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“I heard you the first time.”
“Don’t get me wrong, you still look good to me, but you’re not in that category anymore.”
“Okay. I’m glad you still think I look good,” Abby said, imagining Randall keeling over right in front of her, right now. Twitching. Not dying right away. Suffering and begging for her to call 911.
If she were young and spry, like when she was twenty, maybe she could reach the phone, maybe she could help him. That’s what she would tell him.
“You’re welcome. And I mean it, Sugartitties. For a woman pushing thirty, you’re hot.”
“Got it.”
“Can’t wait for your purchases to arrive,” he added. She saw his eyebrows wiggle a little, catching the hall light.
“Me neither.”
“Goodnight,” he said, closing the door after him.
Chapter 21
“Are you comfortable?” Charlie asked her.
“Yeah,” Abby said. Actually, she wasn’t at all. Her new lingerie was incredibly itchy. She didn’t mind though. It would be coming off soon.
“It’s one thing having the day off, but spending it with you? I feel like I’m dreaming,” he said.
“Me too.”
They were in Charlie’s apartment and she was taking her biggest chance ever. It was a Wednesday morning and she was supposedly at a movie. Something she almost never did by herself. To fake Randall out, she’d mentioned the movie casually two times over the past few days. It was a movie Randall would have no interest in: a story about children getting saved from an orphanage by some kindly older women during World War II. She’d bought her ticket, a box of Raisinets, and muted her phone. She had then hid the phone inside a paper towel machine in the restroom, since the parking structure for the theatre was across the street and she feared it might be obvious to Randall that her phone was there and not in the theatre. She’d then met Charlie at one of the theatre’s side entrances. From there he’d whisked her away to his apartment.
His apartment turned out to be a small but fairly clean one bedroom place. It was conveniently hidden from public view, its entrance facing a deserted alley. They had settled in together on Charlie’s sofa, his arm draped around her.
“So good to see you again,” he said softly, giving her a little kiss. They kissed for a moment. Part of her wanted everything to happen right away, but another part wanted to take it slow. The movie about orphans was three hours long. Besides the unappealing-to-Randall subject matter, its length was the best thing about it.
“What do you think?” Charlie asked her. “Should we start the movie, or should we go
in the bedroom?”
She took a long look at him. He had on jeans and a t-shirt, like a normal guy. No jumbo, adjustable-waist pants with a crease down the front and cuffs, like she was used to seeing Randall wearing. Charlie’s casual hotness was wonderful. Amazing. And right in front of her. All hers for the taking.
“Movie now, or movie later?” Charlie repeated.
“You choose,” she told him.
“I’d say we should start the movie, but then again, I’m not sure we’ll be able to focus on it if we don’t take care of other things first,” he said. He took her hand, leading her down the short hallway. Before they were even on his bed his jeans were halfway down and her shirt was off. They fell into each other’s arms. As more layers were peeled away, he reached across her to the nightstand and opened the top drawer. He took out a condom. Abby cringed internally, feeling, for the first time in many years, like a woman in her twenties. She’d forgotten the landslide of insecurities that came attached to liking a guy: Why does he have condoms? Were they for anyone, or did he buy them just because of her? Did he do this a lot? Was he so slutty that she didn’t even matter to him?
“I’m afraid my husband will smell the latex,” she said.
“We don’t have to have sex. We can do everything else,” he said. He put the condoms back in the drawer. They weren’t a new box, just for her. She felt unreasonably crushed.
“It’s not just that. I want to be close to you. I don’t want anything between us,” she said.
“So what are you suggesting?”
“I want to do everything else and sex,” she said. She didn’t mean to, but she said it pouty, like a little girl. He laughed.
“You’re naughty, aren’t you?”
“I want to be.”
