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But of course, I take it to the next level. Seeing her today, after what happened last week, just made me want her more. Made me wish I didn’t waste seven whole days ignoring her.
So I bring my hands up to her head, hold her there, and kiss her harder. Open-mouthed with tongue. She kisses me back as her fingertips grab on to my shirt, fisting it in her hands.
I pull back first and say, “Is this all it is?”
“No,” she says too quickly. “I like you, Aiden. I’ve always liked you.”
“And so… we’re going to have a repeat of last week? Sex, then regrets, then fight?”
“I told you, I’m not sorry. I don’t have regrets.”
“But you’re not certain either, are you?”
“Are you?” she asks.
“No,” I say. “I’m not. But I want to be here with you. I want to stay all weekend and eventually meet your friends. See you work and get to know you again.”
“Oh, God,” she says, smiling. “You want to meet Alison?”
“Who’s Alison?” It bothers me that I have to ask. I should know her friends. I suddenly miss the Kali I never got to know. And knowing her now isn’t quite the same thing. I feel like I lost time with her.
It’s not her fault we drifted apart. It’s not really my fault either. It just… is. That’s all. Just is what it is.
“Well, Alison,” Kali says. “She’s… a lot of girl. A lot of girl.” Kali laughs. “That’s all.”
“Mmm,” I say, kissing her again. “So are you. So now I know why you two are friends.”
“You want to know me, then?” she says.
“Yeah, I do. Let’s start with your sex toys. Because every woman in her thirties has accumulated a nice collection of sex toys.”
“Maybe I only have one?” she asks. “And maybe it’s broken and old because I never need to use it.”
“Hmmm,” I say, practically growling.
“Kidding.”
“So where do you keep them?” I ask, pulling away and walking down the hall to her bedroom.
“Where are you going?”
“To find them,” I say. “Duh.”
She laughs, then comes after me, pulling on my arm. “You’re not serious.”
“Fuck yeah, I am. I bet they’re in your nightstand.”
“Is that where your other girlfriends keep them?” she asks, winking.
“If I had a girlfriend, believe me, she’d be like you. She wouldn’t need them. I’d make sure she was all set before her day even started.”
“Oh,” Kali says. “Well, then. I guess you don’t need to go looking, do you?”
“Nice try,” I say, grinning as I pull away from her grip and go into her bedroom. “Nightstand,” I say, pulling out the drawer.
“Nope,” she says.
“Jesus, Kali. This drawer is a mess of… why do you keep your passport in your nightstand?” I ask, holding it up.
“OK,” she says, putting up her hands. “Confession time. I’m as sloppy on the inside as I am neat on the outside. Every drawer is a junk drawer.”
A memory of me poking around her room once when we were kids comes back to me. We were like, I dunno, ten or eleven, maybe. And all three of us were in Kali’s room for some reason. Plotting some woodland adventure, maybe. And I opened her desk drawer and found everything you can imagine. Glue, a diary, pens and markers, paints, an old letter to Santa Claus, a dog collar, even though they didn’t have a dog. A few packets of sunflower seeds—not the kind you eat, but the kind you plant. Headbands, nail polish, a million stray bits of paper. A sock. Just one. Lots of costume jewelry and photos.
This drawer is exactly that, only the grown-up version.
She pushes it closed before I can start picking up one of her many random receipts. “The toys?” she says, like it’s a question and I have the answer.
“Right,” I say. “That’s where we were before I realized you’re a secret hoarder. So where are they?” I waggle my eyebrows at her. Amused, and excited, and maybe even a little intimidated that I’m actually here in her apartment.
“Bathroom,” she says.
“Bathroom? How the hell do you whip out a toy during sex when it’s all the way across the hall in the bathroom?”
“Wait,” she says, holding up a hand and laughing. “You use them during sex?”
“You don’t?” I ask. And then I laugh and walk into the bathroom, pulling open her drawer of makeup, then opening her cupboard to find—“Bingo,” I say, pulling out the basket. “Nice collection, by the way.” I hold up a blindfold with a questioning look. “Who uses this on you?”
“It’s a sleep mask,” she says.
“Liar,” I say, shoving it in my pocket. “So you’ve never used… this”—I hold up a lime-green vibrator—“during sex?’”
“Do people do that? Use toys with other people?”
“What?” I laugh. Like loud. “It’s like the whole point.”
“No, the whole point is to have an orgasm when you’re in a dry spell.”
