“Why the emphasis?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“If I can’t get you…” I answer.
“Oh,” Mike says. “Well, it’s been what? Ten years since you’ve kissed a guy? I just figured after that long, I could pretty much do anything and still get a good response from you.”
“It has not been that long,” I tell him. “And we’re way too close as friends for you to get a really good response from me.”
“Well, do you have any notes? I mean, if you can’t remember—”
“Yeah, the tongue was way too much. I felt like you were trying to paint the top of my mouth or something and it was just weird.”
“Weird because we’re friends, or weird because—”
“It was weird because it was weird,” I answer. “I don’t know what the whole blowfish thing you were doing with your lips was all about, but you can stop doing that, too.”
“What about when I turned my head so our noses were on the other side, that was a good—”
“I really wasn’t all that impressed,” I tell him. “It was pretty obvious that you were trying to give me an eskimo kiss.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s a racially insensitive term,” Mike says, sulking.
“That’s what they call it. I didn’t make up the term.”
“So, was there anything you liked?” he asks.
“Liked is kind of strong for me…”
“Oh, come on!”
We go back and forth a while. I give him some fundamental tips, but make it beyond clear that we’re never kissing like that again.
I rewind the movie as, by the time Mike’s done asking questions, we’ve missed at least half of it and we spend a quiet evening sitting on the couch.
The only thing that’s starting to bother me is that Dane still hasn’t come home.
It’s not unusual for him to be out late or even all night, but tonight feels different. That look on his face when he saw me and Mike kissing… it looked like he once had a smile, but that it slowly melted and died. I don’t know how to describe it.
It looked like his heart was breaking.
I don’t know, maybe I’m reading too much into it.
After all, Dane has what’s-her-stupid-name to keep him company.
What does he need me for?
Chapter Twelve
Standard Procedure
Dane
The view of Wrigley’s shapely posterior rising and falling as she works me into her is pleasant enough, but my heart just isn’t into it.
Not that Wrigley minds or even notices. The fact that I’m hard is more than enough for her.
We’re back on the roof, but the people across the street are all tired of the show.
I know how they feel.
I’m lying on the ledge with one foot on each side of it and Wrigley’s got her back to me. Once I got over the initial fear, this really doesn’t feel like anything exciting or even new.
“Oh yeah,” she says, slamming her core onto me again and again, “fuck me hard!”
I’m wondering if I were reading a book right now, would she even notice?
It doesn’t really matter, I guess. Things could be worse.
Though I’m not sure how.
I lift my hips as she comes down, burying myself deeper inside and I may as well be somewhere else entirely. There’s no passion, no thrill.
To stay interested, I fantasize about rolling a little to one side and wonder if I’d still be inside her when we hit the pavement.
I close my eyes and start to pretend that she’s Leila, but immediately stop. I’m not going to cheapen Leila like that.
Come to think of it, it’s kind of a bad sign that I’m not so concerned about cheapening Wrigley like that.
“Are you about there?” I ask, trying to put enough enthusiasm into my voice to not pull her out of her moment.
She stops riding me, though I’m still inside her.
She moves one leg over the side of the building so now only gravity is holding her in place. Yeah, I’m inside of her, too, but I seriously doubt that would be enough to stop her from going over the edge.
Wrigley lifts her other leg over my body so she’s facing me now, straddling me and she leans forward, kissing my lips as she says, “I think I want a relationship with you, too, Dane.”
“I’m sorry, what?” I ask before I can stop myself.
“I said I want to be in a relationship with you, too, Dane. You were right. There’s more between us than just sex.”
I don’t say anything for a minute. I don’t move and hardly breathe. This is about the last thing I was expecting from tonight.
“What do you think?” she asks, grinding herself onto me to emphasize the question.
I look at her. She’s already looking at me.
Her eyes are pale blue. They’re not the darker blue of Leila’s, but they’re not without their warmth.
She kisses me and I just stay there, hands hanging down.
I look over the edge of the building and I look back at Wrigley.
And I decide to jump.
“I’d love that,” I tell her. “Let’s do it.”
She lets out a glee filled squee and puts her hands on my cheeks as she kisses me vehemently.
“I’ve never wanted to be with just one man before,” she tells me.
She throws her head back and to the side, letting her hair fall over her left shoulder.
“I don’t see any stars,” I tell her.
She stops moving and the smile slowly fades from her expression.
“What?” she asks.
“The sky,” I tell her. “I don’t see any stars.”
“Oh,” she shrugs. “The city’s too bright.”
“Yeah,” I mumble.
This isn’t a bad thing. Wrigley and I do seem to get each other on a deeper level, even if that particular level is generally strange and somewhat terrifying.
She’s not a bad person. She’s into some weird shit, but that’s not a crime. Well, what we’re doing right now technically is, but you know what I mean.
Her muscles tighten around my cock and she slides herself up and down my shaft slowly.
“I’ve been practicing,” she says.
“What?” I ask, still looking for even a single glimmering point of light in the sky.
“Kegels,” she says. “It helps me grip. See?”
She flexes herself around me again.
“You like?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I smile. “I like.”
“It’s getting cold,” she says. “Wanna go inside? We can always pick this up on the bed or…” she kisses me. “The couch or…” she kisses me again. “The floor or…” she presses her whole body into mine and breathes in deeply as she kisses me once again. “Wherever.”
“Yeah,” I answer. “Okay.”
She grips me again as she slips herself off of me and a moment later, I’m just lying there on the ledge atop this building, still trying in vain to spot a single star in the sky.
* * *
It’s seven in the morning, and I haven’t slept yet.
Wrigley’s feathered breath is warm on my bare chest as she sleeps peacefully in my arms.
What I’m worried about right now is that I’ve never known this woman outside of a strictly sexual context.
Yeah, we’ve gone places and we’ve talked, but we’re always on our way to a new place to have sex. We’re always talking about what we’re going to do with each other when we get there.
I know there’s more to her than that, but I just don’t know if I’m ever going to see it.
I’ve spent so much of my life treating women like flavor of the hour that I’ve completely forgotten what it’s like to be that guy, to ask those questions and really get to know someone.
“Are you awake?” the whisper comes as a slow rush of air, barely audible.
“Yeah,” I whisper back.
I can feel the muscles in her face pulling back and when she lifts her head to turn and look at me, she’s smiling.
“Good morning,” she says.
I can’t help but smile back.