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She walks straight into my arms. I close the door behind her and wrap my own arms around her for a hug. I didn’t even know how much I needed this hug.
“Thank you for the flowers,” I say.
“You don’t have to thank me,” she says.
“You didn’t have to,” I say, squeezing her because I need her closer.
“I wanted to. I didn’t know what else to do. Your friends wouldn’t tell me much. I understand why. I just wanted to do something.”
I kiss her neck and pull out of our hug.
“Thanks,” I say, looking down at the floor because I can’t quite look at her yet.
“I don’t know what I’m allowed to ask or if I’m allowed to ask anything.”
“We’re not really here to talk,” I say because she’s given me an out – or, an in, depending on how I look at it.
I don’t want to talk about losing my aunt. I don’t want to talk about the funeral or anything else. I just want to lose myself in her. I’ve waited all this time to be in her space again, to have her pressed against me, and I want that more than anything right now. I put my hands on her hips to indicate that I’m ready to take this to the bed or the wall or the door or the floor – whatever she wants.
“But we can,” she says.
“It’s been two months,” I say insistently. “I want to touch you.” I pull her against me.
“I want to touch you, too,” she says. “But we don’t have to tonight. We–”
“You came here for sex.” I pull back again, annoyed.
“I came here for you. I always come here for you,” she replies urgently.
“Why are you complicating things right now? I’m an escort. You pay me to–”
“Hey,” she says, taking my hands. “If I wanted just sex with anyone, I’d be in a room with someone else or downstairs in the living room right now – I’m in here with you.”
“Well, I’m not exactly the life of the party tonight. It’s been two months. You don’t just want to fuck?”
I know it’s probably not the right thing to say, especially to her. I know she’s trying to be nice and make sure I’m okay, but I’m vibrating, and I want to stop. I just want to stop.
“Why did you come here tonight?”
“I just told you. I–”
“No, be honest with me. Why did you come here?”
“Because I need money,” I blurt out, not meaning to.
“Oh,” she says, letting go of my hands.
The disappointment in that one word hits me square in the chest. Then, there’s her body language. She’s upset. I’ve upset her. I sigh and know I have to be honest. She deserves that.
“And because I wanted to see you,” I say. Then, I add, “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too,” she says with a small smile.
“And I’ve missed touching you,” I say, cupping her cheek.
“I’ve missed that, too,” she says, leaning into the touch.
“But it’s more than that,” I tell her, stepping into her.
