Madly (New York 2)

Allie let out a sigh. “I don’t think I can.”

More shifting and repositioning.

“You should, though,” she added.

Winston released his grip and let his hand drop to the bed.

He thought of all that the day had brought to them, the weight of her burdens. What she was asking of herself, the kind of vulnerability she thought she should be able to access, on top of all the ways she’d already had to be vulnerable today. “Come here.”

She found him in the dark, pressing her thigh into his, her arm over his chest. “Sorry,” she said. “It was weirder than I expected.”

He kissed the top of her head. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

“Did you…?”

“I’ll be fine in a moment.”

Her hand skimmed over his hard cock. “Oh,” she said. And then, again, “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. We tried something. There’s nothing wrong with trying things that don’t work, on occasion. How are we to figure out what we do want, and what does work, if we don’t try?”

“I guess.”

She sounded glum, and a little annoyed.

Winston lay for a moment, thinking about how to be what she needed right now.

“I’ll be right back.”

He went to the kitchen, where he made two bags of microwave popcorn and two tall glasses of water with ice. When he returned to his place in the bed, he stowed the popcorn with linen napkins on the bedside table, handed her the water, undressed so he could slip comfortably between the sheets, and turned the television on.

After a moment he found an independent comedy in his queue that promised entertainment without much engagement.

Allie snuggled against him, flushed with heat, wiggling every so often, restless.

He rubbed his hand up and down her back, kissed the top of her head, and gave her space to find her way back to herself.

—

An hour, two glasses of water, and a bag and a half of popcorn later, Allie reclined against the pillows.

“I like this movie.”

“I thought it was meant to be funny.”

“You don’t think it’s funny?”

He gave her the arched-eyebrow look and returned his attention to the screen.

They watched a dinner party scene where the heroine and her best friend got after a male friend for a sexist comment, and then the best friend told a story about her abortion.

Maybe it wasn’t funny. But it was interesting, full of New York people who knew what they wanted and how to get it, even as they were human and scared and confused.

“I like this movie a lot,” Allie said again.

“I like you,” Winston replied.

“I like you, too.”