Among the Living by Timothy Long Page B

sex?”
    “Oh that is really funny, pal.” She laughs out loud, and just like that, the tension is out of the room.
    “Why do you like it?” he asks in a quiet voice as though he weren’t sure he was going to ask the question at all.
    “I don’t know. I just do.”
    “Is it about sex?”
    “You sure do have a lot of questions.”
    He steps close and studies one of the bruises; she follows his gaze because he has found a dandy. It is red and livid, raised up on her flesh, and it will be blue by tomorrow. She will wear pants for the rest of the week, but she feels liberated now that she has told Bob one of her secrets. She feels free, and she doesn’t stop him when he moves toward her and drops into a crouch. He raises the wine glass and takes a sip while his eyes rove over her pale skin.
    He leans over to look at one of the marks where it comes up her inner thigh. She feels suddenly bold and lifts her leg just a bit as if offering it to him. He runs one hand over a mark on her lower thigh, just above her knee. His hand is soft and warm, and she likes how it feels. She has a sudden desire to part her legs and pull him down between them.
    “So it’s not about sex? Did you go to Catholic school?” He is trying to be a smartass, but she appreciates the humor and gives it right back.
    “No, but I have a Catholic school dress. Want to see it?”
    He stands up so suddenly that she jerks back in surprise. She shakes her head as if shaking off a dream and stands up just as quickly. What the hell was she thinking?
    “Whoa, I’m really sorry!” he backs up, hands out. Lucky it’s him. She knows half a dozen ways to take one of his proffered hands and break the elbow like a twig.
    “Oh, it’s not that. I thought I heard something outside again,” she says hastily to cover how nervous she feels. She is flushed, and she is sure her face is glowing red. What the fuck is she thinking? She can’t have a man, not in a normal way; the other won’t let her!
    “I should go.” He turns toward the door so fast that his wine splashes around and some dribbles onto the hardwood floor. “Ah, hell.”
    He heads for the kitchen and comes back with a paper towel. He is dabbing up the fluid when more shots ring out. They both turn toward the sound and in a flash are at the window. She cracks it again, and now screams can be heard out in the night. Another shot crackles across the road, but this one is deeper, louder, a fierce sound spoken with conviction.
    “Shotgun, probably a twelve gauge,” Bob mutters.
    “What the hell is going on?”
    “They keep saying it’s a gas leak, but that is such bullshit. Something crazy is going on out there. Please tell me you’re staying in tonight.”
    She is so touched by his concern that she wants to wrap her arms around him, but the urge dies when she thinks of the other.
    “I’m staying put, mister. I don’t have a rendezvous planned tonight.”
    There is less than a foot between them, and she can smell the wine on his breath. They stare at each other for a few seconds, and she has a crazy desire to lean in and kiss him. How would that beard feel against her face? Would he kiss her hard, press her lips back, or would he be gentle and take the time to nibble at her tongue?
    She breaks the look first and stares outside. “Why don’t you have a girlfriend, Bob?”
    “I did, but we broke up six or seven months ago. It was a bad relationship, unhealthy. She wasn’t ever happy, wanted to argue all the time. After a while, I didn’t like her anymore, all I liked was the sex.”
    “Oh. So that part was good?”
    “I’m a guy. Guys are like windup toys. You turn the key, and when they run out of energy, they are content to just sit around.”
    “So where is your key exactly?” She surprises herself by flirting with him and then wants to bite her tongue in half. Shut the fuck up, her own voice screams inside her head.
    “You have to get more wine in me before I reveal any