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"You have moments."
"You want to wear the dress?"
I have spare clothes, pajamas, but I want to wear his again. "Do you have a shirt?"
"Of course. One minute." He leans in and presses his lips to mine. "Don't move."
"Oh, I wasn't going to move."
He stands. "I wore you out."
"Mm-hmm."
He beams with pride, and he races up the stairs. I'm not sure how he has the energy, but he does.
The couch is so soft and comfortable and inviting.
He returns with a t-shirt, boxers, and a smile. "You're cute when you're shy."
"Cute?"
"Sexy."
My cheeks flush. "It's the dirty talk. It always makes me blush." It's a little early to use the word always, but, hey, this is the start of a pattern.
"And I have to think about baseball so I don't come too fast."
"That's a real thing?"
"Baseball?" he asks.
"Guys thinking about it so they… last longer."
"Yeah, baseball is boring," he says.
"But the bats are so phallic."
He laughs. "Not in a sexy way."
"The men with their hands around the bats, swinging? And the tight pants. Have you seen Mike Trout's ass?"
"You're an Angels fan?"
"I'm from Orange County."
"You want to go to a game?" he asks.
"Maybe. I used to go with my dad. He tried to get us into softball. Me and Julie. She took to it like, well, like I took to swimming."
"Like a fish to water?"
"Right. A metaphor. Uh, simile. Analogy? I think you emptied my brain. I forgot."
He smiles. "How old is she?"
"Seventeen. A senior next year. She's varsity. And she's getting scouted by all sorts of schools."
"A softball scholarship?"
