Текст книги "Roomies"
Автор книги: Claire Adams
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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 16 страниц)
Chapter Ten
That Sinking Feeling
Dane
So, it’s been a couple of weeks since Leila found out what I really do. Our conversation behind the restaurant was innocuous enough, but it was the last real conversation that we’ve had.
Now, I’ll come into the room, we’ll say “Hey,” to each other and that’s about it.
She’s avoiding me, although I can’t imagine why.
In the grand scheme of things, my not telling her about my real job is an annoyance, and I can see how it would be somewhat disrespectful, but it’s really not that big a deal. It’s not like we’re close friends or anything.
Then again, I’m starting to get the feeling that it’s something else entirely that’s bothering her.
The good news is that I haven’t been fired yet. The bad news is that Jim’s been avoiding me, too.
Oh well.
Right now, I’m sitting in the parking lot of Yankee Stadium, receiving a nice, relaxing blowjob from Wrigley. I made a joke to her that we were at the wrong field, but she didn’t get it.
At this point, I don’t know if I could really go back to normal sex.
It’s something I fought at first, right up until we got up to the roof of her building. Now, I’m just as much an exhibitionist as she is. Well, I guess that’s not entirely true. I still don’t like actually getting caught.
It happens more than you’d think.
I come and, within five flat seconds, Wrigley is asking, “What time’s the game?”
“I think it already started,” I answer. “Then again, the cheering crowd might have just been a psychosomatic thing.”
“What do you mean?”
She’s a demon in the sack, but she has a real problem with nuance. Given our present location, I was tempted to ask her for a hand-job, but I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t have gotten that, either.
“Never mind,” I tell her.
I might feel like I was using her if she didn’t make it so abundantly clear on such a frequent basis that the moment feelings are exchanged, she’s changing her phone number and moving to a different apartment.
“Take me to dinner,” she tells me.
“Where do you want to go?”
“I heard about this French place called l’Iris—”
“Don’t eat there,” I interrupt. “It’s fucking filthy.”
“How would you know?” she asks, poking me in the ribs.
“I’m the chef there,” I tell her. “Seriously, you have no idea what they do in the kitchen when I’m not around.”
Hey, at least I’m over my fear of telling women what I do.
“I didn’t know you’re a chef,” she says.
“Yeah, actually I—”
“Where would you like to eat, then?” she interrupts.
Apparently, women aren’t nearly as crazy when it comes to the whole chef thing as I thought.
“I really don’t care,” I tell her.
“You really don’t have tickets to the game?” she asks. “You’re such a cheap fuck.”
“Do you mean that figuratively or literally?” I ask.
It’s strange, but I think I’m actually becoming a one-woman man. It’s even stranger that the one woman I’ve decided to keep coming back to is so vehemently opposed to us forming a relationship with any kind of attachment other than pure lust.
Dinner, it seems, doesn’t count as non-sexual.
“Both,” she answers casually.
“We can go to the game if you want,” I tell her.
I bought the tickets on a whim last night. I really wouldn’t mind something a bit more serious, but I wanted to get the sex part out of the way before we got into the stadium. Otherwise, there’s no doubt in my mind that she would spend the whole game trying to figure out a way for us to do it in the stands and not get arrested.
Come to think of it, I don’t know that she would have a problem getting arrested while having sex. Knowing her, it’d probably just be that much more of a turn-on.
“No,” she says, “that’s okay. I’m a Mets fan anyway.”
The horror.
“I think they’re playing the Mets, actually.”
“Dane, I should be honest with you.”
It’s that exact phrase, said that exact way that gives honesty such a bad rap.
“I hate baseball. I said I was a Mets fan because I had no idea the two were playing and I really just wanted to get out of it. I’m actually kind of relieved you just wanted to stop here for a quick one. We really don’t have to go to the game.”
“Ah,” I say.
I turn the car on and put it in reverse. As we pull out of the stadium, I’m just wishing I hadn’t spent the money on the tickets.
“So,” Wrigley says, “have you talked to your roommate?”
“About what?” I ask.
“You know,” she says. “Things are getting kind of stale, you know, with your unwillingness to be my bitch.”
I can’t believe this is how she really talks.
“I’m not following,” I tell her.
“Have you had the conversation? Is she down for a three-way, or am I just flicking the bean to the complete wrong thing here?”
“I really don’t think it’s a good idea,” I tell her. “Despite its ramifications to your bean-flicking, I don’t think that Leila would—”
“Leila?” she asks. “Your roommate’s name is Leila?”
