.”
His expression tells me he can see my point. “Okay, I’ll pay you what you’d make at work, provided you don’t have sex with me between the hours of 8 a.m. and 4 p.m.”
I laugh, pulling my bra around my body into place. “You know that’s insane, right? And completely demeaning to my self-worth.”
“How is my wanting to spend time with you demeaning?” he demands.
I hesitate. He wants to spend time with me?
“But I want you for the entire weekend,” he announces, sounding excited. “And after 4 o’clock, the sex is on.”
This is really stressing me out now. Am I seriously considering this?
Ahhh, I have to make a decision. The clock is ticking. It’s now 7:38. His expression is so hopeful. Does he really want to spend time with me so badly? After last night, I almost believe he does.
I bite my lip. “Are you sure?”
His face lights up in triumph. “From now on, we’re just going to assume an ‘asked and answered’ reply every time that question comes up.”
“If I get fired, I’ll have to kill you.”
I make to leave to go find my purse and phone when he grabs me as I pass by. He’s pulling me to him when I realize he wants to kiss me.
“I am not kissing you without brushing my teeth.”
“Are you defying me?”
“Defying?” I laugh incredulously, trying to shake my forearm out of his grip.
He pulls me closer.
“Dane!” I screech.
“I need a kiss,” he grouches.
His lips are close now, but abruptly, he lets me go, laughing as he swats me on my bottom. “Hurry up and call, it’s almost 8 o’clock. You don’t want to get fired.”
God, he’s playing with me when I have to commit this horrible sin that goes against every rule I’ve ever set for myself. I glare at him, but he seems completely unaffected by it.
I hurry out in my underwear in search of my stuff and find it on the kitchen counter next to the peanut butter that I left out last night. Charmaine is nowhere in sight; she must have left already. Grabbing my phone, I scroll through my contacts to find my manager’s number. I feel bad doing this, but in four long years, I’ve never called in sick at the last minute. That has to count for something.
Jerry, the manager, isn’t happy, but what can he say? He doesn’t want me to quit just as much as I don’t want to get fired. As I hang up, a sense of freedom comes over me and I hurry back to find Dane standing in the middle of my room with his jeans on, turning his T-shirt right-side out.
“I did it! I don’t have to go to work today!” I jump up and down with glee.
He smiles at my happiness. “All right then. Get your stuff together. Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. I’ll bring you back Monday morning.” He pulls his shirt on. “You can shower at my place.”
My glee dims considerably. “You were serious?”
He
shakes his head. “Woman, you give me whiplash. Just get your stuff.”
My happiness climbs back up a peg or two. “Are you s . . . ?” But before he can say it, I do. “Yeah, I know. Asked and answered.”
I go to my dresser and take out my last clean pair of jeans and pull them on; suddenly an idea occurs to me. “Do you have a washing machine?”
He looks at me like that’s the weirdest question ever. “Uh yeah, just don’t ask me how to use it.”
“You don’t know how to use your own washing machine?” I ask as I put my T-shirt on.
“That’s what the cleaning lady is for.”
“You have a cleaning lady? You really are living the dream.”
He looks a bit annoyed now, so I zip my mouth shut.
After dumping my school stuff out of my backpack, I throw what little clean clothes I have left in it. I’m putting my sandals in soles up when he reaches over my shoulder and takes them back out.
“Hey!”
“The hideous sandals stay.”
“But my flip-flops broke.”
“Then we’ll go shopping, but those are not coming.”
I take a breath to argue, but the annoyance on his face is now a shade sterner. “Fine,” I say, gritting my teeth.
I start stripping my bed of the sheets and pillowcases.
“What are you doing now?” he demands.
“You said I could do my laundry,” I say, suddenly uncertain. “Didn’t you?” Maybe I didn’t actually ask. “It’s just otherwise, you’ll have to bring me back tomorrow so I can go to the laundromat.”
I can tell that he’s verging on mad now, and I have no idea why. I’m doing everything he wants. But I can’t give in on this; I don’t own enough clothes to go two weeks without doing laundry. Exasperation flashes.
“I’m sorry if my life is so inconvenient to you, but I’m not some doll who was waiting around for you to pick her up to play with.” As the words come out of my mouth, I realize I’m such an idiot for skipping work for a guy I’ve only known for a week. Maybe if I claim a miraculous recovery, they’ll let me work a half-day.
He rubs his palms over his face and then looks at me with contrition. “No, I’m sorry. I guess I’m not used to . . .” He seems unsure of how to finish his own sentence.
I wait expectantly, but he just frowns. Finally he meets my eyes. “Can I help you with anything?” he asks apologetically.
A smile appears on my face.
“Pass me the hamper?”
He does, and then watches me throw the bedding in.
“Did you brush your teeth yet?” he asks with a bit of petulance. “I want to kiss you.”
“Sorry, but thanks for reminding me. I need my bathroom stuff.”
He groans in protest as I brush past him to get a plastic bag from the kitchen.
“Hey,” I call from the bathroom. “Are you going to take me to Starbucks? ‘Cause I don’t want to brush my teeth if you’re just going to fill me with coffee.”
This woman is driving me up the wall with her indecision and ping-ponging emotions. But when I think about doing the logical thing and walking out and going home, it feels like a vise is being tightened around my chest, leaving me short of breath and ready to pass out.
What the hell is up with that?
Was the sex last night really worth all this chatter about shit that doesn’t matter? Yes, yes it was. The sex last night had been sooo good. And it had just been of the vanilla variety; I can’t imagine what it would be like to stray further into the rocky road or chocolate chip mint with her.
