11. Eleven
Eleven
Arnold
T he bell above DNF jangled, interrupting my thoughts. I glanced up from rearranging the fantasy novels, my heart hitching at the sight of her. Agatha. She stormed in with a purpose, her chestnut waves bouncing along with her boobs and belly. There was a fire in those deep brown eyes. I'm not convinced she won't kill me.
"Arnold." Her voice shot across the room, more assertive than I'd ever heard it outside of her professional sphere. The sultry undertones that had first drawn me to her were laced with steel now.
"Can we talk?" She planted her hands on her hips; short stature notwithstanding, she owned the space around her. She looked like a fierce pug.
I swallowed hard, nodding, fingers fumbling with the book in my hands. Could barely manage to place it back on the shelf without dropping it. My mind raced, scrambling for what I might say, how to fix this mess between us.
I fumbled with my glasses, pushing them up the bridge of my nose. The words caught in my throat, a jumble of syllables making a clumsy attempt at escape. I gestured to a secluded corner by the history section, shelves towering with tales of times long past.
"Over here," I managed, voice barely above a whisper.
She followed steps echoing with purpose on the worn floor. Her presence filled the space, a force I couldn't ignore even if I tried. We stood between rows of books, the scent of old paper and binding glue thick in the air.
"Arnold." She locked eyes with me; no room for doubt or evasion in that gaze.
I nodded, an awkward bobble-head motion. My hands found sanctuary in the pockets of my khakis, seeking refuge from the moment's intensity.
"Look, I get you, Arnold," she said, her tone soft yet edged with resolve. "All of you. And I'm okay with it. You're weird, quirky. You've got the whole terrified chihuahua thing going on. I dig it. I dig you."
My heart did this weird somersault. Acceptance from Agatha—Angel—they were the same, weren't they?
"But if you can't do the same for me," she continued, "then we don't have anything. Nothing at all."
Her words stung a raw truth that I couldn't deny. I had to find a way to bridge the gap between us, to meet her halfway, because losing her wasn't an option. Not anymore.
I blinked, my brain scrambling to catch up with the torrent of emotions Agatha's words unleashed. She stood there, fire in her eyes, heart on her sleeve. The reality of what she felt for me hit like a freight train. She could have just dumped me. Guilt knotted my stomach. I'd been such an idiot.
"Arnold?" Her voice yanked me back from the edge of self-reproach. "Are you listening to me?"
"Agatha, I..." Words failed me, lodged in my throat, thick and uncooperative.
She reached out, a tentative hand brushing mine. A silent plea for understanding, for some sign I got it.
I did. God, I did. But could I fix this mess I'd made?
From behind, soft footsteps approached. Lyric and Fable hovered close, their expressions a blend of concern and pity. They didn't need words; their shared glance spoke volumes.
"Hey, Arnold," Lyric's voice was gentle but firm. "We've got this."
"Take the day," Fable chimed in, her smile warm but insistent. "Sort your stuff out."
"Are you sure?" My protest was weak, guilt still holding its grip tight.
"Go." Lyric nudged me, a conspiratorial twinkle in her eye. "We'll handle the fort."
Fable nodded, arms folded, but her stance was all encouragement. "Really, we've got you covered."
"Thanks." The word was a whisper, gratitude mingling with relief.
Agatha's hand found mine again, squeezing tight. Her touch said everything—hope, fear, a chance at something real.
"Let's go." Her voice was steady, guiding us forward.
I followed chest tight with a mix of dread and determination. I had to make this right. For her, for us. It was time to step up, time to be the man she saw in me.
Stepping out of the bookstore, I almost stepped into a woman pushing a stroller. I mumbled an apology before turning and walking down the pavement. Our steps echoed on the sidewalk. I snuck a glance at her—the way the breeze toyed with her brunette curls, how she hugged her arms tight against the chill.
"Let's go to my place." She said and glanced at me as I nodded.
We reached her apartment building, the tower glinting in the sunlight. She fished out her keys, the metal clinking softly in the evening light.
"Tea?" she offered, pushing open the door once we got up to her penthouse suite.
