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In the shower, I think about what it was like datingher. Before things were serious and they were still new and exciting. I’d jerk off in the shower before every date, giving myself a leg up on a long, lazy night in bed.
Soaping up, I reach down and cup my balls, getting them sudsy. I don’t know how many showers I’ve taken where all the elements are there, the stars have aligned and yet… I do not touch myself. I’ve told my therapist this plenty of times but it all started because I didn’t feel worthy of any pleasure, and eventually, I didn’t even feel worthy of anything at all. Only guilt, with a side of easing grief.
With close to three minutes already spent soaking up the hot water, letting it run through my hair and down my shoulders, I know I don’t have a lot of time. When I take my cock in my palm, I look down to confirm what my hand already knows—I’m hard. Very fucking hard.
My arm works as my fist clenches, and my head tips back as a roar of a groan leaves my chest hollow.
It feels good.
And I could finish.I could.
It’s there—release—creeping through my sack, burning my groin, making my stomach clench. There have been plenty of nights waking up with this feeling melting away from me, my sweats sticky, or my belly damp. But right now, awake and by choice, I would be able to orgasm, and though I drop my cock, smearing my soapy palm over my chest,I could have.
That’s not something I could have said truthfully for years.
As I hop out, I pull the towel through my hair before looping it around my waist and add toothpaste to my brush. But then there’s a knock at the door. I glance at my phone, which unsurprisingly has no new messages. I spit out the toothbrush after a few quick but powerful swipes, and hustle toward the front door, leaving a trail of water behind me.
Her eyes sweep my chest the moment I open the door, then her brow pinches. “Oh no, I’m early,” she steps back toward her place but I reach out quickly, taking her wrist.
“It’s fine,” I say, releasing her wrist. “I was running late. I stayed at the gym too long,” I explain as she timidly comes through the door, sliding off her shoes. With one hand gripping the towel, I close and lock the door with the other, turning to find her rosy cheeked.
She’s staring at her bare feet. My vision catches on the wall, and my chest flexes at seeing her sandals lined up with mine. “I’ll just wait right here while you… put a dress on.” She slaps her palm to her forehead, shaking it. “Get dressed, not put a dress on.” She waves a hand up and down my torso without looking. “Not gonna lie, your semi-nakedness took me off guard.”
I cock a brow that she can’t see is cocked. “That's… interesting,” I comment, walking past her toward my room. The apartment is a two-bedroom, and I chose the one that is closest to the door. I pop in and grab a clean pair of sweats—because it’s either sweats or jeans and since she’s wearing sweats and a tank top, sweats it is.
Feeding my hand through my shirt, I call to her. “You’re around and work with nude people all day. Do you need time to adjust to them on set, too?” I ask, genuinely curious. I don’t pay close attention to the scenes and the actors' interactions.
Appearing in the hallway, smoothing my fingers through my damp, uncombed hair, I find her leaning over the kitchen counter waiting for me.
Her eyes come to mine across the apartment as I make my way toward her.
“No,” she says, her answer low, her voice brimming with subtext. “Just you, Cohen,” she says even softer, making the hairs on my neck stand up. “And hey,” she adds, changing the mood immediately, straightening her spine as she looks around my empty kitchen. “I wasn’t thinking straight when I picked up the stuff for dinner. I don’t really have anything beyond a pot with a lid and a tiny, single-serve coffee machine. And by the looks of it, you don’t have much either.”
She crouches, opening my cabinets to unsurprisingly discover they’re bare. “We won’t be cooking,” she says flatly.
I reach for my phone, and pass it to her because I notice she came over here with only the keys to her apartment. “Call your favorite place for delivery, and we’ll stay in.”
Because I have no furniture, she drifts toward the far wall, putting her back to it, sliding down into a puddle. Long, lean legs stretched before her, soles of her feet exposed, she pinches her attention to my phone, fingers moving fast over the screen.
She seems so comfortable, and her comfort satisfies me. Dialing the phone, she cups her hand to the receiver and asks, “Do you think they’ll deliver wine?”
“Where’d you order from?” I ask, knowing that in the city, many places will.
“The Italian place around the corner from Crave.” Her face falls. “Is that okay? Do you like Italian?”
My stomach clenches, hunger tearing through at just the mention. “I love Italian.”
“Yes,” she says happily, returning to the phone. A second later she sighs, “sure.”
Looking back at me, she says, “We’re on hold. But I guess that's good because I should tell you… I’d planned on ordering a few of my favorites, and us splitting them all. But now that feels weird and selfish and—”
“Do it,” I say eagerly, anxious to know what her favorite Italian dishes are. And I’m excited to share a real meal with her, despite the fact neither of us really have tables or chairs to have a proper meal. Still, chairs and table or not, even if we use plastic cutlery, food with Scarlett, just the two of us, is… a perfect date. “I can’t wait.”
She keeps her eyes on me, the maître d' clearly taking her order. She speaks clearly, ordering bolognese, spinach lasagna with ricotta, tortellini with brown butter and sage, and a large caprese salad. She orders tiramisu and two bottles of red, asking them to please bring plastic utensils and styrofoam cups.
When she ends the call, she gets to her feet and walks my phone to me. Her fingertips graze my palm as she places my phone there, eyes still holding mine. “Pete ordered for me. He never let me choose. He always said,you'll get something you won’t like, you’ll complain and it’ll be a total waste.”
Though she doesn’t draw the parallel, I know why she’s saying this. I close my hand around the phone. “I want you to have exactly what you want.”
