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“We’re going to eat. Then we’re going to watch a movie. Then, because you don’t have clothes, I’m going to drive you home. Send Douglas on his way. I’ve got it.”
She grins and smacks a kiss to my lips. “You’re a good guy.”
I scowl. “For God’s sake, don’t tell anybody.”
Zarah sets the table and I shove the lasagna in the oven for a few more minutes. It had been in the fridge just long enough to cool down.
She hums as she putters, and I grit my teeth to keep from snapping at her. As far as I’m concerned, our conversation in the hallway didn’t change anything. After tonight, she’ll still go on to date other guys, men who can afford to bring her fancy places and buy her nice things. That’s not to say we can’t still see each other, but eventually she’ll find someone she likes, and I’ll hear from her less and less until one day while Pop’s scouring the paper for jobs, he’ll see her engagement announcement.
I pick at my food, and she watches me, her look guarded. “You’re still mad.”
Shrugging, I shove a forkful of lasagna into my mouth. I shouldn’t be taking this so hard, so personally. Zarah would do this no matter who she was seeing. I know that, and I should appreciate it. The last thing I need is to start thinking aboutforever then she decides she wants to date other people after all, meets a hedge fund manager or some shit, and they run off to Tahiti.
“It’s fine. I hate the idea, but it’s the best thing to do. Have fun. Try new things, whatever, you know?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you want to watch that movie, or do you want to go home?”
“I’d like to stay if you don’t mind.”
“No, I don’t. I’ll clean this up later.” I set my plate on the floor and let Baby eat my leftovers. I don’t have the appetite to appreciate Lucille’s cooking.
Zarah scrapes her plate into the trash, sets it in the sink, and joins me in the living room. I choose the Netflix app on my smart TV and turn on a chick flick she says she hasn’t seen.
We both sit on the couch, stiff, awkward.
The movie starts, and I turn off the light.
Baby lays on the floor in front of the couch.
Awareness crackles around us, and if it had been any other woman, I would’ve been halfway into her panties by now. My cock throbs picturing Zarah spread out on my couch, her pussy ready, a come-hither look in her brown eyes begging me to do what I want.
I’d cover her body with mine, gently, slowly, push into her, moan as I consume her. Show her what love is. How it’s supposed to be between a man and a woman.
I shift, wishing I wasn’t wearing jeans. Not much room in the fly.
“When was the last time you had sex?”
I noticed whenever she refers to intimacy it’s always sex, never making love. “Why do you always call it sex? Why don’t you say making love? That’s usually what it is between two people.”
She props her feet on my flimsy coffee table. “Because I’ve never made love.”
“Not even in high school?”
She shakes her head. “Ash took my virginity. He wasn’t nice about it.”
“I’m sorry.” I pause. I don’t want to bring it up, but I don’t have the patience to hunt for it in Max’s diary. I’ll die of curiosity if I don’t ask, though it’s going to hurt like hell hearing it from her. “What about Max?”
She turns her huge eyes to me. “What about Max?”
“He loved you. A lot. I believe what he wrote in his journal. He would have shown you. That way.” I clear my throat.
“Max and I . . . didn’t have . . . make love.”
“But—”
“He wanted to, but there was something about his voice in the dark. It triggered me. He tried to touch me, down there, but I freaked out. He didn’t try again.”