in
the palm of her hand.
24
shay
I look again at the
numbers before guiding it down inside the lined pocket of my satchel and
zipping it closed; it’s only possession.
Today was perfect.
Dane was perfect.
I lay back on my
daybed, gazing out of the window, looking at the last strong, golden setting
rays casting glistening brightness through the leaves on the giant tree, and begin
to daydream. . . about a man close to me. . . Dane close to me. And I let the
thoughts come freely, incandescently, as my eyes fall shut.
dane
“Who was the
tight-chick I saw you walking with?” Vince slams the door to the apartment, alone
this time.
My back’s to him and I
decide to blow him off as I move things around on the shelves inside the
refrigerator.
“You’ve been holding
out! — What a dog! You’re gettin’ a little! Good ol’ Dane—pillar of
decency! I knew it !”
I turn around with a
container of leftover spaghetti, snapping off the lid. “Shut up, Vince.”
“Hey, man—you don’t
need to be so sensitive—we all have needs.”
He doesn’t get it. I’m
so fucking done with him. “Get out of my way,” I gesture as I try to get
around where he’s planted himself between the table and refrigerator, blocking
the path.
Some form of a grunt
escapes his narcissistic lips as I brush past, walking into my room and kicking
the door closed with the back of my foot.
Sure, I have
needs—shit! But I don’t need some jerk-off who
treats girls like they’re disposable, banging it into my head nearly every
goddamned day. What’s he going to get out of it? — Forget that. These girls get passed around like they’re cafeteria trays—willingly—and he’s
just waiting for new material.
I drop the container of
spaghetti onto my nightstand, swiping up the remote control and lying down.
The more I think about
it, the more pissed off I’m getting.
I scan through about
ten channels and toss the remote back where it was.
Why do I let him get me
worked up?
I rub my hands through
my hair, tucking them behind my head on the pillow. Does she think about
things though, intimacy, being touched, if even just kissed? The scent of
her when I leaned in today, feeling the moistness of her skin, subdued all of
the excitement around me. All I could think about the rest of the meet was
moving my hand along the nape of her neck, pulling her waist to me and tasting
her lips.
Shit.
I don’t want to be like
him—things mean something to me. She means something to me.
I realize what’s
happening; I’m falling for her. And in the nearly three years I’ve been here
and all of the temptations I’ve been dealt, none of them ever got me this, wanting.
I turn over on my side,
not even caring to pick up one of the mounting textbooks that lay facing me
beside the bed, and think of her, as I wrestle desire to stay calm in me for
now.
25
shay
I’m happy with my
choice as I look over at it hanging from the back of the chair. It’s a spring
day; a sun dress is logical.
The thought comes to
me, unless he asks I won’t mention it, church. Just because it’s a Sunday and
I’ll be wearing a dress. . . the association— no . Anyway, my moral
compass doesn’t come from a Sunday service, even though my parents would’ve
liked it if I would’ve found a nice church to join when I got out here, but
they eventually resigned the thought after my persistent recitation of how
uninterrupted Saturdays and Sundays were ideal time to have some concentrated
studying, and accepted the idea that I’d walk with them to our little church
back home when I was there.
I squeeze the towel
wrapped around my hair and check the time. I told Jenny I’d just meet her in
her lab around 10:00. I pass by the tall, oval, free-standing mirror beside my
dresser and catch my reflection; I look rested, better than rested. There’s
color to my skin from being at the stadium yesterday. I look. . . nice. . .
maybe kind of glowing. I humor
the palm of her hand.
24
shay
I look again at the
numbers before guiding it down inside the lined pocket of my satchel and
zipping it closed; it’s only possession.
Today was perfect.
Dane was perfect.
I lay back on my
daybed, gazing out of the window, looking at the last strong, golden setting
rays casting glistening brightness through the leaves on the giant tree, and begin
to daydream. . . about a man close to me. . . Dane close to me. And I let the
thoughts come freely, incandescently, as my eyes fall shut.
dane
“Who was the
tight-chick I saw you walking with?” Vince slams the door to the apartment, alone
this time.
My back’s to him and I
decide to blow him off as I move things around on the shelves inside the
refrigerator.
“You’ve been holding
out! — What a dog! You’re gettin’ a little! Good ol’ Dane—pillar of
decency! I knew it !”
I turn around with a
container of leftover spaghetti, snapping off the lid. “Shut up, Vince.”
“Hey, man—you don’t
need to be so sensitive—we all have needs.”
He doesn’t get it. I’m
so fucking done with him. “Get out of my way,” I gesture as I try to get
around where he’s planted himself between the table and refrigerator, blocking
the path.
Some form of a grunt
escapes his narcissistic lips as I brush past, walking into my room and kicking
the door closed with the back of my foot.
Sure, I have
needs—shit! But I don’t need some jerk-off who
treats girls like they’re disposable, banging it into my head nearly every
goddamned day. What’s he going to get out of it? — Forget that. These girls get passed around like they’re cafeteria trays—willingly—and he’s
just waiting for new material.
I drop the container of
spaghetti onto my nightstand, swiping up the remote control and lying down.
The more I think about
it, the more pissed off I’m getting.
I scan through about
ten channels and toss the remote back where it was.
Why do I let him get me
worked up?
I rub my hands through
my hair, tucking them behind my head on the pillow. Does she think about
things though, intimacy, being touched, if even just kissed? The scent of
her when I leaned in today, feeling the moistness of her skin, subdued all of
the excitement around me. All I could think about the rest of the meet was
moving my hand along the nape of her neck, pulling her waist to me and tasting
her lips.
Shit.
I don’t want to be like
him—things mean something to me. She means something to me.
I realize what’s
happening; I’m falling for her. And in the nearly three years I’ve been here
and all of the temptations I’ve been dealt, none of them ever got me this, wanting.
I turn over on my side,
not even caring to pick up one of the mounting textbooks that lay facing me
beside the bed, and think of her, as I wrestle desire to stay calm in me for
now.
25
shay
I’m happy with my
choice as I look over at it hanging from the back of the chair. It’s a spring
day; a sun dress is logical.
The thought comes to
me, unless he asks I won’t mention it, church. Just because it’s a Sunday and
I’ll be wearing a dress. . . the association— no . Anyway, my moral
compass doesn’t come from a Sunday service, even though my parents would’ve
liked it if I would’ve found a nice church to join when I got out here, but
they eventually resigned the thought after my persistent recitation of how
uninterrupted Saturdays and Sundays were ideal time to have some concentrated
studying, and accepted the idea that I’d walk with them to our little church
back home when I was there.
I squeeze the towel
wrapped around my hair and check the time. I told Jenny I’d just meet her in
her lab around 10:00. I pass by the tall, oval, free-standing mirror beside my
dresser and catch my reflection; I look rested, better than rested. There’s
color to my skin from being at the stadium yesterday. I look. . . nice. . .
maybe kind of glowing. I humor
Similar Books
