“Not really.”
“Would you like to see the zombie film?”
Her finger found its way inside the gap at the throat of his shirt and traced circles on his bare skin. “Maybe later.”
“You’ll have to tell me, then. What you want.”
She lifted her face to his. “Let me see the list.”
Winston extracted it from his wallet, and they both bent over it. He’d drawn lines through all the things they’d done already—the hugging, the neck fondling that had led to kissing in the grass, the hour of necking, “everything but,” and the fifth item, which was a memory of Allie telling him in explicit detail how to give her pleasure.
Number six said, simply, Toys.
“I purchased a few things today.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “What things?”
“One thing, really. I could show you. It’s…I was limited to the selection at the drugstore.”
“You bought a drugstore sex toy?”
“It seemed—I wanted to be prepared, but if you’re not interested. There’s a vibrator. With attachments.”
She rose to her knees, took his face in her hands, and kissed him, so slowly and thoroughly that he sank down into his body, the list forgotten, the day dropping away. Only Allie, his hands at her hips urging her to straddle him, and then in her hair, tugging her head to angle the kiss where he wanted it.
She broke away. “I don’t think I want to do number six tonight.”
“That’s fine.”
What he had to say. But it disappointed him. He wanted her—the comfort of her body, the excitement of her presence and attention.
“I was thinking maybe number seven?” she said.
Number seven. Mutual masturbation. “That one was yours.”
“Yes. I put it down because…” She buried her face against his chest. “I never did it in front of Matt, but especially the last couple years I did it a lot. I wondered if he did it, too, but I didn’t ask him, and he didn’t ask me, and it just seemed like it should be something, you know. Something people tell each other.”
He understood. Though she hadn’t written down that they should tell each other about masturbation. She’d written they should watch each other do it—a notion he’d found astonishing when he first saw the words, and more exciting every time he’d considered it since.
“Do you want to?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
She still hadn’t lifted her head. She pushed her forehead back and forth against his chest, apparently agonized with embarrassment. “I’m sure. I’m not confident that you’re sure.”
She made a noise, a sort of eep, and burrowed her hands beneath his back.
“Would you like me to lower the lights?”
“They’re already low.”
“I could turn off the television.”
“Maybe. I don’t think I want Anne Hathaway to see this.”
He found the remote and turned off the set, leaving them breathing together in the dark.