Chapter 3
Antonio
The plan tonight was simple: grab a drink, pick up dinner, and drown in my sheets. Sex wasn’t on my radar until the woman whose shadow still traces the edges of my mind appeared at my neighborhood bar with demands.
At first, I thought Miriam was joking about a one-night stand. But through her SNL monologue of anxiety and desire, I heard her. The want to prioritize the parts of herself she pushes away for academia. The need to feel alive. Adored.
Sitting here next to her is fucking with me, not because she wants to fuck me, but because she’s here. In front of my kitchen counter—gnawing on a chicken wing, but she’s here. In the flesh tucked under red fabric that grips curves I’ve never witnessed this close.
Any sightings these days are like a solar eclipse. Rare and blinding. You can’t look away.
“Do you usually supply your company with chicken?” Red, full lips glide over another bone. “Sorry.” She sucks on whatever remnants she thinks are left. Jesus. “I forgot to eat before I went out.”
“Do you want a rotisserie chicken?” I eye the wings she piled into a mini pyramid. It shouldn’t be sexy, but it is.
“No.” Her giggle is melodic. It’s half Regine from Living Single and half Betty Rubble. “I don’t pretend to eat air, but that’s still too much for me in one sitting. My hips are wide as is.”
“That they are.” I zero in on the hips in question, soft skin spilling over my barstool. The tops of her thighs appear thicker than mine in a dress that creeps up legs I want wrapped around my neck. It takes what little concentration I have left to keep my blood from rerouting to my dick.
The invitation to come back to my penthouse slipped out before I could fully process the implications of a one-night stand with a woman who’s been off-limits.
Miriam has been my crush since I was eleven. She was a real-life Ashley Banks in the form of a shy sixteen-year-old who babysat me when I was a hardheaded kid whose parents didn’t trust him to stay at home alone. Did I get into more trouble on purpose to see her? Every chance I had.
By the time I was old enough to take her out, she was in a long-term relationship with her first love.
School has always been her main priority, which limits any opportunity to run into her.
At some point, I stopped hoping any glimpses of thick glasses and legs to match were her.
Until tonight, when her smile and those brilliant dimples called to me from across the bar I drop into a few nights a week after work.
Miriam is a work of art. A masterpiece of divine lines and full hips and breasts.
“Speaking of food, where does all of yours go?” She swats at my arm and muffles a gasp at the muscles underneath my dress shirt.
I chew through a bite and wink. “I’m a big boy, Doe. Rugby and my workouts require fuel.”
“Whole chickens?” she deadpans.
“You act like it was a holiday turkey,” I chuckle. “I don’t cook, but I eat my weight. To answer your question, I don’t usually have dinner with company. Sends the wrong message.”
Stuffing panties in my drawer.
“Forgetting” some random item in hopes I’ll welcome her back with open arms, and not for a limited time.
“So you’re saying this is special chicken.”
You’re special.
“Something like that,” I say.
“Oh.” She nods to herself, focusing on her hands in her lap.
Miriam’s mind is a language I want to speak fluently. How she breaks apart words and turns them over. The way her brows narrow and her eyes shift to make sense of something that has no scientific explanation.
Every part of her intrigues me.
“So what do you do for fun besides pick up men at bars for sex?” I nudge her knee with mine and jump at her snort.
“Sorry.” She chokes back a laugh with her hand and snorts again. “My version of fun is falling asleep before ten.”
“Ten? Most of my parties don’t start until then.”
“Oh, I’ve heard,” she huffs and adjusts her black-framed glasses. “I’m surprised there aren’t a hundred people here for the last night of the year.” Her eyes bounce from the hardwood floors underneath mid-century furniture to the steel windows and exposed ducts.
“The last New Year’s Eve party I hosted was three years ago,” I say.
“Someone covered in vomit slept in the tub. Nine people were passed out over there.” I point to the space between the sofa and the wall.
I’ll spare her the details of how they all fit.
“Unless there’s a party worth attending, I’m in the house. ”
That or slipping out from between a woman’s legs after I stroked her past midnight. I prefer to sleep in my own bed.
The edges of Miriam’s mouth tease a smile before lifting into a grin. Blush tints her mocha hue, her long lashes fanning across her cheeks. “Well, I promise not to puke on myself or mess up your tub.”
