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Mina frowns as we climb into her ancient hatchback. “You don’t want to go out.”
God, can she see right through me? “We have to start slow,” I say, grasping at whatever comes to me. “Hand stuff before orgies.”
Her sigh is long-suffering and very hot.
“Give me time,” I say when she chews her lower lip. “I’m still recovering.”
For a solid minute, as she negotiates the parking lot, I’m convinced she’s going to argue with me. She doesn’t.
We get home and I immediately head for my shower to shampoo my disgusting hair. It feels amazing, except when my fingers graze where they drilled into my skull. That feels weird, and not in a good way.
I’ve been spending too much time in my room, and if I want Mina to stop worrying, I need to show her I’m okay. Maybe she won’t see through the lie. I head downstairs for a late afternoon of watching her sew.
It must work. She doesn’t bring up Danny or anyone else all weekend, though she does drag me out of the house for short walks around my neighborhood. Now that the staples are out of my head, I start swimming too. Mina keeps an eye on me from a lounge chair, declining to join me.
By Monday, I can’t sit on the couch and watch her sew anymore, so I pepper her with questions about her machines, about what she’s doing, and finally, if I can try.
She humors me, motioning for me to take her seat, which I do. Mina digs through a tub and comes back with two squares of fabric with colorful dinosaurs. She places them together, so the print is on the inside, leaning over me to put it on the machine. Her body brushes against my arm. I inhale the dark floral scent of her perfume and immediately drift off on a daydream of hot, sweaty, intoxicating nights buried deep inside her.
When she’s ready, she crouches behind me, her left hand on top of mine. Her face hovers close and her breasts graze my shoulders.
I can’t concentrate like this.
“I’m going to sew my hand to this fabric,” I tell her softly, turning to look at her, “with you this close.”
She turns toward me a little, too, bringing her lips within a couple of inches of mine. Her dark eyes are hooded, focused on my mouth. I don’t breathe. I don’t move because I need her to be the one to take this kiss. I’m pretty sure she can hear my heart pounding as the moment stretches between us. I tilt my head to bring my lips closer in invitation, but she straightens abruptly, muttering an apology as her hand leaves mine.
My body is cold without her, and a disappointed sigh finds a way out of my lips before I can grab it and yank it back.
Her hand covers mine again, but she’s not kissing-distance close anymore. “There’s a pedal under the table,” she says, trying to hide how flustered she is with an overconfident voice and failing. “Think of it as a touchy accelerator, and a traffic cop is watching you. Go slow.”
I don’t know why everyone assumes I’m some crazy-fast driver. Okay, I know why, but they’re wrong.
Slowly, I press my foot to the pedal, and the machine springs to life. Mina shows me how to guide the fabric before removing her hand and coming back to turn the fabric ninety degrees. The second turn I do myself.
“There,” she says as she snips some loose threads and turns the fabric right side out. “You made a pocket.” She hands it to me and I inspect it.
Huh. I made a pocket. Cool.
Mina’s phone dings and her face brightens. “Hey, Danny wants to swing by tonight to say hi.”
Not Danny again. “Not tonight,” I say, taking my pocket back to the couch.
“Why not?” she asks. “We don’t have plans.”
“I have plans.” I pop my earbuds in. “This audiobook. I’m finally getting to the good stuff.” I drop my voice to a stage whisper, “Pegging.”
She gives me a look that is eerily similar to one my mother might give me.
A good number of the audiobooks my dad downloaded for me fall into the erotica category, but there are some spy novels and stuff. Which I’ll get to after the sexy books. Never know when I might learn a new trick. Plus, I’m a sucker for a happily ever after.
Mina steps in front of me, nudging my leg with hers. “What about tomorrow?” she asks when I remove the earbud.
She’s not going to let this go. I stand to leave because I don’t want company and I don’t want to explain why. “I’m going to my room to jerk off. Ignore all sounds for the next fifteen minutes—I’m not dying.”
Yes, I have been announcing my personal time to her, even when I have no intention of masturbating. It gives me thirty minutes of guaranteed privacy, but it also puts a pretty blush across her cheeks. I’d bet anything she spends the entire time thinking about me getting off. This means I’m thinking about her thinking about me, and then I need to get off, whether that was my original intent or not. It’s a vicious cycle.
“Wait a sec,” she says, bending to dig in one of the boxes at her feet. “I got you something.”