She’s asking me something from the bathroom. I walk in and am immediately reminded of how irked I am by the state of her place. The apartment is a simple rectangle; living room at the front, then kitchen, then bathroom, followed by two bedrooms. It’s clean, but this place is a serious dump; old carpet, old paint, old appliances. I’d like to get my hands on her sleazy landlord who doesn’t think he has to do any maintenance to his rentals, especially the bathroom. The faucet is dripping like a sieve, and the caulking around the tub hasn’t been changed in forever.
“Sorry, what?” I ask her.
She looks guilty about something. Shit, why wasn’t I listening?
“Nothing. I was just saying that I was ready.”
She’s a terrible liar, but the idea of trying to get her to admit what she actually said is exhausting. I still can’t believe I invited her to stay the weekend. What if she’s driving me insane in an hour or two? How am I going to get rid of her?
“Thank God,” I tell her. “I need some coffee. Let’s get some Starbucks.”
This has her smiling brightly at me, and I relax a bit. She grabs all the towels in the bathroom and takes them back to her room to throw them in the hamper, then hits the kitchen and does the same with the dishtowels.
I carry it down the front steps for her. “This is heavy. How exactly do you get it to the laundromat?”
She shrugs. “I make two trips.”
I give her a look.
“It’s only four blocks,” she says sarcastically. “Exercise never killed anyone.” She stops walking. “Uh, Dane? I think someone stole your car.”
I scan the street, finding a work truck further up the block, and lift my chin in that direction. It’s actually a pain in the ass that her place doesn’t have a driveway. “Jason brought a truck. Can you do me a favor and get the keys out of the mailbox?”
“Mailbox? Dane, I don’t have a mailbox.”
My shoulders slump as I put her laundry down. “Are you kidding me?”
One second, two, three. Her lips twitch. “Maybe.”
“Woman, for future reference, do not yank my chain before I’ve had my coffee.”
And she has the audacity to laugh on her way back up to the porch to get the keys, which are thankfully there.
As I throw her stuff in the bed of the truck, she rubs her hand over the logo on the door. “Wilson/Zarren? Is that the name of your company?”
I almost roll my eyes. Obviously. But I manage a polite yes instead.
Once we’re on the road, she looks over at me. “That was nice of Jason to come and get the car.”
I just grunt. She doesn’t know it’ll cost me somehow in some way that’s going to piss me off when I least expect it.
“You should ask him if he wants coffee,” she says.
“You’re way too nice for your own good, you know that? He can stop for his own coffee.” And then, as if Jason’s reading my mind, my phone buzzes in my pocket.
At a light, I pull it out and punch my code, but then some asshole’s honking at me to go. “Read that, will you?” I ask her.
She takes it and opens the text. “Where the fuck are you?” She giggles, but then she goes quiet. “He thought it was going to take two weeks to get in my panties?”
“Are you reading my private texts?”
“Maybe.” She doesn’t seem upset though, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I can’t handle any more drama at this point. “Hi Jason, it’s Lily,” she reads as she types. “We’re in line at Starbucks. Want coffee? P.S. My panties were available to him after only 24 hours.”
I laugh even though I know it’s not a good idea for her to get into anything with my brother. She won’t like it. She’ll be blushing in no time.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have put that,” she says. “It makes me sound kind of slutty.”
The phone buzzes and she reads. “Pretty Girl, exclamation point.” She turns to smile at me across the cab. “Tell him that I want the most expensive thing on the menu. ETA? P.S. You’ve got him by the short hairs. He’s never waited 24 hours for a woman in his life.”
Goddamn it! I reach over and snatch the phone out of her hands. He’s going to pay for that.
“Huh,” she says. “Maybe it’s not me who’s the slutty one.”
My eyes close briefly. Her voice doesn’t sound horrified, but it makes me slightly queasy that she may be disgusted with me. Suddenly, I’m
pissed. Since when do I care about what anyone thinks of me?
I’m grateful that it’s our turn to order and I don’t have to deal with her for a minute. As I get everyone’s regular, she unbuckles her seatbelt and moves over to take the middle seat. Then she rebuckles herself and rests her head against my shoulder, like she knows I need some reassurance. The gesture makes a lump form in my throat, stopping me from saying whatever stupid thing I’m sure is about to come out of my mouth. Instead, I just rest my head on top of hers for a few seconds, absorbing the comfort she’s offering, and it feels so good.
Once we’ve got our coffee, she pulls the lid off of my mine and blows on it. Taking a sip, she grimaces. “I don’t know how you can drink it with so much sugar,” she says, putting the lid back on and handing it to me. “It tastes like syrup.”
I take a drink and my mood springboards off the contentment she’s already filled me with.
“Hey, maybe that’s why you’re so cranky in the morning. It’s actually the sugar that makes you sweet.”
I’m about to tell her that I am not cranky in the morning, but she continues on.
“But I’m not sure what that says about me. I hate sugar in my coffee. Am I bitter and sarcastic all the time?”
I scoff. “Your sarcasm is never bitter.”
“Aww. What a nice thing to say. Keep drinking. Let’s see how sweet you can get.”
I laugh. Fuck, I really like her. She may be annoying at times, but she’s certainly not boring. I take another sip and then lean down to kiss her temple.
“You don’t say things under the influence of caffeine and sugar that you wouldn’t normally say, do you? Like when people are drunk?”
“Not that I know of, no,” I say ironically and then something occurs to me. “So Talkative Lily is actually Happy Lily?”
She’s quiet for a second. “I guess. I don’t remember the last time I was Happy Lily, so who knows how much I’m liable to say. Just do me a favor and tell me to shut up whenever you can’t stand to listen to me anymore.”
“I admit the sound of your voice is more pleasant after caffeine,” I tease.