It’s about here that I realize Wrigley and I really don’t talk much about anything that doesn’t have an orgasm at the end of it.
“Yeah,” I answer. “Why?”
“That night on the roof,” she says. “Are you a complete idiot?”
“What are you talking about? What about the night on the roof?”
The question’s no more out of my mouth than its answer is in my brain.
“You called out her name when you came,” she says. “You’ve got a thing for your roommate.”
“I really don’t—”
“It’s cool,” she says. “I told you I don’t want any of that relationship torture, but it’s kind of bullshit that you’re just going to keep her to yourself like that. I bet she’d be my bitch. She’s the quiet type. Actually, I bet she’d end up wanting to make me her bitch. I saw the way she looked at me when I popped out of the room flashing my honeypot.”
“Do you have any idea how ridiculous you sound when you say shit like that?”
If my tone weren’t so hostile, I might be able to pass the question off as a joke.
“What the fuck is your problem?” she fires back. “I’m just talking a little bit of slap and tickle. I’m not saying I want to steal her from you. I’ve never been with a woman. I’m curious.”
“You know I find it really hard to believe there’s anything you haven’t done in that arena.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks. “You’re just jealous. You’re a jealous little boy who doesn’t want to share his plaything.”
“She’s not a plaything,” I snap. “You know what? Why don’t I just take you home? Tonight’s turning to shit in a real hurry.”
“You’re telling me,” she says. “Why don’t you call me when your fucking balls drop?”
“Oh, fuck off,” I tell her. “Every time I don’t want to go along with your psycho bullshit, you talk like it’s because I’m not a real man. News flash: It’s because you’re out of your god damned mind.”
“News flash? What is this, the seventies?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Just drop me off here,” she says. “By the way, it’s bullshit that I can’t smoke in here.”
“It’s a rental car!” I shout.
“Why would you rent a car anyway? It’s such a waste of money in the city.”
Ah, the age-old male dilemma: do I blow the whole thing up by telling her I was trying to take her out on something that resembled an actual date, or do I lie and figure out a way to make up with her so we can keep having sex?
“I wanted tonight to be special,” I tell her.
What the hell am I doing? I decided on the lie.
“Special? Giving you a knob bob in the parking lot of a baseball stadium is your idea of a special night?”
“I wanted to take you to the game,” I tell her. “I was trying to take you out on a date.”
“Pull the fucking car over,” she says.
This isn’t the easiest task where we are in the Bronx this time of night.
“I told you I didn’t want any of that,” she says. “You crossed the line, Dane. Let me out!”
“What? You’re going to catch a cab back to Manhattan right now?” I ask, finally managing to double-park.
“Don’t call me,” she says. “Don’t come by. Stay out of my life, you fucking freak.”
With that, she throws her door open and gets out of the car.
She’s hailing a cab by lifting her shirt. It works well enough, but the woman is fucking insane.
When she gets in the cab, she doesn’t get in the back, but the front seat. At least I know she’s getting home safe as I pull back into my lane and drive off. I just wished I’d spared myself the glance in the mirror, seeing her head dipping below the dashboard.
A few weeks ago, I would have told you that Wrigley was the perfect woman for me: no worries about monogamy, a little crazy, insatiable. Now, though. I don’t know.
There’s got to be something more to it than that.
I can’t believe that I’ve actually grown bored of a woman with a sex drive higher than mine.
I know I’m paying by the mile, but I drive around the city for a while. Most of the time, it’s stoplight after stoplight, waiting for that shade of green that means I can drive free for the next couple hundred feet before I have to stop again.
Every once in a while, though, I hit a few green lights in a row, and I start to let things go. I start to forget all the nonsense.
It never lasts.
I couldn’t tell you what brought me here now, but as I’m pulling into the parking lot of l’Iris for the very first time in a car driven under my own power, I know where I’m going. For the first time in a long time, I know where I’m going.
I’m through the back door and standing outside Jim’s office before anyone sees me.
That’s going to work to my benefit.
I knock.
“Come in.”
I open the door.
“Dane,” Jim says. “You’re not on tonight, are you? I thought Cannon was running the kitchen.”
“Yeah, I’m sure he’s running it through a wood chipper,” I tell him, “but that’s not why I’m here.”
“Okay,” he says and leans back in his chair. “Why are you here then?”
“Jim, I get that you’ve got to cut some spending, but you’ve kept me on this long. I know you don’t want to let me go.”
“Yeah, I told you that—”
“Just let me finish,” I say.
This is probably the most respectful I’ve ever been to my boss.
