Page 43 of Cupid Calamity

I shrug and lift my pelvis to meet the tap. Then, I say, “I can’t. I’m no good at Sudoku or word play.”

“A movie?”

“Hate movies.” I groan. Tap. Tap. Tap.

He offers up, “We could catch up on our correspondence?”

I say, “I’ll lick the stamps.” He flicks my pointed nipple. I gasp. Holy fuck, I’m hot for him.

“No, silly. Do they even make lickable stamps anymore?”

I can’t take anymore, and I yell, “Oh GOOD GOD. Just fuck me right now.” He grins and rolls the condom on in two seconds. He swipes up the wetness that’s gathered and smears it on my clit as he pushes inside.

“Now, there’s a good idea.”

He rolls his hips, and I rise to meet him. With each crest we increase our volume and speed. He pistons in and out of me. I’m so fucking ready. I clutch his biceps. He reaches between us, and I’m gone. I scream, “Patrick. Oh. God. Fuck. Patrick. Patrick. Yes. Yes.” His grip and the orgasm have a firm hold on me. I freeze, then release everything with a shudder.

“Christ you’re hot when you come. Now do me? Am I hot when I come?” I can’t laugh or smile. I’m still not back in my body, as he doubles down and touches the deepest part of me. Fuck, he’s so deep. I begin to contract around him again just as he comes hard, making unintelligible sounds, and I’m right there with him. Moaning, groaning, and coming in a torrent of expletives and feelings.

He leaps up to dispose of the condom then he’s on top of me as we catch our breath. The feelings are still rippling over my skin. I kiss his cheek and say, “Yes. You are that hot when you come.”

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PATRICK

I wake in a panic. It’s 5:31 in the morning. We only fell asleep an hour ago. She’s snoring. Full-on, mouth open, snoring. I wish I could say it turned me off. I shake her, but she doesn’t wake. I check her breathing. I have no choice. It’s fucking ripping me up, but I’m already late. I have to catch the ride that’s picking me up in twenty minutes. This is an impossible situation. I have to get home. I want to pull her to me, shove her in my pocket, and take her with me, but I don’t even know what that looks like. I don’t have time to explain. I don’t know what life will look like, I do know that my life will be different after this Valentine’s disastrous perfect evening.

I can’t find a pen anywhere. And she won’t wake up. I want her to call me. I run into the bathroom and scribble a note on the mirror. I leave my number. I forgot to ask for hers. I know her last name. I would Google her if my phone weren’t dead. I let the door close. I hope it’s enough of an explanation that she realizes I’m shitty with time management and not a dick. I will track her down today. Or later, after a fucking nap. And some aloe on my Achilles cigarette burn. I want to send her arnica for her bruise. That’s stupid. Fuck. I have to go. I have to sort out if this was real. I take off running so I’m not late. This is harder and probably easier. It’s up to her now.

It’s frigid outside. But Sabrina has left me so warm and fucking mushy inside I don’t even feel my lack of gloves. I only feel her. I only hope when I figure out what to do about this ridic woman, she’ll listen to why.

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SABRINA

I wake up in a seriously sticky puddle of my own drool. It’s gross, but it’s also jarring as my 6:15 a.m. wake-up call is going off. I felt like I just went to sleep. Fuck. Wait. Shit. I sit up and look around. I sleep like the dead; I didn’t hear him wake up. Hopefully I didn’t drool on him.

“Patrick? Where are you?” There are noises in the bathroom. I check the clock. I’m not sure I even have time for a quickie. I have to hurry to the airport.

I fling open the bathroom door and spread my arms on the doorframe, so he gets a full view of my body. There’s screaming and yelling prayers to Jesus.

“AHHHHHH. I KNOCKED. I KNOCKED. Jesus, help me. Jesus, take the wheel! But no one answered.”

“What the fuck?” I scramble for the closest towel and it’s a hand towel. I choose to cover my naked lower bits and drape my hand across my boobs.

“Miss. Miss. Room was empty.”

“I’m so sorry.” She’s in the middle of cleaning the mirror, and there are red streaks on her rag. I look up and scream.

“STOP CLEANING. Please stop.” There’s a note blazing before me on the mirror in lipstick, but she’s already cleaned part of it. My heart leaps in excitement, then plummets.