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Despite all the great experiences and accomplishments that have come after it, I still consider my proudest moment to be the first time I typed the words The End. For that was my beginning.
“Nothing. They forgot to assign me a class, so I hide out in this maintenance closet every day for an hour.”
Holder laughs. I realize as I’m listening to it that it’s the first time I’ve heard him laugh since Les died two months ago.
I place my hands on whatever just fell on me and begin to roll it off me when my hands graze a head full of soft hair. It’s a human? A girl? A chick just fell on me. In the maintenance closet. And she’s crying.
I can’t see two inches in front of me because the light is still out but I suddenly don’t mind that she’s still on top of me because she smells incredible.
Cinderella’s hot when she’s all poor and sweaty and slaving over the stove. She also looks good in her ball gown.
Her breath tastes like Starburst and it makes me want to keep kissing her until I can identify every single flavor.
“Pretty much everything else. I’ve got quite a reputation, you know. In fact, it’s possible the two of us may have had sex before and we don’t even realize it.”
My favorite part about you though is when I catch you staring at me. I love that you don’t look away and you stare unapologetically, like you aren’t ashamed that you can’t stop watching me. It’s all you want to do because you think I’m the most amazing thing you’ve ever laid eyes on. I love how much you love me.”
I pull my wallet out of the pocket of my jeans and grab a condom, then ease myself back against her.
I don’t want to look at her, because I’m a guy and she’s hot and I know if I look at her, then my moment of clarity regarding our relationship will become foggy and I’ll end up inside her house, making up with her on her bed like I always do.
“Hey, Cheese Tits,”
“Thanks for the insight, Dr. Shitmitten.”
She watches me as I close my lips around the spoon and pull it out of my mouth. She scrunches up her nose, staring at the spoon. “I could have herpes, you know,” she says. I grin at her and wink. “You somehow just made herpes sound appealing.”
“I had my heart completely broken about an hour ago by a psychotic bitch and I need a little more time to recover from that relationship. How about tomorrow night?”
“Tomorrow is Sunday,” she says. “Do you have an issue with Sundays?” “Not really, I guess. It just seems odd to go on a first date on a Sunday night. Meet me here at seven o’clock, then.”
