11. Damiano
Muffled singing comes from the corner of the room, interrupted by an occasional squeal from Paige. I’ve got to take a peek at what this girl is getting herself into now.
Hmph, cleaning out the turtle’s cage. Not nearly as interesting as I was hoping. Then again, with Paige’s snug scrubs framing her perfect ass, there will be no complaints from me.
Paige’s phone vibrates on the desk next to her. She reaches down to answer it.
“I have an idea,” some girl announces on speakerphone, her voice vaguely familiar.
Paige bundles up a handful of newspaper from the bottom of the terrarium, her shirt rising as she lifts her arms over the top of the enclosure. “I don’t know, G. I never like your ideas.”
“You’ll like this one. It’s going to make your guy wake up.”
“Is it smelling salts?”
“What? Oh, maybe. I don’t know what those are. But that’s not what I’m talking about. I was thinking—and let me finish before you say ‘no.’”
“No.”
“Shush. That’s not how conversations work. So . . . if touching his dick got him to groan, you should touch it more.”
Hey now.
“ Gina! ” Paige whisper-shouts back. “I never should have told you about that. I already feel guilty about it.”
“Get over that. Real doctors and nurses touch their patients’ dicks all the time. It’s part of good bedside manner. Now hear me out.”
Paige should absolutely hear Gina out on this one.
“The guy hasn’t moved an inch in. . . how many days?”
“Four. Well, three, plus the night he got here.”
“The guy hasn’t moved an inch in three-and-a-half days. He hasn’t woken up. Don’t even get me started on how he hasn’t eaten or drank anything or needed to use the bathroom and doesn’t seem to be suffering because of any of that. Setting those biological miracles aside, the one time the guy actually showed some signs of life was when you touched his dick.”
“So?”
“So touch it again.”
She looks over her shoulder at me. “I don’t think that’s how comas work.”
“I don’t think any of this is how comas work. But it does seem to be exactly how your guy’s coma works. So next time he gets a woody, touch it for real. Go all in—lick it, suck it. Suck it so hard he wakes up and shouts for his momma.”
I like Gina. She’s very smart, very thoughtful. She’s very practical. A clever girl who gives excellent advice that should absolutely be followed to the letter.
“Not only is that not medically realistic, it’s also, like, completely inappropriate. I don’t have his consent.”
Oh, angel, you do. You have my consent. You have all my consent.
“You’re looking at it the wrong way, P. Think of it this way—if it wakes him up, he’ll forever be grateful you cured his ‘coma’ or whatever this is. And if it doesn’t wake him up, he won’t even know about it. It’s win-win.”
Paige empties the turtle’s food dish into the trash bag by her feet. “That’s like a guy molesting some girl he roofied.”
“No. It’s not like that at all. First, you didn’t drug him. I mean, yeah, you did. But that was after he was shot and you aren’t the one who shot him and those pills should have worn off by now. This is different. You’re saving his life, so he owes you one for that. Also, you didn’t call the cops on him, so he owes you for that too.”
Paige goes into her little kitchen, runs the sink. “And what he owes me is to let me blow him ?”
“Precisely. And then, when he wakes up, he should go down on you for an hour. At least an hour.”
Come on. Who is this magical friend?
Paige comes back in, drying her hands on her shirt.
“Be serious, G. There will be no unsolicited blow jobs, but your advice is appreciated as always. Can we please change the topic? How did your interview go? Was today’s the last one, or is there one more?”
Oh, interesting. Gina is interviewing for a new. . . I don’t give a fuck. They should hang up and Paige should decide I’m really dirty again and should give me another sponge bath—which I fucking loved, completely separate from the fact that she might blow me this next time.
And she should wash my balls this time. Carefully lift and cradle each plum, run the sponge around it. A warm, soapy wash, followed by a slightly cooler rinse, followed by her lips nuzzling against each one separately, then both at the same time. Lightly blowing until they’re dry. Then move on to my rod, lapping at the tip like a lollipop.
Do all that for me, angel, and I promise to wake up.
Fuck, I’m solid wood. Pretty sure the blanket is hiding it, but I can’t exactly check with Paige in the room. Down, boy. At least I can give him a much-needed squeeze with my right hand since it’s already under the blanket.
It’s not enough, but it takes the edge off.
“Okay. Plan B, then,” Gina says.
