27. Chapter 27 Staley
Chapter 27 Staley
L ife is a blender without the lid on top as of late, in a good way. Between studying for finals, end-of-the-year projects, work, and blossoming friendships with Gabby, Maeve, and Alex, I’ve hardly had time to come up for air. I blame Theo for the lack of air—we’ve been busy cuddling and kissing, or as my dad liked to call it, counting one another’s teeth.
Every moment I spend with him is a piece of my life I didn’t notice was missing until he filled it. But instead of being lost, a heartbeat leads me to the finish line, rerouting me whenever I hit a wall or get turned around. I’ve been in love before. But this isn’t love. Is it?
Things I do now that I didn’t do before falling into a desperate state of like with Theo:
Twirling my hair when I think about him. I’m a lovesick schoolgirl with a crippling crush.
During the hours and dreadful days when I can’t see or be kissed by him, I think of the few Luca Blue recording sessions he’s let me sit in on. Then, I reenact them with my imagination on my own time while indulging in his gorgeous, talented voice. Bless him for being open to field research for his recordings because the man has a way with his mouth that’s left a permanent mark on my skin. I asked him if we could have all the fan emails directed to my inbox since I’m his muse.
Fuck. I’m in love with him. And no, I’m not blinded by the physicality of the relationship. Real love, the kind that puts all of the pathetic excuses I called love in the past in their place. Theo has been saying what’s on his mind more and more, coming out of his shell, but he’s not saying if he feels the same way. But then again, it’s not a topic we have discussed.
My brightened state is only enhanced by Dad smiling more. I might be delusional or overly hopeful, but I swear my name is on his tongue every morning when I wake him up. All the extra cuddling has paid off, and I hope the medicine finally works.
“Good morning, Staley. You sure have been extra R.E.M. lately.” Leslie speaks in a code, and it’s too early to translate. My brain is swimmy from last night when Theo and I made love, with him whispering lines of poetry into my ears, neck, and mouth. Um, love. The pace of his strokes matched the tone and pentameter (his word, not mine) of his words. Thanks to him, I know what pentameter means. Pop culture is my wheelhouse, but suddenly, I am obsessed with all things words, rhymes, and diction—emphasis on the dick in diction.
“What does Michael Stipe have to do with me?”
Leslie laughs and passes me a bowl of oatmeal made with extra brown sugar, butter, and almond milk. The steam hits my face, and I smile at how something as simple as a bowl of food made for me by someone else makes me feel cared for.
“Shiny, happy people. Staley, you’re so lovesick that you’ve lost your touch for identifying obvious music references on the first go. Russell, do you hear that? Your one and only daughter has allowed puppy eyes and necking in the hallway to overshadow her love of music. Tsk, tsk.”
Unexpectedly, Dad lets out a chortle, and says, “Love will do that to you.” He winks and then returns to his bowl of extra soft oatmeal.
Leslie and I exchange looks of shock. He’s pumped the brakes when none of us expects it, and the seatbelt jerks us to attention. I cannot jinx this turn of events.
I smile and know the first person I’ll talk to about this breakthrough is the person with whom I’m falling head over heels in love.
Nothing will top my interaction with Dad this morning, and I dare the universe to try.
The day ahead is maddeningly busy:
A non-cuddle session with Alex. The weirdest part of my day, for sure.
A non-cuddle session with Theo. It is the best and most naked part of my day.
Class. Eye fuck Theo from the front row until his cheeks burn with the fire of a thousand suns. It’s me, I’m the sun.
Coffee with Gabby and Maeve. Pretend I don’t know what’s happening between them.
Cry because I do not have a Cher Horowitz closet and try to assemble something presentable for the upcoming fundraiser.
Panic. Then I panic some more.
Maybe rub one out so I’m less panicky. Beg Gabby and Maeve to come over and help me with all things glamor.
***
Theo and I have an afternoon date planned. I insisted we find something to do outside of his house, where clothes are required. Waiting for Theo makes me more nervous than usual because public places can be unpredictable for my anxiety, and Theo being uncomfortable for any reason makes me feel anxious. Theo has already expressed how he often avoids what he lovingly calls the outside because he might have to talk to people there.
But I want to push both of us to try new things and be comfortable in all the elements. Seeing him walking down the street is enough to catch my heart in my throat. He tucks his hands into his denim pockets and makes eye contact. Deep dimples greet me as his face lights up upon seeing me. It takes everything to not run to him and squeeze his butt right here on the street. As he nears, he offers a sweet but borderline little wave.
I’ve never been one to hold back my affection for others. I’m a cuddler, for God’s sake, and it’s why I give him the biggest hug my tired body can muster. Theo pulls his hands from his pocket and wraps me up, breathing me in. He settles against me and places a warm kiss on my temple.
“Hey, sweet girl.”
Swoon. Butterflies. Hair twirls. Theo has me upended.
I cannot reply appropriately. Instead, I smile until my cheeks hurt and kiss him until he’s pulling up for air. He looks up at the front of the building and I hope he’s questioning my choices.
“A secondhand st-store?” His mouth puckers a bit at the pronunciation of store in the same way that he says my name.
“Yep. We’re going to go inside.”
“And do what?”
“And I’m going to shop for an outfit for you, and you’ll find something for me. Then we’ll wear those clothes for the rest of our date.”
Theo smiles, opens the door, and shakes his hair from his eyes. My gosh, he is so hot.
