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He licks his lips and I have to look away. Oliver is both my former husband and my current crush, but it will forever remain unrequited: our marriage was never really a marriage. It was that-thing-we-did-in-Vegas.
“Let’s just hope they don’t George Clooney your Batman,” he says.
That's so hot
“In fact,” I add, “if George Clooney is ever accepted into the Oxford English Dictionary as a verb, that activity is immediately getting added to my bucket list.” “As in, ‘Have you ever been George Clooneyed?’ ” Oliver asks.
“Exactly. ‘We went for a walk, and then George Clooneyed until around two. Good night.’ ” Oliver nods, putting some pens away in a drawer. “I’d probably have to add that to my bucket list, too.” “See, this is why we’re friends,” I tell him. Being near him is like a dose of Xanax. I can’t help but be calmed. “You would get that George Clooney as a verb would be such a monumental thing that, gay or straight, you’d want a piece of it.” “He’s totally gay,” Not-Joe says, louder this time. Oliver makes a skeptical noise, finally looking over at him. “I don’t reckon he is, though. He got married.”
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Sometimes we make love when the sun is just up, because I love a good, slow fuck first thing in the morning.
Sometimes the fantasy of getting everything you ever wanted is so much easier than the reality pressing up against the glass.
Is this what it means to become infatuated with someone? A heart becomes a hybrid, half yours, half theirs. Mine beats like this because it wants out. My chest aches to let his heart in.
“But I just want you. I don’t need easy or perfect. I don’t need to rush anything.”
“I don’t have a choice but to want to do this, Lola. I’m in love with you.”
“Get him drunk and take all his money. It’s the least he deserves.”
“We’re playing poker.” “I’ll clean the floor with you,” I warn, before tilting my bottle to my lips and sipping my beer again. She watches me swallow. “You can clean the floor with all of your clothes while I watch.” I raise an eyebrow at her and she adds, “We’re playing strip poker.”
“ ‘It is better to light a candle than curse the darkness.’ ”
“I think you are at least one article of clothing past ‘half-naked,’ ” I tease. “And perhaps more than a little past friend.”
Oliver plants his knees into the mattress and moves—there is nothing but sound in the darkness around us: the headboard slams against the wall, the hinges of the bed groan in protest. He’s grunting in my ear because it’s work, fucking me like this: fast and messy.
“Hurry,” I whisper, and he shushes me with his lips. “Hang on, hang on,” he says, gently pulling my hand away. “Hang on. This… I want to slow down and feel all of this.” His kisses narrow into small, sweet tastes of my mouth. “I don’t want to come as fast as I will if we fuck like that again.”
I don’t know how sex with Oliver can ever be slow now that I know how it feels when he’s unhinged. Forever now, when he tries to be gentle I won’t have it. No, I’ll think. I know how you feel when you absolutely fuck me.
He’s shockingly hard where I am so soft and tender and it crosses wires in my body, makes me feel crazy, makes me wonder whether I could take him everywhere, where else he could possibly fit.
Someday we’ll sit with all of our friends and talk about mundane everyday things while the entire time I’ll remember the way he tilts my hips, greedily thrusting into me, fingers slipping between us to rub me, his rasping voice, accent thicker with pleasure when he tells me to keep fucking up into him, that it feels so good he might keep me spread under him all night.
As soon as we open our hearts up to love, we show the universe the easiest way to break them in half.
sometimes you need to do it all wrong before you know how to do it right.
“I’ve realized… I’ve never needed to matter to someone as much as I need to matter to you.”
I mean, I have approximately twenty drawings just of your dick.” “Must have been hard to find places for all that poster board,” he says, smiling. “I mean, obviously. Go life-size or go home.”
