Page 41 of Intoxicated
Chapter 13
DREW
There exists a 50/50 chance that she’s still out there. Either she’s rooting through my things, or she’s stolen some of my money and I’ll never see her again.
When I say 50/50, I don’t meanshe’s either there or she’s not.I mean there’s an equal chance she’ll decide to stay. Or go. There’s no overwhelming feeling one way or another. Why would there be? We both know that she wants to ride me like cowgirl, but she also greatly dislikes me, so let’s not discount her growing a conscience. It really could go either way.
The question remains, as I put my hand on my bathroom door…
Is Cher still here? Or has she left?
If she’s here, I know where this is going. I’m not going to wait anymore. I’m going to pack her off to my bedroomcaveman styleagain. Ooh, yeah. That sounds pretty sweet, don’t it? Rile her up a bit, maybe get my face all up in those wet lips, and then manically torture her with how much she loves my cock.
Because as cute as it was to share a drink and a meal with her, there’s no denying that, well… there’s nothing here. Nothing but sex. We’re not boyfriend-girlfriend material. Even if I could overlook her history of fucking over rich men, I doubt she’d look over my, you know, job.
I’m not exactly thrilled to call her my girlfriend, either. She’s the kind of woman everyone gets me wanting to fuck, but would warn me away as soon as they recognize her name.“Ain’t that the Black Widow?”I can imagine someone saying.“Man, what are you doing? Besides getting killed like a fool?”
I open the door.
At first, I don’t see her anywhere. She’s not on the couch. She’s not in the kitchen. She’s not grabbing her bag and heading out the door. Naturally, I assume Cher is already gone. She’s taken my hospitality and left after I gave her one last opportunity to leave. She must know what kind of lover I am after last time. She knows I respond to her hedonistic calls for rough love. Few women draw that out of me, and it’s not because she’s a terrible shitlord who needs a few lessons coming her way. (All right, maybe a tad.)
There’s something about her, okay? Does it have to be more complicated than that?
Naturally, I’m disappointed to find her gone. Good thing I didn’t bother getting hard in the shower. If anything, I repressed it as much as possible. Thought about baseball, the most boring sport on Earth. (At least it’s good for killing hard-ons.) Instead of, you know, those beautiful breasts in that delicious dress she’s wearing. Or that ass. Or those legs. God, those legs!
I don’t have to tell you why I keep thinking back to how good it was a week ago. Could it happen again? No point wondering now! She’s…
She’s in my windowsill.
Cher pretends to not notice my presence as she enjoys the view of the river and the old warehouses across the way. The sun is setting on the other side of the building, so all she sees is the twilight creeping across the land.
Innocent isn’t the word I’d use to describe her. There isn’t a drop of innocence exuding from this woman, and I don’t think those who never heard of her would get that impression, either. You know how worldly she is from one look. It’s in the way she gazes out at the world. The curve of her posture as she assuredly dangles one foot off the ledge and tilts her head as if absorbing what everything has to say. Her clothing drapes with purpose. Her hair wraps around her finger and flutters toward her waist as if it has nothing better to do. The only thinginnocentabout her is that blank expression on her face. She’s not putting on a show. She’s not playing a character. She’s simply existing without reservation.
If you want to see the real Cher Lieberman, you don’t simply feed her Chinese food. You load her up with greasy goodies and then abandon her to take a shower. That way you can come back to what she looks like when she thinks you’re gone.
This must be what she looks like at home. Alone.
Goodness gracious, as my grandmother would say, she’s absolutely beautiful.
Only now do I make my presence known, and that’s done with a simple approach to her heavenly form.
I keep respectful distance. I kinda have to. You see, the only clothing bedecking my form is a pair of light gray sweatpants I happened to have in my bathroom. If I get any closer to her, I’ll spring up like the first sunflower of the season.
There’s a joke about seeds in there…
“Have a nice shower?” she asks, head still pointed toward the window. “Don’t mind me. Making myself at home in your lovely apartment. Who pays for it, by the way?” Finally, her eyelashes bat in my direction. “Your daddy, or your business of heartbreak?”
