Truly (New York 1)

It fell over, spilling May’s sweater onto the ground.

“You ready to go?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

They both leaned over to pick up the chair. He got to it first. She wobbled on the way and had to grab his arm. “I’m all right,” she said in a put-on voice. “I’m aaaaalllll right.” She winked at him as if he wasn’t coming apart. “That’s a line from It’s a Wonderful Life. Uncle Billy.”

He shook his head.

“You haven’t seen it?”

“Not on purpose.”

May laughed for no reason he could discern, and he followed her toward the door, carrying her sweater. “You want this? It’s cold out.”

“No, I’m too hot.”

She tripped on the threshold of the steps leading up to the street, scraping her palm on the concrete. Ben helped her up, guided her onto the sidewalk, and inspected her wounds under a streetlight. When he ran a finger lightly over the base of her thumb, she sucked air in through her teeth. “It stings.”

“Don’t be a baby.”

She stuck out her bottom lip. “Kiss it better.”

He kissed her wrist instead and felt her pulse beat there. She closed her eyes. “That’s nice.”

He didn’t trust himself to speak. Clasping his fingers around her wrist, he led her down the street toward the subway.

“Hey, Ben?” Her voice was low and mellow, like she’d sounded when she was sitting in the sun on the step with the humming of bees in the air between them. “Is there any chance?”

“For what?”

But he knew. He knew what she meant, and there was no chance at all.

“He kissed me,” she said. “But it wasn’t the same.”

“You’ve had a lot to drink.”

“Did you mean it when you called me a stray?”

“You know I didn’t.”

They walked a block in silence. May crossed her arms and shivered. He pushed her sweater at her, and this time she put it on. They were crossing the street when she said, “I just liked that he wanted to. I haven’t … That doesn’t happen to me much.”

“It should. You’re gorgeous.”

“I’m too big.”

It was the way she said it. So automatic, it was clear she hadn’t even thought twice.

He hated that she did that, hated that she believed it, and hearing her do it so casually lit the sweating fuse he’d been trying to keep in a cool, damp place. He pulled her into an alley, pushed her against the brick wall of the nearest building, bracketed her head between his hands.

“You are not too big.” He kept his voice low, but he knew he didn’t sound calm enough. Not even close. “You’re not too tall or too fat or too loud or too whatever the fuck else you think, so stop with that. Stop.”

When she opened her mouth to protest, he kissed her. He kissed her hard, tasting citrus and alcohol on her tongue, pouring all his frustration and desire into her. Her hands came up to his biceps, but she didn’t try to move him or stop him. She stroked his arms through the sleeves of his sweatshirt. He crowded her with his body, and she moaned and tilted her hips up, lifting her leg. He caught it behind her knee and sank between her thighs. He was already hard. Always already lost in her, from the beginning.

“I want you,” he said, pushing against her. “Exactly the way you are. I want you naked and panting and wet underneath me. You understand that? Am I being clear?”

“Yes.”