“I’m cute? Wait. Did you somehow become drunk?”
Cecelia
Did I somehow become drunk?
Wait. What?
Matthew looks so confused that I just called him cute that he glances around the room, as if expecting someone else to pop out of the shadows and join us. Great, just great. Now I actually feel guilty that I’ve never sincerely complimented him before. How terrible is that? Sure, I flirt with him regularly, but that’s not really the same thing. I mean – aren’t compliments fuel for the male ego?
Do you have a pen, because you might want to write down these words of advice: the way to a guy’s heart is not through his stomach, it’s through his ego. Inflate it with praise and you, my friend, are golden.
That. Is. A. Fact.
Trust me on this.
I gulp down a large sip of wine (call it “liquid courage” if you want) finishing the glass in one, long chug (classy, I know) and set the now empty glass down on the coffee table, dab at my moist upper lip, and smile convincingly as Matthew stands in the middle of the room, staring at me like I’ve sprouted two heads.
“Are you going to come sit by me, or did you only lure me here and ply me with alcohol so you could gape at me without any distractions,” I tease.
“Sounds about right,” Matthew volleys back cheerfully, making his way around the coffee table with a smug smile on his face and settling onto the sofa. His right arm goes up behind my head, on the back of the couch; the hairs on the back of my neck prickle from his close proximity. “Any chance to ogle you is alright with me. Plus, you smell amazing; an intoxicating blend of hockey ice and perfume.” To illustrate his point, he leans in and sniffs my neck, loudly inhaling and coming away with a satisfied ‘ahhhhhh.’
I give him a smack on the arm, giggling nervously. “Ha ha, very funny.”
“Truthfully though, you could smell like shit from a barn and I’d still be attracted to you,” Matthew jokes as he casually brushes his fingers through my long hair.
I lean in towards him and tenderly but firmly brush my smiling lips against his. “That was such a sweet thing to say.”
“I know how to charm the ladies,” he grins, leaning in for another kiss. We stay like this for a good fifteen minutes; softly kissing each other – lavishing each other with affection in the most primal yet innocent of ways.
It makes me feel thirteen again - back when I was young, innocent and still thought boys were good and honest and decent. Back when I had no idea about erections and “bases” and sex stuff.
Right now, at this moment, we have all the time in the world. There is no rush to talk of our next date, nor is there a rush to Matthew’s bedroom, which is just down the hall across from the bathroom (and I would know, because I peeked into it when I was using the powder room earlier).
There is just us and our lips, and it’s… amazing.
A faint buzzing from inside Matthew’s front jeans pocket interrupts us.
“You can see who that is,” I say, wiping my mouth when the phone begins buzzing for a second time. “It could be important.”
“Or it could be my nosey sister,” he deadpans as he pulls his phone out, swiping the screen. He holds it up for me to see; he’s right, it is Molly. “See? Told you.”
“How come she isn’t text bombing me?” I ask indignantly, pretending to be insulted.
“Because you’re way meaner than I am,” he teases. “Should we send her a selfie?”
I bounce up and down. “Yeah! Good idea.”
“Should I have my hands on your boobs?”
I smack him in the chest. “Ha ha very funny.”
“What? I think it’s a terrific idea. Give it some more thought before rejecting it completely.”
“You know, we can have fun with her without you fondling my breasts. Get your mind out of the gutter.”
Matthew rolls his eyes. “Well that’s no fun. Can we be kissing or something in the picture?” He pokes at his screen a few times and opens Snapchat.
I don’t question the ‘or something’ part of his statement, instead sighing in resignation. “Sure, why not.”
“Oh goodie. Here, get closer,” Matthew instructs as grabs my hips and pulls me across his lap, holding his cell phone out in front of us with one arm, the other holding me firmly around the waist.
He gives me a sidelong glance. “Pucker your pretty lips.”
I pucker my lips and giggle.
“Last chance on the breast fondling. Going once… twice…”
“Would you just take the damn picture?” I burst out, laughing.
His face is next to mine, and I can feel his breath on my neck. “You always were so impatient,” he murmurs. “What else are you impatient for?”