darling.”
“This one is very different. I need you to read it objectively.” I didn’t take my eyes from the washing machine in front of us. “This one has some kick to it.”
“All of your stuff has kick to it.” He said this like a father complimenting his young child’s wild, red head full of unruly, untamable cowlicks.
“I want you to read it before you go out tonight.”
He flipped to another page and winced. “I’m picking him up at eight.”
I reached into my satchel and pulled it out. “Read it now.”
His eyes lingered on the stack of papers that my fingers cradled. “Right now. With you sitting right here?”
I needed his reaction. “Right now.”
I sat still pretending to read more of the horrible magazine. I watched Larry from my peripheral vision. My heart leapt when he smiled, soared when he groaned most likely at a conflicting point for the characters, twirled when he shook his head wildly side-to-side in obvious agreement with my characters.
Twenty minutes later, he sighed and said, “Wow.” He stared at the last page with awe.
I sat up tall, allowing my smile to fully embrace the moment. “Wow, as in…?”
When he turned to look at me, I saw the slightest twinkle stemming from his watery eyes and this caused my eyes to spring much of the same. “Wow as in far different.”
I fished. “Far different in a good way?”
He cocked his head. “Give me a break. Like you even have to ask that.” His forehead creased. “I take it to write this kind of sexiness that things are going well with that girl Eva?”
I blushed for the first time ever in front of Larry. “A girl’s got to keep some things secret.” I couldn’t even look at him.
He shoved at me. “Tell me.”
“I’ve been flirting with her.” I finally looked up at him. “A lot. You’d be proud.”
His smile said it all.
And, I’m sure mine did, too.
# #
When I returned from the laundromat, I went straight to my computer, logged into Twitter, and sent Eva a direct message alerting her to look out for my short story I had promised her. I did this without taking my pocketbook off of my shoulder. Then, without blinking, I emailed her the story.
Not until I sat down with a glass of milk and some chocolate chip cookies, picked up my mail from the past few days, and thumbed through some bills and advertisements did I really stop and contemplate what I had just done. Eva Handel’s eyes would soon scan my literary work, my words. She would absorb and bury them deep into her subconscious mind.
In a matter of half an hour, if she had already started to read, she would intimately connect to that part of my brain that fired off lustful chemicals.
This thrilled me.
I stared at my laptop from the couch wondering if Eva’s eyes were moving to the beat of my sentences, if her heart fluttered along with their rhythm, if her inner thighs were squeezing together to intensify quivers that could quite possibly be stemming from my words.
I rose and paced my floor. The confidence of a few minutes prior waned along with my milk and cookies. I stopped in front of the mirror, took a good long hard look at myself and wondered what Eva would think of my red cheeks, my messy blonde ponytail with darker roots, my squinty eyes, and the half-moon wrinkle on my chin. One of my bullies once told me I reminded her of a Vidalia onion. Since then, I’d never eaten one and I refused to pass them by at the grocery store.
I didn’t look like a Vidalia onion at the present moment. My skin actually glowed and my eyes sparkled. I fixed my ponytail, blew a few loose strands away from my face and smiled. My lips were rosier than usual. I’d dare say even kissable. These lips needed the moisture of Eva’s. I traced my finger along my bottom lip imagining Eva’s finger in its place. I gazed into my eyes and imagined what Eva would see in them. Currently, my pupils were so large; they took over the blue of my irises. Would she see a woman
“This one is very different. I need you to read it objectively.” I didn’t take my eyes from the washing machine in front of us. “This one has some kick to it.”
“All of your stuff has kick to it.” He said this like a father complimenting his young child’s wild, red head full of unruly, untamable cowlicks.
“I want you to read it before you go out tonight.”
He flipped to another page and winced. “I’m picking him up at eight.”
I reached into my satchel and pulled it out. “Read it now.”
His eyes lingered on the stack of papers that my fingers cradled. “Right now. With you sitting right here?”
I needed his reaction. “Right now.”
I sat still pretending to read more of the horrible magazine. I watched Larry from my peripheral vision. My heart leapt when he smiled, soared when he groaned most likely at a conflicting point for the characters, twirled when he shook his head wildly side-to-side in obvious agreement with my characters.
Twenty minutes later, he sighed and said, “Wow.” He stared at the last page with awe.
I sat up tall, allowing my smile to fully embrace the moment. “Wow, as in…?”
When he turned to look at me, I saw the slightest twinkle stemming from his watery eyes and this caused my eyes to spring much of the same. “Wow as in far different.”
I fished. “Far different in a good way?”
He cocked his head. “Give me a break. Like you even have to ask that.” His forehead creased. “I take it to write this kind of sexiness that things are going well with that girl Eva?”
I blushed for the first time ever in front of Larry. “A girl’s got to keep some things secret.” I couldn’t even look at him.
He shoved at me. “Tell me.”
“I’ve been flirting with her.” I finally looked up at him. “A lot. You’d be proud.”
His smile said it all.
And, I’m sure mine did, too.
# #
When I returned from the laundromat, I went straight to my computer, logged into Twitter, and sent Eva a direct message alerting her to look out for my short story I had promised her. I did this without taking my pocketbook off of my shoulder. Then, without blinking, I emailed her the story.
Not until I sat down with a glass of milk and some chocolate chip cookies, picked up my mail from the past few days, and thumbed through some bills and advertisements did I really stop and contemplate what I had just done. Eva Handel’s eyes would soon scan my literary work, my words. She would absorb and bury them deep into her subconscious mind.
In a matter of half an hour, if she had already started to read, she would intimately connect to that part of my brain that fired off lustful chemicals.
This thrilled me.
I stared at my laptop from the couch wondering if Eva’s eyes were moving to the beat of my sentences, if her heart fluttered along with their rhythm, if her inner thighs were squeezing together to intensify quivers that could quite possibly be stemming from my words.
I rose and paced my floor. The confidence of a few minutes prior waned along with my milk and cookies. I stopped in front of the mirror, took a good long hard look at myself and wondered what Eva would think of my red cheeks, my messy blonde ponytail with darker roots, my squinty eyes, and the half-moon wrinkle on my chin. One of my bullies once told me I reminded her of a Vidalia onion. Since then, I’d never eaten one and I refused to pass them by at the grocery store.
I didn’t look like a Vidalia onion at the present moment. My skin actually glowed and my eyes sparkled. I fixed my ponytail, blew a few loose strands away from my face and smiled. My lips were rosier than usual. I’d dare say even kissable. These lips needed the moisture of Eva’s. I traced my finger along my bottom lip imagining Eva’s finger in its place. I gazed into my eyes and imagined what Eva would see in them. Currently, my pupils were so large; they took over the blue of my irises. Would she see a woman
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