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“I know it.”
“I’m sorry for dumping all of this on you. It’s not exactly first-date material.”
“You’re fine,” I tell her.
“I guess I just…it’s going to take me awhile to completely process everything. I think I’m getting there, but I still have my bad days.”
“We all have our bad days, honey,” I tell her. “The important thing is finding people we can connect with and who can help us through those bad days. Life isn’t always easy. Most of the time, it’s not, in fact.”
“I know that more than anyone,” she says sadly.
“I know it, too.”
Oriana and I sit for a long time. Eventually, the tea is done, and I get it and bring it out to the living room. We sit and chat about nothing at all. She tells me about her favorite movies and I tell her about the time my friend and I tried to build a tree house. She talks about her childhood summers and I tell her about winters in Greenville. Eventually, our tea is gone and we’re just sitting together on the couch.
“We don’t have to work tonight,” she murmurs.
The bar is closed on Sundays.
“I know,” I tell her. “I have all this free time this evening. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“I have an idea,” Oriana says, and then she kisses me.
She kisses me deeply, and everything else sort of just fades away.
Chapter Eight
Oriana
Dale officially knows more about me than anyone else in the world does.
I’m not sure how that makes me feel.
Strong, maybe?
A little vulnerable?
Nervous?
Comfortable?
I have so many emotions swirling around inside of me that sometimes it feels like they’re all going to burst out at once. Right now, though, I only feel one thing: desire. I only feel the need to keep touching him and to be touched by him. We were interrupted last night and didn’t get the chance to finish what we started. And oh, I desperately want to finish what we started.
Dale does, too.
This time, we don’t take our time.
This time, things don’t go slowly.
This time, I need him fast and hard and quick, and I straddle him on the couch and kiss him. He pulls my shirt off and somehow, my bra disappears, too. I’m grinding on him, acting like I’m a professional dancer and not just a girl who works at a bar, but I think he likes it. I know he likes it.
“Oriana,” he says my name as he kisses me and somehow, the way he whispers it gets me hotter than anything else he could have possibly said.
“Dale,” I whisper back.
“Fuck,” he groans. “I need you.”
“Now,” I agree. “I need you now.”
