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She bit her lip and I vowed the next date I’d be the one doing that.
Fuck it.
I dipped my head into the car and gave her another kiss. She didn’t pull away. I was pleasantly surprised to feel her leaning into it. I cupped her cheek and sought out that perfect bottom lip. I bit it lightly, eliciting a small gasp, and covered her with another kiss.
When she finally pulled away, I straightened to my full height. “See you tomorrow.” And I walked back to my truck, trying desperately to adjust the raging hard-on threatening the break through my jeans.
I contemplated following her home, tailing her just to make sure she made it safe but figured that was a little too much too soon. I drove back to my apartment and waited another twenty minutes before I texted her.
ME: Make it home okay? I know you don’t like to respond but please let me know, otherwise I will send a search party.
ELIZA: Made it. Thank you for tonight. Sorry I’ve been an ass.
I groaned, now picturing her perfect ass in those jeans that fit her too well.
ME: I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m going to my parents’ this weekend. Go to the stupid Turkey Trot thing with me?
ELIZA: Sounds miserable.
ME: oh, it is just another excuse for Leighton County to have a party. Come make fun of all the stupid races with me.
ELIZA: Still sounds miserable.
ME: I’ll buy you an elephant ear. Two. Three. Whatever it takes.
ELIZA: you had me at elephant ear.
The Turkey Trot was just another excuse for a bazaar, or town party, or whatever. There were races (the potato sack race being the fan favorite) and games and raffles and pie-eating contests and overall fun. Well, it would be fun if you weren’t forced to go each year and interact with all of your parents’ potential and existing clients. Everything was a business venture for them. I’d spend an hour doing face painting and slip away.
ME: Don’t wear the sheet this time. I want it to be a real date.
ELIZA: No promises.
I was not ready to give up on this conversation with her. She’d never texted me back like this and I was grinning like an idiot. But I decided to ask my question anyway, full well realizing it might be the end of our little banter for tonight.
ME: What’s your pen name?
ELIZA: It’s a pen name for a reason.
The inexplicable urge to devour all of her stories had been growing since I’d dropped her off. Showing her my drawing and sketches and her listening to my rant about bridges felt good. Like she got to see a special side of me that could explain far more than words could ever do justice. And I knew her stories would be a small glimpse into her mind.
ME: I want to know you.
It seemed the best thing to say. It was the truth. She didn’t respond for the longest time.
ELIZA: Enter the pumpkin pie-eating contest and if you finish top five, the name is yours.
ME: Deal. But I’m going to remember your negotiation tactics because I have a feeling I have something you’ll want in the future and I can’t wait to be the one making the demands.
ELIZA: It’s a risk I’m willing to take. Goodnight.
I took a shower and thought of her lovely lips and how sweet they tasted. I thought of how lovely it would be to have her lips all over me. I wanted to taste her skin, explore her body, search for any other bruises.
I wasn’t someone who looked for fights, hell, I’d only been in three my whole life, each one justified. I’d taken Krav Maga with my dad since I was eight, I knew how to fuck someone up, I’d just never had a reason to go searching for someone to kill. I turned my rage back into lust; they mingled too close together when it came to Eliza and I thought of her sweet face as my hand stroked my throbbing cock. Mental images of her biting her lips, the feeling of her lip between my teeth is what pushed me over the edge. I grunted my release only to hear “Dude the walls are too thin for that!” from the other side of the wall.
“Fuck off, Roman,” I shouted. Fucking roommates.
I toweled off and walked to the kitchen to find Roman sitting on the counter, beer in each hand. He held one out to me.
