“Perfect.”
“Good, because I’m just getting started.”
In his room, I cross my legs to stifle the throb between them and stare at his bed. His sheets rumpled from the night before. Briefly, I wonder about his type. He could have any pick of women, and from the few I’ve seen him escort out, it’s clear that’s the truth. I have to admit I expected to argue a lot more about his timeliness, about his repertoire with his son, but none of those fears have ever come to light. If he says he’ll be somewhere, he’s on time. If he offers to do something, he follows through. I wonder if he’s still as giving in the sack. If memory serves me, he’s overly generous.
Curiosity gets the best of me as I snoop through a stack of books in the corner of his room. He’s well-read, which doesn’t surprise me. The night we met, not only was he a feast for the eyes, he could hold a decent conversation, slipping past the superficial and putting me at ease. Searching through his underwear drawer, I pull out some briefs and see his half-empty cologne bottle. I pick it up and sniff, inhaling the heavenly scent before my phone buzzes in my fanny pack.
Troy: Are you sniffing my cologne?
Caught red-handed, I drop the bottle and turn to see him in Dante’s empty bedroom, the phone to his ear, wearing a towel and nothing else.
I had no time to admire him when he was stripping, the two of us were much too frantic. The phone rings in my hand, and I see his name pop up. Even with him so far away, I can see the dare in his posture to answer it.
I’m not supposed to want to, but I do.
“I’m just grabbing a T-shirt.”
“Do you think about that night?” His voice is low, gravelly, and sexy as hell. My mouth goes dry as I stand at his window, my breaths coming faster. When I don’t answer, he prompts me again.
“Be honest. Do you think about it?”
“D-d-do you?” my voice is just as affected. “Do you even remember it?”
“It was the hottest fucking night of my life. Of course, I remember it. And I remember how good it felt with you stretched around me. Even after all these years.”
“Troy, we can’t—”
“You tasted sweet, and I loved the way you let out those moans of yours, the way your breath caught when you came. The way you kissed me back. Fuck, the way you kissed me back. You didn’t hold back with me. I remember that the most.”
“Troy, I can’t go down this road with you.”
“Why not?” He whispers hoarsely. “You could forgive me. We could start over. We could have something real this time.”
Slowly I exhale, remembering the woman who drove toward his school with all the hopes in the world of starting something real.
“You can come back here and let me in. I’ll start with your lips, and then drop to your ankles. Work my way up—spread you, lick you, suck you, fuck you—make you come so hard. All you have to do is just let go, Clarissa, let me try. Give us a chance. I won’t touch you unless you agree.”
“We are nothing alike.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I’m with someone.”
“Break it off.”
“I’m happy with him.”
“Are you?”
I narrow my eyes across the small expanse of yard between us.
“Maybe he’s what you need, not what you want. What if I can give you both?”
“You assume too much and know nothing of my relationship.”
“Can’t be much of a relationship. He didn’t call or text once the whole time we were together tonight.”
“He’s busy, and we’re not exclusive. Not yet.”