Taking my own advice a bit too literally, I push Dane—I mean Will—backward onto the bed. He’s down to his boxers and I’m in bra and panties, ready to climb on top and make some memories.
“What’s on your mind?” he asks.
“I’m sorry, what?” I ask.
“Oh,” he says, “it’s just you pushed me onto the bed, I guess I was expecting you to…” he trails off.
It takes me a second, but it finally clicks that I haven’t moved or said anything until he asked me what was on my mind.
“I’m just taking in the view,” I lie and walk up to him.
I put one knee on each side of his body and straddle him. He’s already quite hard, and I’m just thrilled that I’m about to live out another one of my fantasies.
And now I’m thinking about Dane.
“Fuck.”
“What?” he asks.
“What?”
“It sounded like you said fuck,” Will answers.
“Did it?” I ask. “Oh well, never mind.”
I kiss him on the mouth and lean into him, encouraging him to lie back. He puts his arms around me and uses both hands to undo my bra.
“What was that?” he asks.
“What was what?”
“It sounded like you were giggling,” he says.
“I wasn’t,” I tell him. “I don’t know, maybe you tickled me a little.”
He shrugs and we continue to kiss while I wonder just what is so hard about undoing a bra with one hand. Sure, it’s one thing if you’re wearing the thing and you’ve got to reach behind your own back, that’s not the easiest position in the world to get into, but when you’ve got a full range of motion…
“What’s so funny?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I tell him. “I guess I’m still a little nervous, that’s all.”
“Okay,” he says and we start kissing again.
I press my body into him and grind a little against his hips. He’s so hard beneath me.
“I want to take your panties off,” he says and this time, I’m well aware of the fact that I’m laughing.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I just wasn’t prepared for that. Yeah, take ‘em off.”
“If tonight’s not a good night,” he starts.
“No, no, no,” I tell him. “It is. I’m just a little excited right now, I guess. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“You’re sure?” he asks.
“I’m sure,” I tell him.
“Okay,” he says, but the word’s no sooner out of his mouth than I’m bent forward with my face in the bed, trying to catch my breath. “You know,” he says, “it’s kind of hard to stay in the mood when someone’s laughing at you.”
“I know,” I heave, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It’s just now that I’m trying not to laugh, it’s making me laugh more. It’s not you, I promise.”
“Maybe tonight isn’t such a good night,” he tells me.
I might try to stop him if I could reign in my hysterics. I know exactly why I’m laughing: this whole thing, fantasy or not, is just so uncomfortable that there’s nothing else for me to do. I’m sure if I were to just stick it out, I might end up having a nice time, but it’s pretty clear that we’re past the event horizon.
“Call me sometime when things are a little more settled,” he says. “Have a good night.”
“I’m so sorry,” I tell him. “I really am. I hope you don’t think I was laughing at you. I really wasn’t.”
“Thanks,” he says and, after getting dressed more quickly than anyone I’ve ever seen, he’s out of the bedroom.
I contain myself long enough to walk him out the rest of the way, but as soon as the door’s closed behind him, I’m on the floor with my back to the door, curled up and laughing.
It’s not a mystery. I know exactly what I want and what I need. I can only hope that he’s still awake right now. It’s after two o’clock in the morning.
* * *
So it’s after four now, and I can’t sleep.
I called Dane, but he didn’t answer. He’s probably asleep, but I can’t help feeling that he just didn’t want to take the call.
As odd as it may sound, I’m actually wishing I could go back to embarrassing the crap out of myself in front of a guy who I would have made posters of and dreamed about only a few months ago.
I left Dane a message. It wasn’t much, but it should communicate my meaning.
“Hey, Dane, this is Leila. I’m sorry about the way I left and, well, for a lot of things, but I really do miss you and wanted to let you know that I’m done ignoring your calls. Anyway, I hope you’re having a good night. Bye.”
Not over the top, but enough. Except I’m the one who left and I’m the one who blinked first. I know that shouldn’t matter, but I feel like I’ve just been toying with him.
I haven’t been toying with him. I honestly thought that me moving and him staying there meant there was no hope for us as a couple, but if he’s feeling half of what I’m still feeling toward him—I don’t know, it’s got to be worth the risk.
I fall asleep and have some of the strangest dreams I’ve ever had. When I wake up, my head is spinning.
It’s still dark and my phone is ringing.
I reach over to the nightstand and answer.
“Hello?”
“Shit, did I wake you?”
I sit straight up in bed. “Dane?”
“Leila,” he says. “I got your message.”
“Yeah, sorry about that,” I tell him. “I know it was late, and I was kind of drunk.”
The line is quiet for a few seconds.
“Oh.”
“What’s up?”
“Oh,” he says. “I just got your message and wanted to call and see how you’re doing.”
“I’m doing okay,” I tell him.
It’s funny, I’ve spent so much time pretending that I wasn’t hoping for a moment like this and now that it’s here, I have no clue what to say.
“How are you?” I ask.
“I’m all right,” he says. “I’m just hanging out with Wrigley.”
Suddenly I’m beginning to understand why he actually called. He doesn’t want to talk about getting back together or anything like that at all. He just wants to make me feel like shit for leaving him the way I did.
Maybe I deserve it, maybe not, but I’m in no mood for it.
“Well, that sounds great,” I tell him and hang up the phone.
I walk out to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of water. With a sigh, I open the cupboard and pull out the little bottle of ibuprofen and take a couple.
Now, I’m walking back toward my bedroom, and I can hear the phone ringing, only this time, I’m not so thrilled about the idea of answering it.
The ringing stops and I lie back down, setting the water on the nightstand.
A moment later, the phone rings again, startling me into sitting up again. I silence the ringer and just lie back down.
I don’t want to hear about how he and Wrigley “rediscovered” each other or about how much fun they’re having together. If he doesn’t want to be with me, that’s fine, but I’m not going to sit here and listen while he rubs it in my face.
You know what? I’m going to give him a piece of my mind. I pick up the phone.
He’s calling again.
That’s as good an opportunity as I’m going to get, so I answer.
“Listen, I get that you’re pissed at me, but I don’t know what kind of nerve you have, calling me up to tell me that you’re back with her. I still care about you, Dane, and I know I hurt you. I know that what I did was wrong, but that doesn’t give you carte blanche to throw your relationship in my face. I mean, who do you think you—”
“I don’t care that you live in another state, I want to be with you.”
“—are, seriously. What kind of asshole…” I trail off. “What did you just say?”
“I said that I don’t care if you live in New Jersey and I live in New York. I love you, and I want us to be together. I can’t move right now. I have to finish getting Wilks ready to take l’Iris, but I’ll buy a car, I’ll take the bus. I don’t care. I want to have you in my life, and I don’t ever want to go another day without seeing you. Ever.”
“What about Wrigley?” I ask. “I thought you said you were back with her.”