Ten
Liem
I’m going to hell.
I should have walked away, given her privacy, but I couldn’t. Or I didn’t.
My body acted on its own, gluing me against the wall beside her door, verifying what I heard was real. Sure as shit, Bri was getting herself off.
The quiet hum of a vibrator, her frantic breaths and sounds of pleasure tickled my ears and sent my blood south. I intended to walk away, but it happened before I could. She came, her moan a loud, tapering note like that of a song as she muffled herself.
I snapped back into reality, fleeing back to the bathroom.
I was still missing my conditioner and had gained the unwelcome company of an erection.
I leaned my palms onto the counter and glared at myself in the mirror, trying to will it away by shaming myself.
It didn’t work. I rubbed one out in the shower—quietly—deciding to wash my hair tomorrow.
Bri is a sexual creature—something for which I have mad respect. I never want her to feel ashamed to enjoy herself in what was supposed to be the privacy of her own room. The most embarrassing part of it all is admitting to myself that it made me want to join her.
Me, the person who has felt attraction towards less than a handful of people my entire life.
She is the only real friend I’ve made in years, the realest friend I’ve probably ever had.
I trust her, she is objectively beautiful, and when we talked at dinner the night before last, I could have sworn she was into me.
But like she said, I can’t tell the difference between closeness and affection.
If I admit how I’m feeling, there’s a massive chance I will get it twisted, fall for her, and ruin everything we have in a few minutes.
Telling her I’m working for her ex might do the same.
I’ve been staring at the email for the last ten minutes, David’s name staring at me from the CC line.
The moment I hit Send, it will mean I might have to look at his face again next week and lie to Bri yet again.
Lying by omission, but lying all the same.
How I wish I could blow off this account and still get to stay here with her.
I click Send and make it Monday Liem’s problem. My messenger app chimes.
Sai: How was the meeting?
Me: It went well but they’re not giving in yet. They want more for less money.
Rich people can be cheap as hell. I suppose that’s what helps keep them rich.
Sai: Wine and dine them. Kiss the butts. Do whatever you must.
Sai: This will work. I feel good about it.
And I feel quite bad about it, Sai. Quite bad!
Sai: Give it a couple more weeks and I’m sure they’ll say yes.
Two more weeks?
Me: That will push me past my approved month.
Sai: Yes. Did you land the account yet?
Me: No.
Sai: And did you get Natalie back yet?
His question annoys me to a new level. That was never the goal, yet he won’t let it go.
Sai: You’re staying over there until one of those happens. Get comfortable.
His activity status turns gray as if he sent that message and instantly fucked off. The mention of Natalie rakes against my skin and nerves. Every time I feel I’ve moved on, some little mention pulls me right back into my head, listening to that little voice saying What if?
Bri and I agreed we wouldn’t do that anymore. If she told me she wanted to call David and try to work it out, I would rage.
I need her to stay. Which means I need to keep her from going, and to stop thinking about her coming.
A growl in my stomach reminds me it’s time for lunch, and the rest of the weekend I am supposed to have off. I leave my room, stopping in my tracks when I see her.
Bri stands in the kitchen in shorts appropriate for the weather, her fly unbuttoned.
The way the corners are folded over, it looks intentional, but seeing it makes it hard to keep my mind from wandering back to yesterday.
The sunlight frames her like an angelic aura.
She is a slim-thick goddess with an ass so perfect it should be lauded by the masses.
This isn’t like me—looking at someone and immediately thinking of sex. I’ve liked people before Natalie, had the pull in my pants when we touched, but for the first time since my first time, if Bri turned to me and said, “My batteries died, can you help me?” . . . I might.
“Hey,” she sings, snapping me from her ass and the hellish thoughts in my head. “I’m making that pasta recipe I saw on social media. Do you want some?”
I adjust my posture to hide my hard-on. “Sure.”
Her curious gaze remains on me. “Are you okay?”
“Ye”—I clear my throat—“yeah, I’m good. Why?”
“You’re acting squirrelly-er than usual,” she says. “I was going to come get you when it was done. I figured you were too deep in work to notice you were hungry.”
She shouldn’t talk about me getting deep right now. “I was. Thank you for noticing.”
With a smirk, she turns back to the food. “Come try this.”
I think she is going to hand me the spoon, but she holds it out to me instead.
She’s standing too close to me. I take a bite and taste nothing.
She has all my senses captive. I can smell her as much as the pasta, imagine the space at the base of her jaw fitting my mouth perfectly if I went in for a taste of her.
“What is it missing?” she asks.
“Nothing. You’re—it’s perfect.”
