“That’s right, ma’am,” the tall one says.
“None of our business anyway,” the short one chimes in.
“Good to hear,” Wrigley says, doing a decent job of hiding her confusion.
“You ready to get out of here?” I ask her.
“Yeah,” she says. “Have a good night, guys.”
We keep straight faces long enough to get into a cab, but as soon as that car door is closed, we’re in hysterics.
* * *
Back at my apartment, and Wrigley’s asking if she can sleep on the couch. I don’t really have a problem with it, especially after the fucking insane night we’ve both had.
That’s not what happens, though.
Before I know it, we’re both sitting on the couch and she’s running her fingers through my hair, telling me that she can’t remember having such a fun night and I’m having trouble disagreeing with her.
Yeah, I’m thinking about Leila, but the shine is off the apple. She left without so much as a smile and a wave, and I’m done feeling like shit for wanting to stop feeling like shit.
Wrigley’s kissing me a minute later and I’m not telling her to stop. My arms are around her, and I’m wondering what I was so afraid of. Wrigley wanted to stick with me even while I was trying to figure things out with Leila, and while that’s not perfect and her motivations were hardly pure, I’m sick of not being able to sleep at night because the woman I cared so much for just took off while I was sitting alone in a bar waiting for one last night together.
Wrigley pulls away for a second and asks, “Are you all right? We don’t have to do this if you’re still against it.”
“You know what? I’m fine,” I tell her.
I’m kissing her again and my hand makes its way behind her back, up to the clasp of her bra, and with one hand, I—hold on. Give me a second.
Okay, this hasn’t happened to me since I was a teenager.
I must just be drunk, because I know how a bra clasp works, but this fucking thing isn’t coming apart.
“Doin’ okay over there?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I tell her. “Just give me a second.”
“You’re kind of losing your touch,” she says with a giggle.
Finally, I give up and she has to do it.
With her bra off, but her shirt still on, we’re back to kissing, and it feels pretty nice being with someone I know isn’t just going to leave me, and I really need to stop thinking about Leila. That’s probably what’s throwing me off tonight. I just need to stop thinking about Leila.
“You all right?” Wrigley asks, and I have to ask her what she’s talking about. “You just kind of stopped k
issing me there, right in the middle of everything,” she says. “Are you sure you’re all right.”
“Yeah,” I scoff. “I’m fine. I don’t know what my deal is, but I’m fine.”
“Okay,” she says, and starts unbuttoning my shirt.
Yeah, this is nice. This is how I should be spending my free time: With this beautiful redhead who gets me, who I can be myself around, who’s clearly not Leila, but—goddamn it.
“Okay,” she says, her patience dwindling. “What’s going on?”
“What?”
“You’re just staring off into space now,” she says. “Our eyes were about two inches apart and you weren’t even looking at me.”