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Caleb
Morningsareusuallyan early start for me. Ma set that habit in motion from a young age. Whether it was chores, school, or the task of peeling my old man off the floor of the nearest bar before he hightailed it for good, there was always something to do.
So, when I open my eyes and blink blurrily around the room, I barely recognize the place.
Used to the shadows and shapes of my pre-dawn bedroom, I’d forgotten what color my bedsheets were. The sunlight, now likely crawling towards noon, streams in through Ma’s old curtains, turning them transparent and revealing moth-eaten patches in the fabric. Along their hem runs a bright beam of sunshine that slices the room in half along the floor and reminds me that the rug needs bashing.
I’m generally a clean person, but the bedroom is always the last on a list of chores as long as my arm. I only use it for sleep and it isn’t like anyone else is ever—
In a flash, my living memory returns.
Lizzie.
Already aware that I’m alone in the room, I throw a hand out across the bed all the same. Empty.
Rubbing my eyes, I take a moment to fully wake up.
Please tell me that last night wasn’t just the latest in a series of erotic dreams starring my house guest?
If it was, it had been the most vivid one yet. I can still hear the sound of her voice in my ears, the feel of her breath on my neck. My hands remember the feel of her skin and I can clearly picture the way she throws her head back just before orgasm.
I hadn’t made that up, had I? I lift the bed sheets. Normally, I wear boxers to bed but nope. Naked as the day I was born. And, sitting up, I spy Lizzie’s clothes hazardously discarded around the room, interwoven with my own.
Phew. The dream wasn’t my doing. It was real.
I have Lizzie.
And the two of us had spent a whole lot of time last night making that point very, very clear. I scramble for my alarm clock and correct myself as I note the time. Ten hours. It had been nearly midnight when we’d gotten back. The darkness of night had been shifting into gray dawn before we’d collapsed. It’s now half-past nine.
Which might explain the empty bed. But Lizzie isn’t working this weekend. So, where is she?
I get out of bed, ignoring the cold, and head on out in search of my—my what?
I pause with my hand on the doorknob.
Not my girlfriend. Lizzie is not a permanent part of my life. We have both made that very clear. This is not a relationship. That way, it won’t hurt when she goes back to New York.
My lover? Man, that sounds archaic. Like Lizzie walks around in bonnets and I have a thing for cravats.
Fuck it.
I head out into the hall in search of my woman.
She’s easy enough to find.
Once out of the bedroom and down the hall, I can hear her voice. It’s quiet, obviously kept low in an attempt not to disturb me. But all that does is turn her words deep and throaty. Sort of rough and sensual. Like her cries last night.
I feel a tug in my groin and can’t help the smile on my face. Lizzie isn’t working. I’m not due anywhere. We have the whole day ahead of us. And with a little luck and promises of backrubs, I might get Lizzie to agree to stay inside with me for the whole thing.
As I approach the living room, I hear Lizzie’s words cut off, then start again a few moments later. No one speaks in between, so I figure she’s on the satellite phone she picked up last week. For a moment, I wish she was still signal-blocked. Maybe then she wouldn’t have left the bed.
Then again, Lizzie being distracted by her phone gives me the opportunity to gaze upon her like a fool from the doorway.
Leaning a shoulder against the doorframe, I watch as Lizzie paces the room a little. She’s found one of my old shirts—a pale blue one—that, on any other day, I’m particularly fond of. It hangs to her mid-thigh. The curtains in the living room are open wide, brightening the space with the cool but fresh light of fall. For which I’m profoundly grateful because the sunlight is streaming through my thin shirt and giving me a perfect silhouette of what lies beneath it.
My mouth waters and my palms itch to touch as I watch Lizzie rock back and forth on her heel. She has her back to me and is yet to notice my presence.
“No, I’m not trying to—yes, yes, of course.”