“Okay.”
“Jim, I don’t mean to sound like a clingy girlfriend or something, but I need to know where this is going. If you’re going to fire me, fire me now. I’m not just going to sit around and wait for it to happen. If you’re not going to fire me, well, I have a few ideas.”
He puts his hands together, interlocking his fingers.
“I’m listening,” he says.
“First,” I tell him, “we dump Cannon. I’m sorry Jim, but he’s just nowhere near good enough. Even when I am there pissing down his neck, he’s only ever half on, and you know that’s not anywhere near cutting it.”
“Dane, I don’t think firing Cannon is going to—”
“Next,” I interrupt, “we promote Wilks to executive chef and demote me—with pay decrease—to sous chef. He’s going to need me for guidance over the first couple of weeks, but he’s really one of the most talented guys I’ve ever worked with in this business. When he came in here, he didn’t know the difference between crème brûlée and a ramekin full of baked spunk, but within a week, he was up to speed. He doesn’t know everything we do just yet, but I know he can learn and he’s got some fresh ideas that I think will really bring the customers in and get them talking.”
“I get that you’re trying to save your own job, but putting one of your underlings up as executive chef isn’t going to get me to let him go instead of—”
“You won’t want to let him go,” I tell Jim. “You hire him on as executive chef and cut the pay of the position by twenty percent. It’s still going to be about double what he’s making, so I really don’t see him complaining.”
“I can’t have a sous chef making more than my executive,” Jim says, “that’s a steaming vat of resentment I’d prefer to keep out of my restaurant.”
“I know, Jim,” I tell him. “That’s why you keep my below what you give to Wilks. With Cannon gone and your head and sous chefs cut back on pay, you’re going to be saving a lot of money and I’m not out enough cash to screw things for me, either.”
“What’s the catch?” Jim asks, leaning forward. “You’ve never once said anything positive about Wilks. Why is he suddenly the golden boy? I don’t see what you get out of this.”
“I never told you about Wilks because, well, honestly, I didn’t want you to figure out that he’s better than I am and do exactly what I’m telling you to do now.”
“Why are you doing this?” Jim asks again.
“I want to keep my job,” I tell him. “I was getting a blowjob from this freak I’ve been nailing a few weeks in the parking lot of Yankee stadium—”
“Oh for fuck’s sake…”
“Just listen,” I tell him. “I started to realize that I’ve spent all my life trying to get that quick release, that instant gratification and it wasn’t until tonight that I realized that’s not really what I want. It’s never really been what I want, but that’s because I’m a coward. It’s just easier to take advantage of people than to put the best person forward and try to make things work with them.”
Jim laughs. “That must have been one terrible blowjob.”
“Actually it was fantastic. She does this thing with her tongue—pierced, by the way—where she’ll—”
“I got it, I got it,” Jim interrupts. “You’d actually be willing to do all this just to keep your job?”
“Yeah,” I tell him, “but it’s not just about that. With me as executive, you’ll have the regulars and you’ll get solid reviews, but with Wilks, you’ll get something more. You’ll get an innovator and I’m willing to bet you $10,000 that if you give him enough room to do what he wants to do, this place is going to be packed every night from here until you retire a wealthy, wealthy man.”
“You’ll be down something like $60,000 a year,” Jim says. “Are you sure you’re okay with that? I mean, why not just go somewhere else and do the executive thing there?”
“Because I’d rather stick with something that I love,” I tell him.
“I can’t just fire Cannon, though,” Jim says. “He’s been here as long as you have.”
“Yeah, but he’s worthless. I’m actually good at what I do and you were ready to let me go.”
Jim chuckles. “Is he really that bad?”
“He’s terrible,” I answer. “You wouldn’t believe how many times I have to have him redo a dish before it’s anywhere near good enough to send out.”
“And why is it that you didn’t tell me about that before tonight?”
“I figured that if you were going to try and replace me with someone, it’d be the sous chef. As long as that’s Cannon, I never really felt like I had anything to worry about. He’s never been a threat.”
“So, I’m just supposed to believe that all this is genuine and you’ve suddenly turned benevolent because a blowjob in a parking lot made you realize that there was more to life than screwing people over?”
I laugh. “Well, when you put it that way, anything’s going to come across suspect.”
“And you’re not yanking my chain about taking a massive pay cut?”
“If it’ll help get things turned around, then that’s what we need to do. When Wilks starts bringing in the hordes, you can always give me a raise.”
Jim scoffs.
