Chapter VII
VII
James
I have intense butterflies as I walk the last few blocks to Lucy’s place.
Clearly, she intends for this to be a hookup, and that’s fine.
But I don’t know. Even though we’ve already had sex, it feels like there’s now this pressure to perform?
To be worthy of the call? To prove that it wasn’t a one-off?
Fuck, am I nervous.
The last time I saw her was under her building’s awning.
I gave her a long, slow kiss, running a thumb over her cheek as she gripped my sides under my shirt.
“Goodnight” was all I said as I walked away.
It felt smooth at the time, but now I’m second-guessing everything.
Maybe I should have asked to come up. Not let that magic night ever end.
The crazy confidence I felt then is nowhere to be found as a soft buzz lets me inside.
She opens her door in an oversize black tee, no bra, and gym shorts, her caramel hair pulled back in a messy bun.
I’m not sure whether to be encouraged or deterred by how casual she looks—is she showing me she’s comfortable with me or reminding me just how low-key this encounter is meant to be?
I can’t focus with her nipples pressing into the threadbare fabric of her shirt.
We both stand at the threshold. I know my ears are red, but I see that her cheeks are a bit rosy too. “Hi,” I manage.
“Hi,” she responds. She closes the gap between us and gives me a hug. It feels friendly, not romantic, but at least she broke the ice.
She steps aside and ushers me past a bathroom door and cramped kitchen into her combined bedroom and living space.
The studio is small but tidy—not much more than a bed, a sofa, a desk, some sort of rolling storage case, and a bookshelf overflowing with intimidating legal tomes.
But the walls are almost completely covered by travel posters.
Some are kitschy and pun laden, others have a retro vibe, and almost all have tattered edges.
Lucy picks up her glass of wine and pours a second one for me as I nod at a poster that declares, “Milan stole a pizza my heart.”
“Are these all places you’ve been?”
She nods and hands me the glass, and we clink, failing to meet each other’s eyes. “I get at least one in every country. Some of them are really falling apart, but I don’t want to frame them since I move around so much.”
“Makes sense.”
We stand in the center of the room as we sip our wine—which I can barely taste through my nerves—unsure what to do next. “I like your shirt,” she says. “I have a similar one.”
“Of Dolly?”
Her black eyes shine. “No, Miss Piggy.” I scrunch my brow. “I guess I put them in the same category in my head,” she explains. “They’re both such badasses. Both bleached blonds.”
I chuckle, feeling a little more at ease. “Who do you think would win in a fight?”
Lucy mock frowns at me. “They would never fight. I can imagine them running off together, though.”
“I like that for them.”
She steps over to the bed and sits down, and I use the opportunity to take a few gulps of my wine, hoping she can’t tell how nervous I am.
“So,” she says. “What should we do?”
I set my wine down on her desk, then sit on the bed next to her.
She turns my direction, tucking one leg in and casually throwing the other across my lap.
My hand goes to her shin on instinct. There’s no resisting running my fingers from her ankle to her knee and back again.
Her voice is low, like it was in the art gallery, as she grips the collar of my shirt. “Take this off.”
Lucy
Afterward, James and I are naked on my bed, both catching our breath. We finished on our sides, him lying behind me, an arm wrapped around my breasts.
I suddenly feel very exposed in the dim lamp light. Is there a way to wriggle away from him without being weird? His breath on the back of my neck felt sexy a moment ago, but now it feels stressful.
The sex was good. Very good. I climaxed twice, but I never fully let myself go. In the back of my mind, I never quite forgot that we would eventually come to this moment, the After Time, when I would still be very unsure what I want our temporary arrangement to be.
With James behind me, I’m grateful he can’t see the uncertain look on my face, but I also wish I could sneak a glance at him. Does he have any idea what I’m thinking? Is he thinking the same thing? Or is he just in a post-orgasm haze, maybe drifting off, completely unbothered about what comes next?
