It's Different This Time

by Joss Richard

Six years we lived together. But Adam wasn’t just my roommate—you can’t reduce someone you shared a life with to a label like roommate. A roommate is someone who is strictly a percentage of the rent, a ship passing in the night that happens to dock at the same port as you. A roommate doesn’t know your deepest, darkest secrets, or your most intimate hopes and dreams. They certainly don’t know what spot on your collarbone makes you moan in pleasure.

“Favorite month?” I raise my eyebrow. He stops the fast pacing of our back-and-forth and looks at me. He’s been looking at me, but now it feels different. “Still June,” he says, and I realize I’m holding my breath.

It’s a strange feeling, being happy for someone and at the same time knowing they got all they wanted the minute you left their life.

“Do you know how many times I tell myself I’m not going to hook up on a first date? And then before I know it, I’m faking an orgasm.”

“It’s delicious, Adam,” I say sincerely, and he smiles. He smiles like every critic’s praise in The New York Times doesn’t mean anything and like his restaurant hasn’t been booked solid since the day it opened. He smiles like my uneducated palate is the only opinion he cares about.

The thing about lightning in a bottle is that it’s a fleeting moment in time, a spark that’s rare and special…but it’s also impossible to re-create.

“There’s no way anyone could have sex with you and not enjoy themselves. It would be a fucking privilege for any guy to be with you.”

“Take a shower, then we’re going out.” “You can’t tell me what to do,” I scoff as if he’s not thirteen inches taller and seventy pounds heavier. “You’ll know when I’m telling you what to do.” Oh.

“It’s different for me, June.”

“Are you upset or something?” “No, of course not,” he says. “It’s just…disappointing.” “Disappointing?” I frown. “How?” “Nothing,” he brushes it off, and then turns to me. “Just as long as you know now that I’m not dating anyone,” he says, his eyes demanding my attention. “And I’m definitely not sleeping with anyone.”

“Hey, thanks for today,” I say. “Did you have fun?” he asks. I nod. “Did you?” “I’m still having fun,” he says, and I catch his gaze quickly go from my eyes to my lips. I swallow. In this moment, there’s nothing more I want right now than to be near him, to feel him.

he sets his glass to the side of me and lifts his hand, placing it behind my neck. Goose bumps cover my skin, and I feel like there isn’t enough air in the world for me to catch my breath. Gently, his hand swipes my earlobe while the other touches my cheek. My breath deepens and my eyes close, because he may as well have reached over and put his hands down my jeans.

“Tell me to stop,” he says against my skin, and that’s actually the last fucking thing I’m going to do. He’s not stopping,

“June,” he grunts, and I dig my nails into his back. “You either stop me right now”—he squeezes my ass and whispers into my ear—“or I’m pulling these jeans off and having a second meal.”

I get a solo part in the ‘Cell Block Tango,’ ” I say like he has any idea what that means. “Fuck yeah, you do.” Adam is the only person who has never said they’re proud of me, like being proud means he somehow doubted my achievements. It’s one of the many things I appreciate about him.

“You remembered my drink,” I say, amused. “I have a good memory,” he says. I shouldn’t open this door. I shouldn’t go too far into the past, but I can’t help it. “What else do you remember?” I ask. “Everything,”

Adam lifts my left arm up and slowly pulls my zipper down, letting my dress fall off me. “I’ve wanted this…for so long. I want to savor it.”

“If you don’t think I’m going to keep making you come until you can’t physically handle it, then you’re in for a surprise,” he says.

“You can use me however you want, June.”

“You know how many nights I thought about going down on you, June?” he asks, and his voice alone is giving me a visceral reaction. “Adam—” I breathe out. “I’m close.” “Wondering what you tasted like.” “God, Adam—” “The feeling of your legs around my head—” “Adam.”

“Didn’t know strippers were your thing.” I scoop a bit of icing onto my finger and lick it. “They’re not.” He walks to the cabinet and pulls out two plates and a knife. “You as a stripper…well, that’s another story.”

“Not yet.” “You don’t want this?” I frown. “Oh no, I want it.” Adam groans, then sits up. “But let me cook you breakfast.” He gives me a kiss and lays me down on my stomach, gently massaging my shoulders. His hands move down to my back and I close my eyes, embracing this feeling. He takes a pillow and places it underneath my stomach and spreads my legs open a little bit, positioning his head in between them. “Wait, what are you doing?” I look over my shoulder. “I’m having my breakfast first.”

“I said look at me,” he almost demands,

“Don’t you know by now that it’s you? It will always be you.”

It’s a moment in time that looks just like one from years before, but it’s not. It’s different this time.