Paige starts cleaning out the rabbit cage, the rabbit nipping at her wrist when she gets near it. “Am I going to regret asking what Plan B is?”
“I think you regret most of our conversations.”
“You know that’s not true. You’re my ying.” Paige sighs. “Tell me about Plan B.”
“Use him for hookup practice.”
Paige looks over her shoulder at me, then lowers her voice to a whisper. “I don’t need hookup practice and I already said I’m not going to molest him.”
“I don’t mean like that . I mean, use that mouth of yours a different way. Practice telling him exactly what you want. Practice demanding that your needs get met first, before the guy’s.”
“Come on, G.”
“Don’t ‘come on, G’ me. Wouldn’t it be nice to tell Spencer, or whoever’s next up, exactly how you want to be touched? Exactly where and for exactly how long?”
“The guy should just know that stuff.”
“Sure, and welcome to the land of women not reaching orgasm until after the guy rolls over and goes to sleep. Oh, wait. You’re already the mayor of No O Town.”
“But I don’t want to be the mayor. Can’t I just be, like, a normal citizen?”
“No. And the only way to abdicate your throne is to spill your guts to sleeping beauty over there. Be completely open and honest with him because if you can’t be honest with the complete stranger napping on your couch, who can you be honest with?”
“I’m honest with you.”
“Yeah, but neither of us swing that way, so unless you want me to start pulling aside whoever you’re hooking up with and telling him what you want for you, you’re going to have to practice telling that guy. Or. . . that can actually be Plan C. If you’re not going to tell guys how you want it, I’ll tell them for you.”
“That is honestly the scariest plan out of all three.”
“I know! We absolutely should go with that one. Text me Spencer’s number. I’m going to make him rock your world with a whole slew of things you don’t even know exist. Maybe plan to take a personal day off work the day after because you’ll need the recovery time.”
“Or how about I give Plan B some thought and we put a pin in Plan C for some other time?”
“You mean never?”
“Yes. I mean exactly never. I’ll mark that on my calendar. Do you want to come over for pizza and to stare at Couch Guy’s chest with me some more?”
“That’s all you tonight. Home game. I’m on my way to the stadium now.”
“Okay. Yell loud.”
“Always do. And you—try telling your guy one thing you’d like and see how that feels. Just one. It doesn’t even need to be a big one.”
“Okay, guy. The rug is making my butt itch. You’ve got to make some room.”
Paige has been sitting on the floor, leaning against the couch, since she hung up from her call with Gina. She’s been watching Grey’s Anatomy and taking notes in a little book. But now she’s standing, and I’m back to eyes closed.
She reaches behind my neck and lifts me to a half-sit. She squeezes herself into the corner of the couch, then lowers me back down onto her lap.
I guess we’re sharing the couch now.
Her lap is an excellent pillow. Warm and firmer than the mushy pillow she’d put under my head days ago. No matter how I fold it or crunch it, it’s too soft and fluffy. But Paige’s lap is perfect.
Her finger lightly traces my eyebrows, along my nose. She pets my four-day beard. “You were sporting a perfectly groomed five-o’clock shadow when you got here. Maybe I should try shaving you?”
Please don’t. Please don’t come anywhere near my face with a razor or scissors. Not with anything sharp. Not after I’ve seen your ability to give stitches. That will absolutely make me ‘wake up.’
“What are you like anyway?” She runs her fingers through my hair, all the way to the back of my head, her nails scratching my scalp. Feels fantastic. “Are you a jerk? Or are you secretly sweet? Are you the life of the party? Hmmm. I bet you’re a quiet one. Always watching. Sometimes it feels like you’re watching me.”
More scratching my scalp. I lean into it without meaning to.
She sighs loud and long. “So, my guy, here are some things I’d like you to do to me.”
This should be good. Really good. Sexy as fuck when a girl states her demands.
“I would like it if you, or, uh, a guy would. . . I mean, I’d want you to want to. . . to, like. . .” She huffs out loud, still petting me. “To, want to. . . at least sometimes to. . .”
There are so many things that could fill in these blanks. Come on, angel, name one. Any one. My answer will be yes. To anything.
Except to kissing.
Or to cuddling after the fact.
Or to spending the night.
Other than those things, yes to anything.
She inhales deeply then lets it out slowly. “I’d like it if you. . . uh, nope. Not going to happen. Sorry, Gina. If he can’t read my mind and know exactly what I want, he isn’t the guy for me.”