“That must have been one life-changing blowjob,” he says. “All right, we’ll do it. I’ll let Cannon know at the end of his shift, and we’ll get Wilks started tomorrow.”
“Okay,” I tell him and walk to the door. “You might want to make sure you tell Cannon outside the restaurant. He’s one of those predators that plays victim until someone really calls him on his shit. That’s when he explodes like a toddler’s diaper and all the shit starts oozing out.”
“Thanks for the visual, Dane,” Jim says, smiling. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
For the first time since I can remember, I leave the restaurant in a good mood. I don’t mean to screw over Cannon, but the guy is pretty fucking useless on pretty much every level imaginable.
Oh well.
Now, I get to go home and do something I’ve been trying to convince myself I didn’t want to do.
Tonight, I’m going to tell Leila that I want to be with her.
I get to tell Leila that I’m single again—though, I’ll probably leave off the “again”—and that I want to see if there’s anything between her and I other than this growing hot pull in my chest.
The funny thing is that I still don’t really know her all that well, but what I do know is enough for the certainty that I want to know more.
I can’t wait.
First thing’s first, though: I’ve got to drop off the car.
That process takes over an hour as the moron at the front desk can’t find the paperwork. Finally, he checks the open file that’s been right in front of him at least as long as I’ve been standing here, and we get it all taken care of.
The guy lets me call a cab, and I’m on my way home now, nervous, but feeling for the first time in a long time that I might just be onto something amazing.
I climb the stairs and imagine the worst possible scenarios.
Most people would tell me to be optimistic right now, but every time I’ve gone into something with high hopes, those hopes are dashed in the most horrendous way possible, so right now, I’m imagining her screaming at me, calling me an asshole and a womanizer, telling me that I’m never going to be anything more to her than a rent check.
I can’t help the fact that I’m still smiling.
When I get to the door, I take a breath and take one final moment to imagine her hitting me over the head with a frying pan and kicking me in the ribs while I’m lying on the floor.
If my inverse-square law of hope has any validity, that thought should seal the deal.
I unlock the door and open it to find Leila and some guy sitting on the couch, making out.
I should probably clear my throat or say something, as neither one seems to have noticed my arrival, but I can’t do anything.
It’s been about an hour and a half since I decided I want to throw caution into the death machine and make the move to be with Leila, and this is the first time I’ve ever seen her with someone.
Inverse-square law my ass.
I try to slowly back out of the door and leave the two in peace so, hopefully, they never know I was even here, but of course, that’s when my phone rings.
Leila and the guy who was trying to swallow her face jerk and look over at me while I fumble for my phone.
“Dane!” Leila spits. “When did you get in?”
“Just a second ago,” I tell her, still trying to pull the stupid fucking phone from my pocket. “I’m just going to take this outside,” I tell them both, finally, and walk back out the door, closing it behind me.
Once outside, I finally get the phone wrested from my pocket and look at the number.
It’s Wrigley.
This should be interesting.
“Yeah?”
“Dane,” she says, “I need to fuck someone and it needs to be now. You’re not mad at—”
“I’m on my way,” I tell her.
I was off to such a fresh start.
Chapter Eleven
The Favor
Leila
“Mike,” I tell him, “we can’t do this. You’re my best friend in the world, and I don’t want things to get weird.”
“Who says they have to get weird?” he asks. “I’m not talking about changing anything about our relationship. I just want to know if I’m really that bad of a kisser.”
“It’s weird just talking about it,” I tell him. “I’m sure you’re a fine kisser. Can we leave it at that?”
“I guess,” he says and turns back toward the television.
I know what he’s asking, and I know he’s really not trying to pull one over on me, but still: Mike is way too good a friend to even take a false step down that road. If things went pear-shaped between us, I don’t know what I’d do.
For a very long time, Mike is all that I’ve had.
Then Dane came along, but I can’t even think about that right now.
He’s off somewhere with that skank with the ridiculous name.
That’s all right. He doesn’t owe me anything; we’re roommates. That’s what I keep telling myself, anyway.
“You know I’d do it for you,” he says.
“That’s because you’re a freak, Mike,” I laugh and jab him with my elbow. “Just watch the movie and keep it in your pants, will you?”
“I never said I was going to take anything out of my pants, although I see where your mind is.”
He can be such a child sometimes.
“All right,” I tell him. “If I kiss you once and give you notes, will you drop it and never ask me to do anything like that again? I mean it. This is awkward enough as it is. We’re not going to start some weird sex clinic—”
“Easy there, girl,” he says, somehow thinking that talking to me like I’m a horse is going to help his cause. “I’m just talking about a kiss—one kiss. Give me some notes on how I can do better and we won’t even talk about it again.”
