Page 24 of Lessons in Love
The magic disappears from the mere mention of that asshole. He’s a glaring reminder that feelings aren’t always returned. Sometimes they remain one-sided. “Let me do it anyway. Table or couch?”
She looks around the room, and says, “You have a great apartment. Couch.”
“Thanks.” I struggle to keep the defeat out of my tone. “You go sit. Relax. I’ll finish in here.”
Moving into the living room, she walks around the space slowly, looking at everything from the knickknacks on the bookcases to staring out the window at the street below. “You’re only two floors up and there is absolutely no outside noise. You must have some nice windows.”
“Are we really talking about windows right now?” I’ve heated the lasagna and deliver the plate as she sits on the couch.
“I guess I’m a little awkward. Sorry. I get caught up in the unimportant stuff when I’m nervous.”
With my plate in hand, I sit next to her on the couch. “See? That right there is exactly what I don’t want. I don’t want your apologies or for you to be nervous. I just want your—”Body.“—friendship.”
“You have it.” She leans back with her glass in hand. “Can I ask you something personal?”
“You can ask me anything. As for answering, that remains to be seen.”
“Were you always this confident? This comfortable with who you are?”
“No,” I say, chuckling from the unexpected questions. “I went through an awkward stage in tenth grade. My head finally fit my body, my teeth were straight, and I grew over four inches—my body, dirty girl—and kind of grew into me, into this body.”
Rubbing her palms down her thighs, she picks her glass back up and drinks. When she sets it back down, she says, “I like the body I grew into. Is that rude of me to admit?”
She’s so damn sexy. “No, not at all. I want to see you more comfortable in that body though.”
“Me too.” She takes a bite of her lasagna.
“What is your favorite part of your body, the one thing or things you enjoy showing off?”
“My boobs.”
“You have fantastic tits.”
“Hardy,” she cautions while laughing.
“I only speak the truth.”
As much as she doesn’t want to admit that the compliment pleases her because of the vulgar language, she loves it just as much. With another bite perched on her fork, she asks, “What’s your favorite part of your body?”
“I know you think I’m going to say my dick, but I’m not.”
She giggles. “What is it then?”
“You tell me.”
“Cheater.”
“I’m the teacher. I make the rules.”
Looking me over, she says, “Your fingers. I like how strong and deft they are.”
I wiggle them just to add to the memory of how they wiggled inside her earlier this week. Heaven.
“Your eyes because of the hazel color and the way they change, but mostly because of the way they look at me.”
“How do they look at you?”
“Like I’m beautiful.”