“Used clothes await us, Theodore. You could be a cowboy or a stuffy insurance man by the time I’m done with you. Question, how do you feel about assless chaps?”
“Are there any r-rules for this date?” Theo scans the racks and grins. “And no.”
“Rules?”
“Yea, stuff you absolutely won’t wear?”
“Oh, no ... that’s half the fun, is seeing what the other person picks out. Let’s meet at the dressing room in fifteen minutes?”
Theo nods, and it’s not until he lets go of my hand that I realize he is holding it because I miss his absence. I thumb through the shirts, scoop a few up, and peruse pants and accessories. Faded denim and shirts covered in cat heads bring me joy.
He must have the same idea because he holds all of his choices behind his back, taunting me with the atrocities that lie in wait.
“Your wardrobe awaits you. Sullivan behind door number three.”
Theo might hate me after this or never agree to go on an outside date with me again, but his brilliant smile makes me want to kiss him again.
“Cl-close your eyes. I put yours behind door number two.”
I am not one to ruin a surprise, so I do as instructed. When I step behind my door, I erupt in hysterics. Theo groans and curses my name under his breath, which makes me laugh even harder, and I love the sound of anything that might be sexual leaving his mouth.
“Staley. You’ll pay for this.”
“You promise?” It’s a dare, one I hope he takes me up on.
“I’ll d-do anything you w-want me to do to you, Staley, and anything you let me.” This is a promise filled with grit, one with me across his lap with my ass cheeks reddened and then caressed back into submission.
“On the count of three, let’s reveal ourselves at the same time.”
Theo grumbles some more.
“One, two, three.”
Our respective doors swing open, and my heart swells at how much fun this is. When was the last time I let loose? I have Theo to thank, and I love him for it. Theo stands before me in head-to-toe denim. The shades of blue aren’t uniform. His bottom half appears to be accidentally bleached, while his top is a strong denim color.
“Are you l-laughing at me?”
Snort laughing, yes. I watch him lift the accessory I chose around his neck to show me how much he’s committed to the whole outfit.
“Your bolo tie.” I cover my mouth, amused at my creation.
“Oh, this old th-thing? I thought they only came in p-pewter and turquoise. A di-disco ball bolo tie is brilliant.”
Theo beams at me, and even though his outfit is atrocious, I thank the denim gods for showing off Theo’s body. Meanwhile, I’m in a fabric that I cannot even pronounce. It’s gleaming, poofy, and way too hot pink.
“All the outfits in this store, and you went with the ’90s prom dress for me? I have questions. How dare you?”
Theo spins his finger, asking me to do a twirl. I oblige him, and he whistles at the backside of the dress or its backlessness. Before I can complete my full revolution, his front meets my back, and his mouth lands on one of my bare shoulders.
“I love y-you in pink. It’s your color.”
My body melts into his words; having this kind of uninhibited fun is all I could ever ask for in a man. After a quick mirror selfie of the two of us, I send a message to Gabby and Maeve, who heart-eye the picture in seconds.
“We can’t let this Canadian Tuxedo go to waste. What do you say we get some ice cream and sit outside where the world can marvel at our glorious wonder?”
Theo grabs my hand.
We sit on a bench outside the ice cream shop like a couple of JCPenney photography models. The chill of the air mixes nicely with the refreshing double mocha-chip waffle cone I’m eating. Theo opted for a Meyer lemon sorbet, and I let myself daydream about how his mouth would taste later. Theo has given me the ability to let go of some of my worries and the capacity to romanticize all the things I might get to have.
I don’t believe in forced conversation, but I’m invested in learning more about Theo. I spin to sit facing him, lacing one of my legs underneath me. I catch his eyes slipping down to the tops of my legs. I’m not surprised he’s admiring my thighs.
“Okay, small talk is lame. Here’s my question. Toilet paper? Over or under?”
Theo goes from licking his sorbet to looking at me in slow motion. He was expecting something more profound.
“Only sociopaths h-hang it under.”
I smack his shoulder and laugh.
“Okay. Your turn.”
I ready myself for something clever because Theo is one of the smartest people I’ve ever met.
“Do you have a lot of m-male clients?”
Anxious thoughts are aplenty in new relationships, but talking about other partners or clients on his mind makes my palms sweat. ’90s music trivia would have been my preferred category, or what I would do if I found a dead body in a hotel. But I get it.
“It varies. I’d say my cuddle work is cyclical. Sometimes, it’s more men than women, and other times, it’s the other way around. They’re people who need something, and I provide that something.” My answer is fretful and a default of overexplaining myself.
“What about A-alex? What’s his something?”
“Theodore Sullivan, are you jealous? I’m offended. What did I tell you back when we first met? I told you how shitty it is when men make assumptions about me because of my line of work.” It’s hard not to feel hurt by his implication.
“I’m sorry. You’re r-right. I assumed.” Theo hangs his head, rubbing the back of his neck, embarrassed by this normal human condition.
“I’m not mad, a little hurt. It surprised me is all. Can you promise me that you’ll just ask me instead of thinking the worst of me?”
He nods and lets out a heavy sigh.
“I must say jealousy is a surprising look on you, and you know I can’t—and won’t—tell you the names of my clients. Confidentiality, remember.” I wink at him.
“St-staley. Jealous doesn’t even begin to c-cut it. I envy any m-man or woman who gets to touch you.”
Eating my ice cream is the only way to quell the heat in my body. Ugh, this is love.