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“You’re pretty sure of yourself, considering we don’t even like each other.”
“I like you.”
“Right.” I roll my eyes. “You liked the sex.”
“I loved the sex.” He fondles my breast. “It was fanfuckingtastic.”
“Yes, it was,” I smile, giddy with feminine triumph. “But if you want round two, you need to feed me. I’m starving.” I’d been too nervous to eat dinner. I press a kiss to his breastbone, then climb off the bed on wobbly legs, still feeling him and the beads inside me.
“You’ve got one hell of a body, Jazz Legend.”
I smile over my shoulder. “Yours isn’t too shabby either, if you’re into eight packs.”
I hear him laugh for the first time, and the rich, hearty sound rolls warmly through me.
“Got a T-shirt I can borrow?”
“Second drawer on the right.”
I pull open the dresser drawer, not surprised to find his tops neatly folded. “Don’t you have anything with colour?” I ask, distastefully eyeing the stack of plain black, white, grey, and navy.
“Those are colours.”
“No, they’re sad and depressing, Leo.” I pull open his closet door and see shirts and sweaters in similar hues. The only hopeful article is a yellow hockey jersey. For me, colour is about expression. After all the rejection I faced in dance, I refuse to disappear or become invisible. I refuse to have my body muted or silenced because it makes some people uncomfortable. Instead, I drape it in loud vibrancy and scream my presence.
“Can I wear this?” I pull out the jersey to show him.
“Sure.”
“Do you still play?”
“Some Wednesday evenings and every Sunday afternoon. It’s just a beer league, but I like getting out on the ice and kicking some ass.”
I have a hard time picturing Leo messing up his hair with a helmet. But then again, I hadn’t imagined him to be adirty-talking, toe-sucking, anal-beads kinda guy either. I like discovering his little secrets.
“How does this smell good?” I ask, pulling the jersey over my head that carries the scent of laundry detergent. “I thought hockey stuff was supposed to stink.”
“I wash it after every wear.”
“Of course you do.” I laugh. He’s that anal…in more ways than one.
Leo comes off the bed, kisses me, and heads into the attached bathroom. I stand at the open door, watching the firm muscles of his ass and biceps flex as he rolls off the condom. After tying the end in a knot and tossing it into the garbage, he washes the beads and finger clip with a special cleaner and hot water. On the one hand, it’s a relief that he keeps his toys sanitary; on the other hand, it occurs to me that he’s preparing them for the next time…the next woman.
Get a grip, girl!I scold myself.It’s just sex. Don’t even go there.
I use the bathroom and join him in the kitchen. He’s pulled on joggers and nothing else. I catch myself staring, and he winks, both amused and smug.
“You’re not all that,” I feign nonchalance and bump him aside with my hip.
He grins, and catching me around the waist, nuzzles my neck. I hadn’t expected him to be affectionate or playful either. “You know you want me again.”
“Maybe.” I nip his bottom lip.
“No maybe about it, Sweet Pea.”
“Why sweet pea?” I ask, trying not to read too much into him giving me a pet name.
“’Cause you’re the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.”
