Losing It

Ultimate California Boy.

For my last summer in California.

Could I really ask for more?

“Lots of clothes for a stripper.” My cheeks flush. It’s so much harder doing this with him here.

Though, well, he’s kind of an essential part of the formula.

Hard to lose it alone.

Hard to lose it if I keep running away.

I’m facing my fears.

Trusting him.

We’re doing something today.

I’m okay not knowing what it is.

Really.

He tugs his tank up his stomach as he steps inside. “You want a show?”

My eyes go straight to the sliver of tanned, tone skin on display. He’s so fucking hot. It’s wrong. “It would be rude to turn you down.”

“Yeah?” A laugh spills from his lips. It’s big. Hearty.

His laugh sometimes sounds fake. But never when it’s the two of us alone.

He’s real with me.

I… I don’t get much of that in my life.

It should make this easier.

But it only underlines how important this is.

If I fuck this up and scare him off, I’ll have to settle for someone completely inferior.

Or remain a virgin forever.

Honestly, I’m not sure which is worse.

Shit. He’s still standing there. Waiting for me. For something.

Well, whatever the circumstance, I do have manners. “You want something to drink? Water? Tea? Coffee?”

“You have coffee?”

“Instant.”

His nose scrunches in distaste. “Anything but that.”

“Black tea?”

“Sure.”

“Of course.” I motion to the kitchen across the living room. My apartment isn’t nearly as nice as his—apparently, being a tattoo artist pays better than being a part-time scribe. It’s small. Company is rare.

Him being here…

It’s a big deal.

His gaze shifts around the room. He takes in the neatly stacked dishes by the sink. The medium sized TV. The blanket folded over the couch.

Then the walls.

They’re covered in posters from old movies.

It’s a theme.

They’re big movies everyone has heard of.

But there’s still something intimate about it.

He’s in my space. Seeing all these clues to who I am.

I turn my attention to the kitchen counter. Fill the kettle with water. Turn it on. Pull almond milk from the fridge.

He moves into the kitchen. Into my space.

His hip brushes mine.

The back of his hand brushes my arm.

My body buzzes.

That proximity again.

He smells good.

Clean. Like soap.

I never thought soap smelled good, but it does.

He does.

He’s just…

Wes.

“It, um, it will be a minute.” I press my hands together, so I won’t fidget. “I have decaf English Breakfast too. I’ve been trying to cut back. When school is in session, I’m really bad about caffeine. I drink more and more to get through studying, then, all of a sudden I’m drinking five cups a day to no effect.”

“It happens.”

“Yeah.” God, what do I say here? “Do you like yours with milk or…”

“However you make it.”

I nod.

The water steams.

I grab two mugs. Place a bag of English Breakfast in each.

Pour.

He gives me a long once-over as he dunks his tea bag. “When’s it done?”

“Four minutes.”

“You wait that long?”

“Coffee takes longer.” Owen and I never could agree on the appropriate morning drink. Coffee is too much. Pure bitterness in liquid form.

Tea, now, that’s the perfect drink.

I dunk my bag a few times (it speeds the steeping process), pull it out, add almond milk.

Wes copies the gesture.

He sighs as he takes a sip of his drink.

“Fuck, that’s good.” He sets his mug on the counter. Brings his hand to my hip. His fingers brush my glasses. Then the neckline of my fit and flare dress. “You look gorgeous.”

“Thank you.”

“You could have stayed in your pajamas.”

I shake my head. “No, I don’t think we know each other well enough for that.”

“You’ll let me touch your tits, but I can’t see you in pajamas?”

My blush deepens. He still makes me nervous. But in a good way. In a really good way. “How many boobs have you touched?”

“Uh…” He scratches his head. “No comment.”

“How many women have you seen in pajamas?”

“A lot. But I respect your boundaries.”

“You sound like a shrink.”

He laughs. “Fuck, I do. Slap me next time that happens.”

“I’m not going to slap you.”

“On the ass?”

“Sounds more like a reward.”

His fingers curl into my hips. They press the soft fabric of my dress into my skin.

He moves closer.

Brings his other hand to the back of my head.

Pulls me into a deep, slow kiss.

My eyes close.

My lips part.

My thoughts scatter.

It’s not like before. I’m not worried about technique or what I can handle or impressing him.

I’m there.

My body screams Wes Wes Wes.

One hand goes to his hair.

The other goes to his hip.

His ass.

I dig my fingers into the soft fabric of his shorts.

“Fuck.” He pulls back with a breathy sigh. “You gotta warn me if you’re going to pounce.”

“You kissed me.”

He shakes his head. “Not like that.”

“Yeah like that.”

“I gotta give you something, angel.”

“Yeah?”

“You sure as hell retain information well.”

“I, um… I’m a great student…” It doesn’t sound flirty out loud. More awkward. “I mean thanks. You… um… you’re a good teacher.”