“No tongue,” I tell him.
“Oh bull,” he says. “How am I supposed to know if I’m doing it all right if you don’t let me slip you a little tongue?”
“Eww…” my body involuntarily shivers, and my eyes start to water like I’m stuck in a sewage pipe.
“Gee, thanks,” he says.
“You’re like my brother, Mike. This is too weird. No kiss, the whole thing’s off.”
“Aw, come on,” he whines.
He’s not only whining, but he’s actually pouting: the bottom lip is out and everything. It might be cute if it weren’t so stupid.
“No!” I tell him.
“But mom,” he whines again.
“Yeah, like that makes it better.”
“Fine,” he says, straightening up and speaking normally again. “How about one kiss, thirty seconds—”
“Thirty seconds? Are you insane?”
“What the hell am I going to learn from a peck?”
“I don’t see why it’s such a big deal anyway,” I tell him. “So you’re a bad kisser. It’s not the end of the world.”
“How do you know I’m a bad kisser?” he asks.
“Because of the way you’re acting,” I tell him. “No self-respecting anything would put on such a bitch fest.”
“I’m not bitching,” he says. “I’m just tired of kissing my date good night and getting that look that just says, ‘that’s it? Seriously, I sat through dinner for that?’ It’s humiliating, Leila. Just one kiss, thirty seconds or less and a little bit of tongue—before you throw something, I don’t mean puppy tongue or rim tongue—”
“That’s disgusting.”
“Whatever. I’m talking just a normal amount of tongue as if we were out on a date and I’m trying to convince you with my mouth that your every problem can be solved by my penis. Is that so much to ask?”
“Yes!” I squeal, half in laughter, half in horror. “You’re making this so much worse than I thought it was going to be. I am not kissing you. Next time you walk a date to the door, just put out your hand and give a good, solid handshake. I’ll tell you what: I’ll help you practice that. Everyone needs to know how to give a good handshake.”
“Leila…”
“Seriously, it’s not just good for dates, but it’s good for business.”
I hold out my hand and, when he doesn’t grab it, I place his hand into mine and give it one good shake.
“See?” I ask. “Good pressure, only one up and down motion and release. That’s a good handshake.”
“I shake hands with the best of them,” he says. “I think we both know that.”
“Watch the movie.”
“Leila!”
“Watch the movie!”
He crosses his arms and starts grumbling.
He’s actually sitting there grumbling.
“If I kiss you on your terms, will you shut up and drop the whole thing from here until the end of time?” I ask.
“Yes!”
I sigh and fold my arms.
“Does that mean you’re going to do it?” he asks.
“I don’t know. Can you keep your mouth shut before and after?”
“Of course,” he says. “This is great, Leila, you’re such a—”
“What did I just ask?”
“Oh, right,” he says. “So how do we do this?”
“You really are bad at this,” I tease.
“Shut up,” he says. “I mean, do we stand or do we sit? I’m assuming we’re not going to be rolling around on your bed or anything?”
I can actually feel the reflection of my death stare coming off of Mike’s face.
“That’s a no. Why don’t we just do it here,” he says.
“Don’t say that,” I tell him, covering my ears.
“Don’t say what?”
“Don’t say ‘do it,’ it makes me feel like flies are laying eggs in the back of my throat.”
“Now that’s a good visual for me to start with, kissing you,” he says.
“Shut up, Mike,” I tell him.
“What’s the ruling on hands?” he asks. “Like, where do I—”
“Nowhere near my body,” I tell him. “In fact, you should probably have them behind your back.”
“Behind my back?”
“Just nowhere on my body,” I tell him.
“I was hoping to test out my hair-caressing—”
“Do not finish that sentence,” I interrupt. “I’m already going to need an anti-emetic as it is.”
“Anti what?”
“Something to make me not throw up,” I tell him.
“That’s cold.”
“Whatever. Let’s just do this before I lose my nerve.”
“All right,” he says, moving closer to me on the couch.
He closes his eyes and starts to lean in and without even thinking about it, I naturally move away from him.
He opens his eyes again.
“What?”
“I want you to tell me the rules one more time. I’m not going to listen to any excuses if you cross the line here.”
He rolls his eyes. “One kiss,” he says, “thirty seconds or less—”
“I will be timing it,” I tell him. “There’s a clock on the wall right there, and if we’re coming to thirty and you’re not pulling away and apologizing for badgering me into doing this, I’m going to leave a big red print of my hand across your cheek, got it? Now what are the rest of the rules?”