"Sure," I whispered, my insides twisting into knots. How was I going to make this right?
Her living room welcomed us, the walls lined with bookshelves and a cozy couch inviting us to sit. I perched on the edge, my senses heightened, and every detail was as sharp as glass.
"Sit back. Relax." She nudged a cushion toward me, her eyes warm pools of brown.
I let myself sink into the couch, the cushions soft against my skin. Agatha sat across from me, legs tucked beneath her, the distance between us charged with unsaid words.
"Arnold," she started, her fingers tracing the seam of a throw pillow.
"I am so sorry. I've been so stupid." I felt even worse than I already did. She was here, trying to make things right. I had known what she did, it's how we met and then I used it against her. How dumb. Dumb, dumb, dumb.
"Look at us." She chuckled, self-deprecating. "Two peas in a pod of awkwardness."
"Always have been." I smiled, feeling the ice inside beginning to thaw.
"Can we—"
"Talk? Yeah." I cut in, wanting to show I was here, really here, for this.
"Good." She let out a breath, shoulders dropping a fraction.
I cleared my throat, the silence between us stretching thin. Agatha's gaze locked on mine, her eyes shimmering with a mix of hope and hurt. "Arnold, I've got to be honest with you. You know how much I care about you, right?"
"Of course." My voice came out hoarse. My palms felt clammy. Shame stuck hard in my chest.
"And I want us... to get past this." She bit her lip, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Agatha, I—"
"Let me finish." She held up a hand, firm but gentle. "I accepted you, Arnold. The entire quirky, sweet package. I need that in return."
My chest tightened. She was right. Damn right. My fingers twitched, reaching across the space to brush against hers. "I screwed up," I said, my grip on her hand growing firmer. "Jealousy got the best of me."
Her brow furrowed, waiting for more.
"I want to be with you, Aggy. More than anything." I squeezed her hand, hoping she'd feel the truth in my touch. "And your career... I'll work on it. Accepting it, I mean."
"Really?" Her voice wavered, hopeful.
"Really." I nodded, not trusting my voice not to crack. God, I hoped she accepted my apology; I really meant it. I wanted this with her. She was an angel, sent to me, and I almost messed everything up.
I watched her features melt into something softer, her anger dissolving like sugar in hot tea. Her deep brown eyes locked onto mine, and I felt a swell of something warm and buoyant in my chest.
She leaned forward, slow but sure, and I met her halfway. Our lips touched a sweet pressure that said more than words could. My heart thumped a confession against my ribs – I was scared but didn't want to hide from her anymore.
We stood together, the distance of an argument now just a memory. She pulled back, a line of saliva connecting our lips, a smile teasing the corners of her mouth. "God, you're such a dork," she whispered, but there was no bite in it, only affection.
"Guilty," I admitted, feeling my own lips curve upward.
Her laughter was a song I wanted on repeat. She took my hand, tugging me toward the bedroom with a playful sort of urgency.
In the sanctuary of her room, we faced each other, still getting over the disagreement yet standing in earnest. I fumbled with the hem of my shirt, pulling it over my head in a jerky motion. She mirrored me, her movements graceful despite the blush that painted her cheeks.
"Nice... uh, socks," I said, nodding at the quirky pattern of vulva's on her ankles.
"Shut up, they're adorable," she countered, her voice laced with mock indignation.
I fumbled with the hem of her shirt, clumsy fingers finally getting it right. On the first try, I nearly took her head off. The second, I poked her in the eye. Our laughter filled the room, a mix of nerves and excitement bubbling up between us. The warmth of her skin under my touch sent a thrill down my spine.
"Okay, here goes nothing," she murmured, guiding me down to the bed.
"Or everything," I replied, trying to sound suave and probably failing spectacularly.
She rolled her eyes, but her hands were gentle as they explored. Every nerve ending sparked to life under her touch, and I marveled at the sensation. I wanted to memorize how she felt, how she moved with me, hesitant yet eager.
"Arnold, you feel..." She paused, biting her lip.