James
I feel Lucy stiffen ever so slightly in my arms. I’m not quite sure what to do or say, so I lift my arm off her chest into a stretch, and she responds by sitting up and fishing her T-shirt off the floor.
“Everything OK?” I ask, trying to sound relaxed.
She turns to me with a sweet smile, but a new one. Something about it feels slightly forced. “Of course.”
As she grabs a fresh pair of underwear from her dresser, I hurry to take off the condom and drop it in her trash can. Then I slip my boxers back on. Once she’s covered up, she picks up her glass of wine and takes a sip.
“Are you sure?” I scan the floor for my shirt but don’t immediately spot it. “I didn’t hurt you or anything . . . ?”
Her eyes dart to mine, and her face softens. “No. Not at all.”
I sit on the edge of her bed, feeling lost, and I see her toes drum across the floor, like she’s thinking with her whole body.
“It’s nothing like that, I promise,” she says.
She picks up my wine and hands it to me before sitting back down on the bed, positioning herself so she’s leaned against her headboard, her knees by her chest and her toes grazing my thigh. “I’m just not very good at . . . this.”
She says it with a slight blush, and it makes my whole body relax. I didn’t realize how many of my muscles I was clenching. “Ah,” I respond. “Same.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m not exactly the show-up-at-a-girl’s-door-at-eleven type.”
She tucks her hair behind her ears. “The night we met was . . . I wasn’t really myself. And I didn’t know—” A strand falls into her face, and she blows at it. “I just don’t want to give you the wrong impression. I mean, we talked about this, but I want to be really clear—”
It’s like she’s holding out an arm, keeping me at an emotional distance, and I hurry to assuage her fears.
“This isn’t going anywhere. I know.” I say it with a nod, like that seals it.
She eyes me with a playfully raised eyebrow.
“You’re leaving, I’m leaving,” I feel the need to add. “We don’t want anything messy.”
“Right.”
I take a gulp of my wine for courage. “So what are you thinking? Just sex?”
She lets her head fall back against the wall, perhaps impressed that I’m willing to discuss this head-on. “Maybe. When do you leave, exactly?”
“My job ends July 31st, and then I fly to Oregon the next Monday. I think it’s August 4th?”
She nods. “My flight is that Sunday. The 3rd.”
Today is June 24th. I resist the urge to immediately calculate the number of days we have remaining.
“The thing is,” she says, “I’m going to be really busy between now and then.”
I don’t love the immediate hedging, but I try to keep my tone encouraging, easygoing. “Me too.”
“I really don’t want there to be expectations.” Her brow scrunches a little. “So maybe it would be best if we just . . . called it.”
A fist tightens around my heart. It’s stupid how much I don’t want this to end. Not yet.
Somehow, I manage to push a grin onto my lips. “Are you breaking up with me?” She laughs, and I feel the grip loosen. Maybe I can still salvage this. “If you don’t want to see me anymore, I get it.”
She bites her lower lip. “It’s not that. I do like you.”
“I like you too,” I tell her, my eyes locked on hers.
“I really don’t know much about you, but everything I know so far, I like.
” She holds back her smile, but I can see it in her eyes.
“Honestly, if we get to know each other more, you’ll probably be tired of me in a week. Or maybe I’ll find out you’re awful.”
She laughs, and it’s like fuel.
“That’s what’s most likely, right? So while we still like each other, maybe we should have some fun.”
She watches me for a second, weighing her options. Then she presses her toes into my leg. “What kind of fun did you have in mind?”
A rush of desire takes hold. There are no nerves this time—at least not as many.
I bring my hands to her hips, slipping my thumbs under the sides of her underwear as I pull her body down the bed.
I slowly lift her shirt as I kiss my way up her torso, speaking into her skin.
“Oh, you know. We could play a board game. Read . . .”
She chuckles as she pulls her shirt over her head. I give her a firm kiss, tasting the wine on her tongue, then work my way back down her body. Her hands instinctively reach for the headboard behind her as I pull her underwear all the way off.