She seems just as lost for the moment as I am, I decide to cut the bullshit. “Clarissa—”
She takes a tentative step toward me, keeping her voice low. “You know orgasms may be ninety-nine percent mental, but studies show that parts of a woman’s brain deactivate during an orgasm, especially those involved with emotion. This explains the ‘oh shit’ mentality women feel after.”
“You think I’m an ‘oh shit?’”
“I know you were before. I’m not sure what you are now.”
“Can I be a ‘hot damn!’ or a ‘hell yes!’ instead?”
We both laugh, and it dies just as quickly.
I close the space between us, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “Take your time, Clarissa. I’m not going anywhere.”
“
Favorite movie?” I ask, folding a pair of Dante’s jeans.
“When Harry Met Sally.”
Though I let impulse win yesterday, I’ve decided to embrace her ‘adult’ way of dating, using her dinner invite to my advantage to get to know her. She was nervous when we got home and dressed for me. I’m positive she’s thought plenty about it and I’m not about to fumble this chance. At this point, I know everything from the age she was when she got her first kiss to her favorite color—purple. Which I could have easily guessed because the bulk of the clothes I’m folding are a varying shade of it. She tugs the thong I’m fondling from my hands, just as I hold it up.
“Behave. And it’s a classic. Also, Sweet Home Alabama. It’s about a woman who’s torn between two different…” Her blush is unmistakable.
I lift a brow. “Go on.”
She hides behind the shirt she holds up. “I don’t think I will.”
“Then let’s watch it. After dinner.”
“I’ll pass. What about you, movies?”
“I’m more of an action movie guy. Mission Impossible, that kind of shit. And superhero movies.”
“I see. And music?”
“Rap, rock, whatever.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Just not old soul.”
“I like your favorite song.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I say, lifting a purple bra which she snatches from my hand.
“Stop handling my delicates, Jenner.”
I exhale through my teeth, shaking my head.
“Yeah,” she smirks, “I know that was loaded. Look at you, growing up.”
“Don’t accuse me of that, you have no idea what was running through my head, Ms. A. There’s a ruler involved.”
She rolls her eyes, grabbing another shirt seeming lost in her thoughts before she speaks. “There’s this one song. I listen for it all the time. My mother used to sing it to me while we did the dishes. I can’t, for the life of me, figure out which one it is. It’s haunted me for years.”
“Man or woman singing?”
“Man. Like James Brown, but not James Brown. I remember in the middle of it, Mom always made me laugh. It’s funny how memory works. Maybe I’ve heard it already, and I just don’t recognize it anymore.”