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When she drew a stick figure on the window with exed-out eyes and a ski pole lodged in its torso, however, I thought a quick stop through the Burger Mack drive-thru was in order.
Once in my chalet-style apartment near the ski resort, she, surprisingly, doesn’t sneer at my memorabilia. For the record, my apartment could pass for a gift stand at Comic-Con with all the collectors’ items I’ve accumulated, but she wanders around my place with her carton of fries like she’s taking in a museum exhibit.
She examines a Hawkeye bow hanging on the wall, one hand floating toward it, but she pulls back in a jerky motion and cups her fries with both hands.
“Oh!” She gasps, turning to me with bright eyes and a huge smile. “Do you have a lightsab—” she squeaks, but hacks on the french fry she’s practically inhaled. Her eyes water, and she brings a fist to her mouth while she continues to cough.
I hurry to grab her diet Dr. Pepper and replace her fry carton with the drink as she wheezes.
“Sorry,” she chokes out, waving her hand with her eyes squeezed tight.
“It’s all right,” I console her through her choking fit for the second time tonight. “And yes, I do have a lightsaber,” I answer, rubbing her back.
“Oh! Please do that thing for me like the guys on TikTok do,” she says dreamily, bringing her straw to her lips.
“And what is that? I don’t have TikTok.”
She giggles and purses her lips. “Guys with lightsabers take off their shirts and turn off the lights. Then they use their lightsabers to make their shredded torsos glow. It’s super hot. Ohpleaselet me see what that’s like in person!”
A friendly, gorgeous girl is in my apartment asking me to take my shirt off. Internally—where I still see myself as the awkward teenager I used to be—I’m sobbing with joy. But grown-up, self-assured, super confident me has to acknowledge how out of it she is. As tempting as it is, I’d rather she desire my powerful naked torso when her senses are fully intact.
So I tell her the truth. “I’d rather give you that kind of show when you’re sober enough to remember.” And after I’ve set up a TikTok account for research purposes.
Gwen nods absently, her eyes looking heavy. She’s only sobered marginally and doesn’t look any more likely to tell me where her apartment is now.
I wish I could say it pains me, what I have to do next, but my pants would go up in flames.
* * *
Ohhh fuck me…
Gwen comes out of the bathroom wearing my black Rogue ONE T-shirt. It hangs to mid-thigh, showing off svelte legs begging to be touched. Her toes are painted a candy-apple red, and while it looks like she washed most of the makeup off her face, her green eyes still glitter behind those thick, fluttery lashes.
Damn. What would it be like to have her here like this all the time? If we dated, maybe one day we’d move in together, and I could watch her prance around day and night in my T-shirts.
She pads across the plush carpeting, swaying a bit, and I hurry over to steady her, grasping her elbows. She giggles at herself and lets out a barely audible snort as her eyelids droop. Fucking adorable. If she were mine, I’d cherish getting to put her to bed every night.
“You’re tired,” I murmur before turning her and gently leading her to my bedroom. Using the light of the hallway, I guide her over to my queen-sized bed and pull back the covers. I flick on the bedside light so she can see what she’s doing, and—
“Baby Yoda!” she shrieks and hops onto my bed, giving me a brief flash of a pair of black boy shorts. I’m going to die. Right here, on my bedroom floor with an eternal boner sticking straight up in the air like a flagpole.
“You have a Baby Yoda! Oh my God he’s socute!” She bounces on the mattress and me gives the stuffed toy a toss in the air, then catches him in her arms, cradling him close.
“Oh… yeah, a friend gave me that,” I lie, terribly, but she pays no mind as she curls up on my pillow, snuggling the little green toy—Grogu, not Baby Yoda, despite what most people think, but I can tell her that another time—and closes her eyes.
She’s on my motherfucking bed, in nothing but my T-shirt that’s hiked up her smooth legs, a few strands of dark hair covering her face as she cuddles my Grogu. It’s just not fair.
I allow myself a moment to take in the sight, then pull the covers over her before I cross over into Joe Goldberg territory.
And then, with a heavy dick, I head out to sleep on my couch.
* * *
Gwen
Ican feel the morning light behind my eyelids. They appear to be sealed shut with rubber cement, though, so I can’t actuallyseethe sun peeking in through the windows.
Where am I?