Our stare unravels the space between us.
Is she…Oh, we’re doing this.
Inch by inch, we lean closer, until her breath skates over mine. I caress her cheek and brush my mouth over the lips I’ve been dying to kiss again.
Since we left the bar, we’ve spent the evening talking over takeout. I’m in no rush for the night to end. Hence the chicken.
The pace of our kiss is slow, so she can dictate it based on her comfort. She parts her lips and rises off the barstool. The gentle massage of her mouth teases a years’ old desire that forces its way back into my heart.
Miriam plants her hands on my thighs. The jolt from her touch reawakens the dick I told to calm down. Short nails dig into my pants. A moan slips out, and like a switch has flipped, she pounces.
I’m a hard man to tackle. I don’t make it easy. The problem is, I’m not on the rugby pitch. Another is that these barstools don’t have backs.
I wrap my arms around Miriam and brace for impact. My back collides with the floor in a thud. She collapses on top of me with a screech, her breasts crushing the last drops of air in my lungs.
“Sorry!”
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she says to my nipple as her forehead grazes it. “I’m stuck on your watch.”
Light from the sconces hanging over the counter reflect off my silver timepiece, which is tangled in her curls.
“I’ll fix it,” I say. “Turn left.”
“My left is your right.”
“Turn to your left.”
Miriam leans but winces. “I think that made it worse. Stay still, and I’ll move back.”
Huh?
Whatever response I had stalls as her hips rock over my groin.
Never in my life have I prayed not to nut with a woman on top of me, but there’s a first time for everything.
Miriam’s dress rises above her waist to expose a black thong that peeks out from under her love handles.
My jaw slacks as she all but uses my dick as a personal genie lamp to rub out a wish.
“Doe—”
“It’s loosening,” she grunts, wiggling her hips in an attempt to scoot away. She’s so focused on solving the Rubik’s Cube of my watch in her hair that she’s not paying attention to me hardening beneath her.
“Almost there!”
So am I.
I grip her hips to lift her up. “Let’s figure out another way.”
“Almost—”
“Dooooe!”
Too late.
In all of my years as a grown-ass man, I’ve never come from dry humping—unintentional dry humping at that. My toes curl in my socks, and my overstimulated tip pulsates at the release.
I can’t look her in the face. I can’t even see her face since she’s still threaded to the watch I’m cursing myself for wearing. With her eyes pointing down, she has an unobstructed view of the mess that’s settling into expensive cotton.
“I— Oh, I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t apologize!” I grimace. “I’ve been trying to get you off.” Well, not like this.
“Here, let me—”
“No, it’s okay—”
Too late. Again.
I lift from my elbows to sit and roll her off me but collide with her head as it swings up. The good news is, she frees herself. The bad news is, I think she broke my nose.
Blood pools out of my nostrils, and I squeeze them to stop the bleeding. Shit.
Miriam rushes to her feet. “Sorry! Let me get you paper towels. Actually, I might have some tampons.”
“Where’s your hair?!”
She pats her cornrows with wide eyes. I lift my hand to reveal her curled wig dangling from my watch.
“I’m so embarrassed!” She reaches out to pull me up with no luck. Miriam is a foot shorter without shoes.
“I got it,” I groan.
“Here.” She thrusts takeout napkins in my face and grabs her purse. “I’m taking you to the hospital.”
I feel around the granite island for my wallet and keys, but she puts both in my hand. “What about your hair?” I wiggle the new accessory on my wrist.
“It’s coming with us.” She motions to the door. “Let’s go.”
“You should wear your natural hair out. It’s beautiful,” I say.
“Come on.” Miriam grabs her shoes but slides into a pair of my sneakers near the door. “If I put those death contraptions back on, we’ll both need the ER. Keep applying pressure.”
“I’ve had bloody noses before.” I remind her about my physical pastime…which, admittedly, doesn’t involve being tackled and beat up in my own house.
“Are you smiling?” Her eyes shift to my grin.
“At least we’ll spend New Year’s together with a night we’ll never forget.”
“I should’ve stayed home.”
“Will you be my emergency contact in case there’s head trauma?”
“You already have it.” She pushes me out the door. “Now shut up, and let’s go.”
“I feel this is the start of a wonderful relationship, Doe.”