“Liar.”
“Okay, fine. A pinch more salt and some red pepper flakes.”
“Oh, for real?”
“The pepper will bring out the tomatoes’ acidity over their sweetness.”
She turns back to the pot, grinning to herself. “I love when you nerd out over food.”
And I love the way you sound when you—I need to stop. The thought of getting her naked doesn’t outweigh the thought of me spiraling out after I do.
“How, um, how was your day yesterday?” I stumble over my thoughts of sex while trying to ask a simple question. Her eyes scan over me before she turns back to the pasta. “What?”
“Real talk?” she confirms.
“Real talk.”
“I . . . kind of saw your dick.”
My jaw drops to the floor, eyes flaring wide. Every insecurity I have flies through my mind. “What? When? How?” Panic. Pure panic.
“When you were getting ready to shower yesterday. I just got back from my walk and was trying to say hi, then I realized you were taking your pants off. It was an accident, but I saw it. Most of it. Enough of it. Whatever. I saw it.”
In my shock, I overcorrect, blurting out, “I heard you masturbating.”
Now she’s the one with eyes threatening to fall out of her head. “What?” Her question is more of a high-pitched squeak.
“While I was supposed to be in the shower. I was going to grab my conditioner and . . .”
She turns back to the pasta, and her cheeks have a warmer undertone than usual. “That is so much worse than seeing your dick.”
“You sure?”
“Definitely. You have a nice dick. And I have no idea what sounds come out of me when I come.”
The memory does nothing to help the situation in my pants. “You sound . . . fine.”
“Fine?” She cocks an eyebrow. “I sound like a piglet or something, don’t I?”
“A piglet?”
“Squealin’ and shit.”
She imitates the sound, and the cackle that comes from me is outlandish. “You don’t sound like a piglet, I promise.”
She blows the steam from the noodles on the spoon. “I’m so embarrassed.”
“Don’t be.”
“Just because you’re hung doesn’t mean you get to tell me what to do.”
My cheeks pinch with my smile. “Stop it.” She takes another bite of pasta, and I’m beginning to think she’s no longer tasting it but straight-up eating it. “Can I get some?”
“You have to spank me and call me a good girl first, like everyone else.”
“For pasta?”
“Oh, my bad. I thought you meant getting some piglet time.”
“Bri!”
She laughs at my misfortune, offering me a spoonful from the pan to ease my pain.
I stare into her eyes while accepting the bite, appreciating the look of ease on her face as much as the tangy feta.
Standing in a rented apartment, eating straight from the pan with a woman I’ve known for less than a month, I feel at home.
When the pot is empty, Bri claps her hands together. “We’re going outside today. Did you decide what you wanted to do?” She’s excited about today’s tourist adventures, but my conversation with Sai threw me off. And then her shorts threw me off even more. None of that matters right now.
“Whatever you want to do.”
“Another art museum?”
“Yeah, why not?” As if I’d want to be anywhere else but with her.
With her hands on my waist, she gives me a little shake. “What do you really want to do?”
Stay with you. “I’m totally down to go to the museum, but can we talk for a sec?”
“Of course. What’s up?”
It feels like I’m asking her to stay with me for the first time again. The difference is I know where her ex is, and staying means I need him to like me when I absolutely despise him. “How is the job search going? Any better?”
Her curious levity leaves. She removes her hands from me and crosses her arms. “Bad. Why?”
“My client isn’t giving in. My boss told me to stay through next month. I’ve been having a great time with you, and I was wondering if you’d want to stay here with me a little longer.”
A shadow crosses her face, stealing some of its usual glow. She doesn’t respond.
“I’ve upset you.”
“You didn’t. But we agreed I would only stay a couple of weeks and it’s already been three.”
“No, you said you would. I said a month at least.”
“I don’t want to rely on you more than I already have. I didn’t tell you about my financial situation so you’d pity me.”
“There’s no pity. I want you here for mostly selfish reasons.” She doesn’t seem to believe me. “We have a week before you have to decide. Think about it?”
She doesn’t answer for an awkward amount of time. “I will.”
“Cool,” I say.
“Cool.” Something about this feels very uncool.
It’s on brand for Bri to be fine with me hearing her reach orgasm but fall into melancholia when I offer her help. I don’t want to be the cloud interrupting her sunshine. All I want is for her to stay.
“So . . . art museum?” I offer a change in subject.
A hint of a smile returns to her lips. Museums really do make her happy. “Do you want to get coffee first?”
And that makes me happy. “Hell yeah.”
She wants to stay. But she’ll fight me before she admits it.