He sighs. “Thirty seconds, one kiss and a little tongue is permissible, but nothing over the top or down the throat.”
“Where are your hands?”
“Somewhere else,” he says.
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning not on you.”
“That’s right.”
“Can we just do this thing? I’m starting to lose my nerve.”
“If you lost your nerve, I think I’d be pretty okay with that.”
“All right,” he says. “Tell me when to start.”
“No moaning or any other—you know what? Don’t make any sound at all. I don’t even want to hear you breathing.”
“I’ve got it!” Mike says with a laugh.
“All right,” I say, watching the second hand on the clock. “And, go.”
He leans in and our lips meet.
It’s weird, but it’s not terrible, I guess.
What the hell is he doing with his tongue?
I pull back a little, trying to give him the hint, but he doesn’t get it, so I bite his tongue a little.
That gets him to pull back.
Twenty seconds to go.
This is taking forever.
All right, he’s doing a little better, but it’s like he’s trying to say something the way his lips are moving.
I would close my eyes and try to pretend like this is someone other than Mike, but I’m not breaking my gaze at the clock.
Mike tilts his head to the other side and I’m pretty sure that if I had a brother, this is what it would be like to kiss him. This is, in no way, a turn-on.
Ten seconds left.
It’s almost over. The worst is already done, now it’s just a matter of hanging in there for a few more seconds.
Five.
Four.
Three.
A sound from somewhere else in the apartment startles me and I pull away.
Shit. It’s Dane.
He’s standing at the door with the oddest look on his face.
“Dane! When did you get in?” I ask.
“Just a second ago,” he says, clearly having a lot of difficulty pulling the ringing phone from his pocket. “I’m just going to take this outside,” he says and is out the door before I can say anything else.
“Oh crap,” I say, putting my hands on my forehead.
“What?” Mike asks. “So he saw us kissing. What’s the big deal?”
“I don’t know,” I tell him. “He looked like he just walked in on me killing his dog.”
“Does he have a dog?”
“No, he doesn’t—you know what I mean. Things have been pretty weird with us, and I think this is just going to make it worse.”
“Why would this make it worse?” Mike asks.
“I don’t know,” I lie.
The truth is that I’ve wanted to talk to Dane ever since that night when things started getting weird.
I thought my feelings for him were a drunken thing, but the more time that’s passed, the more I find myself watching him and looking forward to him being home, even if we hardly ever talk.
“So?” Mike asks with a cartoonish smile on his face.
“So what?” I ask.
“How was the kiss? Do you have any pointers?”
“The kiss,” I say. “I totally forgot.”
“Great,” Mike says, sinking into his seat. “If I can’t get you to even remember, I’m in trouble.”
“Why the emphasis?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“If I can’t get you…” I answer.
“Oh,” Mike says. “Well, it’s been what? Ten years since you’ve kissed a guy? I just figured after that long, I could pretty much do anything and still get a good response from you.”
“It has not been that long,” I tell him. “And we’re way too close as friends for you to get a really good response from me.”
“Well, do you have any notes? I mean, if you can’t remember—”
“Yeah, the tongue was way too much. I felt like you were trying to paint the top of my mouth or something and it was just weird.”
“Weird because we’re friends, or weird because—”
“It was weird because it was weird,” I answer. “I don’t know what the whole blowfish thing you were doing with your lips was all about, but you can stop doing that, too.”
“What about when I turned my head so our noses were on the other side, that was a good—”
“I really wasn’t all that impressed,” I tell him. “It was pretty obvious that you were trying to give me an eskimo kiss.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s a racially insensitive term,” Mike says, sulking.
“That’s what they call it. I didn’t make up the term.”
“So, was there anything you liked?” he asks.
“Liked is kind of strong for me…”
“Oh, come on!”
We go back and forth a while. I give him some fundamental tips, but make it beyond clear that we’re never kissing like that again.
I rewind the movie as, by the time Mike’s done asking questions, we’ve missed at least half of it and we spend a quiet evening sitting on the couch.
The only thing that’s starting to bother me is that Dane still hasn’t come home.
It’s not unusual for him to be out late or even all night, but tonight feels different. That look on his face when he saw me and Mike kissing… it looked like he once had a smile, but that it slowly melted and died. I don’t know how to describe it.
It looked like his heart was breaking.
I don’t know, maybe I’m reading too much into it.
After all, Dane has what’s-her-stupid-name to keep him company.
What does he need me for?