Page 34 of Running Into You
“Do you think I’m ready for that?” I admit I felt a bit bored during the walking parts of the workout.
“Absolutely. You’re doing really well. You get a gold star.” He continues up the stairs, but I come to a stop, leaning on the railing. He looks down at me. “Everything okay?”
“Do you actually have gold stars?” I realize that I am a grown woman, but a sticker chart sounds very motivating.
“Would you like me to get you gold stars?” He retraces his steps until he’s on the step below mine, putting us almost eye level with one another.
“Could you do that?” I breathe, circling my arms around his neck.
“I’m an educator, Betty. I can get you all the gold stars you want. Hell, I can probably even get you ones that say, ‘Great Work!’ and ‘Awesome Job!’,” he says into my neck, his hands starting on my waist and traveling south. It’s not so much his words as much as it’s his tone that has my entire body tingling.
“This started as a joke, but I’m actually really turned on right now,” I confess, pulling him closer to me.
“Same.” He growls, picking me up. I wrap my legs around his waist, and he runs up the remaining steps as though I weigh nothing. He sets me down at my door and I fumble for my keys while he continues to run his hands all over me. It takes me forever to open my door because he’s started kissing the back of my neck and my knees are threatening to give out on me. I finally manage to unlock the deadbolt and we barely make it through the door before we’re tearing at each other’s clothes. He kisses me like the world is crumbling around us, and for all I know, it could be. My shirt comes off first, immediately followed by his, and then he presses me up onto my kitchen table, gently lowering me down until I’m flat on my back. The wood of the table is cold against my hot skin. His hands roam my body as he continues to kiss me until we’re both panting. He attempts to remove my sports bra, but the high level of support makes it difficult, and I finally awkwardly wiggle my way out of it. The seams of the bra have left creases on my breasts, and he starts to massage them as he lowers me back onto the table.
“Poor things,” he murmurs as he caresses them. “They can’t breathe in that. You shouldn’t wear it anymore.” He puts his mouth over an aching nipple and my back arches off the table as I cry out. I’m suddenly very aware of how sweaty I am.
“I should shower,” I say weakly, not at all wanting him to stop doing what he’s doing.
“We both should,” he says, scooping me back up and carrying me into the bathroom.
Sometime later when we’re both clean (but arguably also a bit dirtier) we lay on my bed, wrapped in towels. His head rests on my stomach and I lazily play with his damp hair. We don’t say anything; we just allow ourselves to enjoy this Saturday siesta. I’ve never been one to live in the moment, but at this moment I am irrevocably happy, and I want to stay here as long as I can. I push away the thoughts that attempt to infiltrate my bubble of contentment. I know that this won’t always be enough for him, but I won’t let that knowledge take the time I do have with him away from me.
“Have dinner with me tonight?” he asks without moving.
“I’d love to,” I tell him and even though I’m not looking at his face, I sense his smile. A few minutes later, he reluctantly stands up.
“Be at my place at six,” he says as he heads for the door. I follow him, amused, and watch as he grabs his keys from my kitchen table. He opens the door and peaks out into the hall. “Wish me luck,” he says with a wink, then he leaves my apartment for his own, wearing only my towel.
With more than an hour before dinner, I take my time getting ready. First, I dry my hair, bent over at the waist so I’m upside down in an attempt to give it some much-needed volume. I go through my closet searching for something flattering and settle on a fitted dark blue dress that hugs my curves. It’s really more of a summer dress, but since I’m not leaving the building, I think I can get away with it. I pair it with flirty white kitten heels that I wore to my cousin’s wedding last summer and haven’t touched since.
I’m putting on makeup when my phone announces an incoming call. My mother’s full name flashes across the screen and I take a step back. I haven’t heard from my mother in more than a year. What could she possibly be calling about? I panic and wonder if something is wrong with my dad, even though I’m sure he’s made me his emergency contact. Reluctantly, I accept the call.
“Hello?” My voice sounds far away.
“Elizabeth?” My parents are the only people who call me by my given name.
“Hi.”
“How are you, darling? It’s been too long. I’ve been traveling so much lately that I’m having difficulty remembering what city I’m in most of the time.” She continues without giving me a chance to speak. “When I’m not traveling, my students are all-consuming. I’m afraid graduate students are not cut from the same cloth that they once were. They need their hand held constantly, they lack drive and resiliency. It convinces me that I was right to raise you to be self-sufficient.”
This is nothing I haven’t heard before. My mother has been congratulating herself on how well she raised me for most of my life. I was taught to find solutions for my problems and not ask for help. For example, she said the reason she didn’t attend my soccer games was that if she did, I’d be playing for her, when really, I should be playing for myself.
“You’re still in Boston?”
“Boston?” I realize I haven’t been following the one-sided conversation.
“You are. Anyway, darling, I’m going to be in Boston in a few weeks and thought perhaps we could take advantage of being in the same city and go for dinner.”
“Dinner?”
“Don’t keep repeating the last thing I’ve said to you, Elizabeth. You sound like a parrot.” Her tone is curt, and I can picture her standing with her shoulders tensed as she rolls her eyes at me. “I will reach out when I have a better idea of my itinerary. Must go, darling. Talk soon.”
I set the phone down on the bathroom vanity. My face has been drained of its color and I want nothing more than to crawl into bed and stay there. Instead, I step into my white kitten heels and go to dinner.
Chapter 20
Josh
