“Five minutes to make you come?”
I think I say yes, but, honestly, I’m not sure.
“Sounds like a challenge.” His fingers brush my sex, over my panties.
“Uh-uh.”
“Is that a hell yes?”
I nod.
He brings his lips to my ear. “Need to hear the hell yes, angel.”
“Hell yes.”
After, we take our drinks to the couch. Talk about nothing until our stomachs are rumbling.
My apartment is tragically out of food.
And he has an appointment in the afternoon.
“Let’s go out.” He slides his arm around my waist. “I’ll buy you breakfast.”
“Anything I want?”
“You ordering lobster and steak for breakfast?”
“That a problem?”
“Fuck no.” He laughs. “I want some lobster and steak. You know a joint where I can get some?”
I shake my head. “How about tacos?”
“How about them?”
“That a yes?”
His bangs fall over his eyes as he tilts his head to one side.
It feels good seeing his bright blue eyes lit up with joy.
But what the hell is that look?
“Yes?” I ask.
“Nothing.”
“You’re giving me a look.”
“Admiring your beauty.”
“Hmm… I appreciate that. But it’s bullshit.”
He shrugs who me?
I nod hell yeah, you.
“Angel, if you keep delaying, we’re gonna be late.”
“Late to what?”
“Well, I’ll be late,” he says.
“Then maybe you should admit it.”
“That I love your tits? Fuck yeah, I’ll shout that from the rooftops.”
I shake my head with mock outrage. He’s ridiculous. But I kind of love it. No I really love it. I really…
Am I already there?
I don’t know.
I’ve never loved anyone before.
“I’m getting dressed,” I say. “You can… What are you going to wear?”
“You have any more cock hungry t-shirts for me?”
“I might.”
He chuckles. “We can stop by my place on the way.”
I nod. We can stop by his place. But—”Maybe you should leave some stuff here.”
His expression screws with confusion.
Which is weird.
But, um, well I’m not going to read into it.
I move into the bedroom. Scan my closet for the perfect dress. Not that it needs to be perfect. It’s just breakfast. But it might be my last breakfast with Wes. So maybe it does need to be perfect.
No, it’s a dress.
The dress doesn’t matter.
This matters.
“What are you doing with your apartment?” he asks.
“Oh, well… I already let go of the lease.” I swallow hard. I don’t want to face the reality of our situation. But I have to. “I talked to the landlord. He’s okay with me leaving the furniture.”
“Yeah?”
I nod. “He rents to a lot of college students who don’t have anything. I guess this one needs stuff. So, um, I have to pack everything else.”
“Everything else is a lot.”
“True.” My clothes and makeup will probably take up four boxes on their own. Then there are DVDs, cooking appliances, books. God, I should really sell some of those old text books. Especially if I’m ditching med school. Even if I’m not. I’m never going to return to my biology 201 text. And, well, I really can’t think about that right now. One thing at a time. I figure out what I’m doing with Wes. Then I figure out school. “I have some boxes coming this weekend.”
“You want me to bring friends to help?”
Yes. But I want him all to myself too. “Depends who the friends are.”
“Griff maybe.”
I nod sure.
He nods of course. “What happens if you decide to stay?” He doesn’t add if I ask you to stay and you say yes.
“I guess I’d have to bring my boxes to a new apartment.”
“You can keep them at my place.”
“Wes, I—”
“I’m not asking you to move in.”
“Good.” I think. Maybe.
“But if you need a place to stay for a while, you can stay with me.”
“Oh.” I go to smooth my dress. Hit my skin instead. This nightgown is short. I have nothing to grab onto. “Thank you. I’ll think about that. If I decide to stay.” If you ask me to stay. I mean, I can ask him to come with me. But I don’t know… It’s not like I want to be in Chicago. I’d rather be here. I just don’t know how much I can really handle here if he doesn’t ask me to stay.
There will be too many memories.
There are already too many memories.
“Quinn?”
Please ask me to stay. Right now. Give me the week to decide. Tell me I’ll have someplace soft to land if I jump. “Yeah?”
“Mind if I check for a t-shirt?”
“Oh, no. Go for it.”
“Thanks.” He turns to the dresser.
I focus on my closet. Nothing feels right. It’s not nice enough for this occasion.
I know, intellectually, that the dress doesn’t matter. But, God, it really feels like it does.
I settle on a comfortable white sun dress. A red purse. My favorite cork sandals.
Somehow, Wes finds a fresh t-shirt. It must be Owen’s, but I have no idea when he left it here.
It’s a simple white thing, but, God, it looks good on him.
White t-shirt. Blue eyes. Sandy hair. Light jeans. Tattooed arms.