Page 12 of Exrated
“Sure.”
“Water?”
I hear a cabinet open. “Yeah, thanks.”
I glance around the room for a moment before heading toward the picture window. The streetlamp shines down on the rows of palms planted along the curb. When I left my apartment earlier this evening, I never thought I would be standing in the middle ofthatboy’s living room at the end of the night. It’s crazy that after so many years, that attraction hasn’t waned at all, if anything, it’s worse because instead of a boy, he’s a man. A very attractive, very muscular, evidently very successful man. Usually when you end up at some random person’s house after a night of drinks, you have no idea what to expect. It could be great, it could be shit and in that uncertainty lies a bit of hesitation. Sex with Tyler was never shit. Everything else about him has gotten better, more mature with age so I can only imagine what the sex is like now.
I watch his reflection in the window as he steps up behind me. His eyes are trained on my back as he slowly sweeps my hair to the side. His long fingers trail over the side of my throat. I tense under his touch, but I don’t want him to stop. It feels too good.
His fingers skim up the back of my neck, slowly scratching into my hair.
What do I do here? There’s still something between us, some undercurrent that’s familiar and foreign all at the same time. “Your house is really nice,” I say.That sounded so stupid. Jesus, could I be any more obvious?
He hands me a glass of water and steps back. I watch in the window as he takes a seat on the couch and kicks off his shoes. “I didn’t drink too much. I can take you home in a little bit if you want.”
“Yeah…sure.” I remain facing the window.
“Sorry if I seemed like an ass, I just…wouldn’t want anything to happen to you, you know?”
In my head, all I can manage to think is:Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.Great! Exactly what I want to do: listen to my friend banging some random guy. I take a sip of water and then a muffled thud, thud, bang, thud, bang echoes down the hallway. I swallow. This is awkward as hell. “Actually, do you have any liquor?” I ask.
“What?” he laughs.
I turn around. “Like some tequila or vodka or anything?”
The banging grows more frantic.
“Uh,” he narrows his gaze. “Yeah…” He stands and makes his way back into the kitchen, and I follow him.
“Help yourself,” he says as he opens a cabinet and steps to the side.
I select a bottle of tequila, Petron, to be exact, and pull the cork out. “Glasses?”
He turns around, grabs a glass and hands it to me. I go to the fridge, get some ice, then fill the cup to the brim with tequila.
He points inside the cabinet. “No mixer?”
“No.”
I hear Heather moaning, and I tip the glass back, taking a few gulps.
When I glance back at Tyler, he’s leaned against the counter, smirking.
“What?”
He shrugs.
I walk to his sink, take a glass and fill it with ice and tequila then hand it to him.
“I didn’t say I wanted a drink.”
“Well, I didn’t want to get in the cab,” I say, walking back to the living room, trying to ignore the hammering sound echoing down the hallway. “So,” I say as I fall back onto the couch, “When did you move to California?”
“Two years ago.”
“Huh.” I take another gulp of the tequila. I need something to help me through this fucking nightmare. “Finish up at NYU?”
“No…”
