Page 7

7

Eva

He definitely did sports. He’s a real team player. He takes direction like a champ. I point him toward a high rack and he reaches up with one arm—flinching a little—and then swings himself up into the space with a kind of alarming dexterity.

My heart rate jumps. This is really happening. I’m about to have sex with a total stranger on a train. I grin and climb in after him.

There’s really not a lot of room. Right away I can feel his warm, minty-fresh breath surround me. He smells slightly astringent.

“I have one request,” he says. “You can kiss me, but no touching above the waist. Okay?” His eyes are a little desperate.

“Okay,” I say. There’s not really time to analyze, but he definitely seems to be favoring his right shoulder. He’s clearly nursing some sporty injury.

I don’t really care. His dick is below his waist.

I find it, first through his pants, and then inside them.

“Oh God,” he says, gratefully arching his back as I draw my fingers up and down his length. He’s pretty well equipped, which doesn’t surprise me. He has that energy. “Fuck.”

He loses himself for a moment, and then he finds me. His fingers do. They start at my shoulders, travel up and down my arms, along my collarbone, between my breasts. They pause briefly over my heart, to feel it beat inside my chest. Then they slip through the collar of my shirt and inside, where they pinch my nipple.

“You are like an angel,” he says.

I kiss him. I can’t help it. No one has ever called me an angel. Unless you count Angel of Death.