Can't Go Home (Oasis Waterfall) by Angelisa Denise Stone Page A

I’m patient and an open book; I’ll share all and tell all.
    Dre obviously isn’t an open book; he’s private and reserved about intimate and personal topics. It’s strange not knowing anything about the man that I plan to sleep with tonight. Yes, tonight. I can’t wait one more day; he’s got me all tingly and ready. Heck, when I was talking to Sydney today, she said that even she felt sexually frustrated and jumpy, all because of me—that’s a lot coming from a porn star. My sexual tension is becoming contagious.
    I can’t figure it out. I made Theodore wait five months before I slept with him. I knew Kyle for almost 10 years before I had sex with him. And now, with Dre, I’ve basically been on three dates with him, and I’m crawling out of my skin just waiting for him to touch me, taste me, ravage me. Whatever. Anything. I’m game for anything at this point.
    Once the kitchen is cleaned, Dre walks back into my living room, and says, “So, are you gonna give me a tour?”
    “A tour? It’s a one-bedroom, one-bathroom apartment. You’ve seen it all,” I say, facetiously. “Unless you have to use the bathroom. It’s down the hall to the right.”
    “Well, mathematically speaking, that would leave one other room I haven’t seen,” he says, grinning, pretending to count on his fingers.
    “Really? That’s seriously the best you’ve got, Donley?” I ask, rolling my eyes and shaking my head. “I’d have pegged you for better game than the old ‘can I have a tour’ pickup line.”
    “No really; it’s the best I’ve got. I told ya, I’ve never worked this hard, Pebbles. I wasn’t kidding.” Dre groans.
    “So what? You buy a chick a meal, and she basically seduces you, comes on to you … just like that?” I ask, snapping my fingers.
    “Pretty much, yeah,” he admits, as he puts his head in his hands. “This shit’s crazy. If I had to do this all the time, I’d probably still be a virgin.”
    “Doubtful,” I laugh.
    “I’m serious. This shit’s hard.”
    “So ultimately, what you’re saying is that some bimbo would come up behind you … and just start rubbing the back of your neck … and running her fingers through the back of your hair?” I ask, making my way across the living room toward the couch.
    Still not looking at me, he says, “Yeah, I guess.”
    I sit on the arm of the couch, wanting so badly to reach out and touch him. I really want the courage, the chutzpah, to initiate this. I thought I could do it. But I can’t. I’m actually afraid he’ll turn me down. I know it’s a ridiculous notion; Dre’s been one giant flashing green light since the day I met him. I just can’t let go of my insecurities, no matter how hard I try to convince myself that I’m no longer pathetic Katie Howell, shy, backward, little girl. That girl still lives inside of me. She totally needs an eviction notice. I fricking hate her.
    Still trying to will myself to run my fingers through his hair, I say, “So ummm, then what?”
    Laughing, he turns to face me, and says, “Really? That’s all you’ve got Pebbles? I thought for sure you were going to be running this show tonight.”
    “I wanted to,” I admit. We both laugh, shaking our heads. “I chickened out. I guess my sexy courage went right in the trash with that blackened lasagna.”
    “Well now, we’ve got a problem here, then, don’t we?” he asks. “We’ve got one douchebag whose game is so rusty that it’s embarrassingly cliché. We’ve got a blind brunette who can’t see how incredibly sexy she is. Looks like it’s either not going to work out,” he explains, as he inches closer to me. “Or … or … someone needs to grow a pair and make his move.”
    Just as he moves in to kiss me, I shove him back on the couch, and straddle his legs. Willingly, he lies back as I crawl up the length of his body until our mouths are inches apart. “You’re right,” I say, winking at him. “Someone needed to make her move.”
    I