The Hating Game

“Let’s call in sick tomorrow.” I am infatigable in my quest to get his clothes off. He looks at the ceiling and swallows hard.

“Like I’m going to waste my one big chance on a generic Monday night.”

“It won’t be a waste.”

“How can I explain it? When we were kids, Patrick would always eat his Easter egg straightaway. I could make mine last until my birthday.”

“When’s your birthday?”

“June twentieth.”

“What star sign are you? Cancer?”

“Gemini.”

“And why wouldn’t you eat it straightaway, exactly?” Wow, I sure know how to make things sound filthy.

He strokes my hair away from my shoulder. “It made Patrick sweat. He’d go into my room and obsess over it. He’d ask me every day if I’d eaten it. It drove him insane. It drove my parents goddamn insane. Even they’d beg me to eat it. When I finally did, it tasted better, knowing how bad someone else wanted it.”

He slides the shoulder of my red dress a half inch to the right and looks down at the skin, before leaning down and breathing me in. I feel the tickling suck of his inhale and feel a deep stab of empathy for the heavenly torture his Easter eggs suffered.

“It’s perverted to be turned on by a childhood story about two brothers, isn’t it?”

He presses his mouth to my shoulder and laughs. It vibrates through my entire body. I look over at his beautiful bedroom, all lit up with the light still burning. Blue and white, like a gorgeous Tiffany box. A gift with a ribbon. A room I want to spend days in. A room I’ll probably never want to come out of.

“Did you eat it a bite at a time, or did you snap one day and gorge on it?”

“I guess you’ll find out. Eventually.”

He picks up his keys and stands jingling them while I put my coat on. We don’t touch in the elevator. He walks me outside in silence, over to my car.

“Bye. Thanks for the tea.” Embarrassment has caught up with me. I’ve acted like a total nut tonight. Why is it I can act like a normal human with a guy like Danny, but with Josh I end up dorking out? Something is sharp in my hand and I look down. Oh shit, I’m still holding the matchbox car.

“I’m a freak.” I put my face in my hands and tiny wheels roll across my cheek.

“Yes.” He is gently amused.

“Sorry.”

“Keep it, it’s a present.”

The first thing he’s ever given me aside from the roses. I’m honored beyond words and study it afresh. It has the initials JT scratched onto the bottom.

“Is it a childhood treasure? It looks old.” I don’t think I’d give it back, even if he changed his mind.

“Maybe it’s the start of your new collection. I think we’ve done something kind of monumental for us. We had a ceasefire. For the full length of a TV episode.”

“You sure are good at holding hands.”

“I’m probably not good at a lot of things, but I will try to be,” he tells me. It’s the strangest thing to say and I feel another crack forming in the wall between us.

“Well, thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“No you won’t. I’ve got a day off.” He never, ever takes a day off.

“Doing anything special?” I look up at the apartments above and a wave of loneliness hits me.

“I have an appointment.”