"Like a nervous octopus?" I offered, and we both burst into laughter. The tension broke, leaving room for something else – connection, joy, us.
"Exactly," she agreed, leaning in to press her lips to mine once more.
"Careful there, tiger," she teased, eyes twinkling as I blushed to the roots of my sandy hair. I'd just stabbed her belly button with my finger.
"Sorry, just... wow." My hands traced the curve of her waist, marveling at the softness. Her giggle melted into a sigh, and I watched in fascination as her eyes fluttered shut.
She shivered as I ran a tentative hand along her arm, and I pulled her close to share my warmth. Our bodies pressed together, awkward angles finding their complement.
"Babe?"
"Uh huh?"
"Stop thinking so much." She nipped at my earlobe, sending electricity zinging through me.
"Right." I nodded, my brain short-circuiting as her hands mapped out territory on my back, claiming it with gentle authority. My penis was hard as a rock, and I wanted nothing more than to sink into the depths of her hot pocket.
Our lips met again; this time, it was a slow burn rather than a spark. We moved together, a dance of give and take, learning the steps as we went. Each touch deepened the bond and tied our stories tighter.
"Is this okay?" Her breath was hot against my cheek as she wrapped her legs around my torso, flipping me over and sinking down onto my engorged member.
"More than." I meant it. Every doubt fell away, leaving just us in a bubble of sweaty bliss.
The bed creaked beneath us as she bounced up and down. Her perky nipples pointed at me as if asking me to lick them, so I did. Taking one into my mouth, I suckled like a calf, pulling out deep groans from her mouth. It was like we'd stumbled into a rhythm, both of us honest in our eagerness, yet somehow, it worked. She ground herself down on me, moving back and forth, hypnotizing me with the way her curtains trailed against my bladder. She was perfect.
It didn't take long to cum, I never did. She told me to beat my meat before next time so I could get her off. I offered to lick her with my tongue, but she declined, saying that we would work our way up to that level. Whatever that meant.
Afterward, we lay tangled together, a mess of limbs and contented sighs. I traced patterns across her skin, committing the feel of her to memory.
"Thank you," she murmured, fingers drawing lazy circles over my heart.
"For what?"
"Being you." Her voice was soft, laced with sleepiness. "And for accepting my job."
"Only thing I know how to be. And you don't need to thank me. I was a right dick." I smiled into her hair, breathing in the scent of her shampoo.
"Good." She yawned, snuggling closer to my chest.
I lay there, our breaths syncing up. The night outside wrapped the room in a blanket of quiet. Agatha's heartbeat was a steady rhythm against my side. Warm and real. I'd never been this close to someone. Never felt so exposed yet so safe.
"Ready for sleep?" Her voice was a whisper as if she didn't want to break the spell.
"Almost." A yawn caught me by surprise. "You?"
"Getting there." She stretched like a cat, her socked foot brushing mine under the covers.
We shifted on the bed, finding that spot where comfort wraps around you, ready to pull you into dreams. My arm was her pillow, her curls tickling my skin. It was new, this feeling of being part of a pair. A good kind of new.
"Today was..." I searched for the right word. "...big."
She chuckled, the sound vibrating through me. "Yeah, big."
"Are we okay?" The question slipped out before I could stop it. "It was our first fight."
"Better than okay." She squeezed my hand, entwined with hers.
"Good." Relief washed over me.
"Hey, one more thing," She propped herself up on an elbow, looking down at me.
"Yeah?"
"Let's just keep doing this. Being us."
"Deal." I smiled, and she settled back down, her body molding to mine.
Her breathing slowed, and I felt the shift as sleep took her. I let myself relax, following her lead. Agatha's presence was a promise, one that said tomorrow would come with its own set of challenges, but we'd face them as a team.
"Night, Angel." The words were barely audible, even to me.
"Night, Adonis." Her reply was a gentle murmur against my chest.
Sleep tugged at my eyelids, heavy and inevitable. I gave in, letting the day's emotions drift away. There was hope. Hope for us, for what we could be. And with that thought warming me from the inside, I let go, falling into sleep with Agatha in my arms.