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19
BRYSON
I’m the luckiest son of a bitch in the world.
It’s mid-afternoon on a Wednesday, but it’s raining so work ends early.I take the train home happily, not even caring that I am drenched because I forgot to bring an umbrella.I stop on the way to the apartment to buy a small bouquet of tulips from a nearly rained-out vendor; there’s not that many people out given the weather and the time of day, but I see this guy all the time here selling flowers and I’ve got a soft spot for him.Besides, now I’ve got someone to give them to.
Carleigh.
I'm not foolish enough to think she’s the only reason I’m happy today.I’m an upbeat guy for the most part.What’s not to like?My life is going pretty great: I have a job I don’t hate, my friends and family are healthy, I live in a great city.
But obviously, there’s been a shift in my relationship with Carleigh, and the impact of this has been indescribable.I know I’ve always kind of had my head in the clouds.But now that Carleigh and I are a real Carleigh-and-me, I’m basically living my life on the moon.
I let myself into the apartment and can see by a pair of still-drying flats by the door that Carleigh’s home, too.That fact prompts a smile.“Honey!”I call out, channeling my inner Fred Flintstone.“I’m home!”
Carleigh pops her head around the corner.“Hey, you’re home early!”she remarks.She’s in the kitchen, like usual, but she drops her spatula to come greet me.She stops short of a hug and exclaims, “Oh Bryson, you’re soaked!”
I look at her innocently.“I maybe didn’t look at the forecast before I left for work this morning.But here!”I thrust the tulips at her.
She smiles at the flowers, takes them, and sets them in the kitchen.“Bryson, you’re too much.”
“People have been saying that my whole life, babe.”I unlace my work boots and slip them off.“Now come, give me a hug.”I open my arms but she declines, pointing at the puddle that’s following me.I shrug and gather her up in my arms anyway, chuckling as she squeals and pushes at me.
“Bryson,” she whines.“These are clean clothes.”
That makes me laugh.“Your finest sweatpants,” I tease, tilting her head up to kiss her.She tastes like chocolate chips; clearly, it’s going to be a good night.
“Don’t mock my sweatpants.”Carleigh gives me a cross look, but she squeezes my biceps, so I know she’s not actually mad.I flex them, winking at her.
I’ve noticed over the past two weeks we’ve been more-than-friends that Carleigh’s got a bit of a thing for my arms.I’m not complaining; I’ve spent a lot of hours hauling heavy things around, and occasionally lifting weights with Bishop, and it’s nice to have someone appreciate it.
I decide to take advantage of this fact by peeling off my soaked t-shirt.Carleigh bites her bottom lip as her eyes fall across my chest.“Oh come on, Bryson, now you’ve got me all confused.”
“What?”I exclaim, laughing.I step away from her and turn the light to the oven on so I can see what she’s baking.“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you’re dripping water all over the floor so I want you to go change, but now I also want to make out.”
“Ah.The eternal dilemma.”I wink at her, flip the oven light off, and stamps a kiss on her mouth.“Luckily, we can have both.Come on.”
Carleigh looks between me and the timer on the oven.“My cookies will be done in two minutes,” she says.“Go change and I’ll come as soon as I can take them out.”
I flash her a faux-offended look.“Wow, Carleigh,” I say, shaking my head.“Glad to see where your priorities are.”
She nods at me, looking serious.“Yes, Bryson.Always cookies first.”
I laugh and go to my bedroom, picking up my wet t-shirt along the way.I discard both it and the soaked pants in the laundry, then pull a clean pair of jeans and one of my oldest t-shirts on.I plop my ball cap on top of my dresser to dry out and make a half-hearted attempt to fix my hair before I give up and lay on the bed.
It still feels a little odd to be here, waiting for my gorgeous, too-good-for-me roommate to come in so we can make out.I can’t believe that out of all of the guys in New York, I’m the lucky asshole that’s with Carleigh.It’s only been two weeks since she’d kissed me in Lake Placid, but we’re definitely among the better two weeks of my life.Until now, I don’t think that I’ve been truly aware of how much of my energy had been taken up by thinking about Carleigh, worrying about Carleigh, and dreaming about Carleigh.I still do, but now that we’re together, in whatever manner of speaking, there’s an underlying certainty to it all that’s helped me relax about it all.
Carleigh comes in after a few minutes.Her casual style hasn’t changed since the shift between us- she still spends most of her time in loose dresses, sweatpants, jeans, and t-shirts - but now that I’ve got more of an idea of what’s underneath it all, I have really come to appreciate it a lot more.I love her sweatpants, the way they fit her round ass, how they cuff at her ankles, and how it’s so easy to slip my hand inside of them.I like her shirts, too; there’s always been a delicious stretch across her chest, but now I’m intimately familiar with the soft, sensitive skin beneath, the sharp point of her waist, her curvy hips.And she’s so unassuming about it all, sometimes still so shy when I take her shirt off.I can’t understand how she doesn’t realize what she does to me.
Today, though, she seems a little more confident.I like when she’s in this mood, when her chin is high and her chest is proud.Carleigh climbs onto the bed, bites her lip, and straddles me.I don’t say anything, don't move, just watches her with a smile as she appraises me.
“You put a shirt on,” she observes.
“You told me to go change!”
Carleigh leans forward slightly, her hips tilting against mine, and runs her hands up my abdomen to my shoulder.“You could’ve left that off.”
