She was seated at a small table in an alcove framed with an angled dormer window. She could have looked like a damn fool with her eyes closed and head rocking with the melody, but that was what made Tiel irresistible. She was real, and real in a way I didn’t think was possible.
There was no space in her life for self-consciousness, and she didn’t see any reason to modify herself. She didn’t say the right things and she didn’t manage her reactions to suit anyone. She wore whatever the hell she wanted to wear—usually the wildest colors in the crayon box and many more necklaces, bracelets, and anklets than any one person should wear at a given time—and she laughed off my critique of her attire.
My approval was irrelevant to her, and that was fucking amazing.
I slipped into the seat across from her and tapped my fingers against the back of her hand. Her eyes opened, hazy and slow, the way she would first thing in the morning. To be clear, she was a bear first thing in the morning, but she was also terribly cute.
“You made it,” she said, her face breaking into a bright smile. “I was getting worried.”
“You are exceptionally devoted to the music scene,” I said, casting a glance around the space. “Now, I really need you to blow me for this one, Sunshine. I can’t remember the last time I went to Allston by choice.”
“Wouldn’t you just love that,” she said.
“In fact, I would. I’ve been in the market for a decent blowjob all week.”
In truth, I’d skipped out on my usual scene for weeks. Although no one inquired about the change in my routines, I was armed with some defensible arguments.
I was exhausted—Tielhadbeen running my ass all over town, and she didn’t tolerate anything less than total participation when live music was involved.
I was getting in control of my health—hence the soup.
I was behind on my woodworking projects—Riley was sitting on milk crates and Tiel’s coffee table was a shit show.
The reality was less clear to me. I didn’t want to go out alone anymore. I’d grown accustomed to her quirky chatter and complete inability to filter herself when flustered. I didn’t know how to entertain myself if I wasn’t making gratuitous comments about her breasts or listening to her babble.
On the rare nights that I did venture beyond the firehouse, I couldn’t force myself to tolerate the club crowd unless I was with Riley. Even then, I stayed firmly in wingman territory. I couldn’t replicate her frisky take on the world with any of the vapid, thigh-gapped party princesses, and no one could hold my attention quite like Tiel.
“That should be easy,” she said. “Considering your asking price is so low.”
Tiel frequently editorialized on the topic of my sex life. I let most of her commentary slide without discussion as I wasn’t about to defend, rationalize, or apologize, but I picked up a sore note in her voice tonight.
I massaged her wrist, knowing she spent most of her day in the studio and that often left everything from neck to finger aching. “Your tits are a work of art. Da Vinci himself couldn’t have sculpted a better pair.”
Tiel sent me a skeptical glare while the waiter took my order. When he was out of earshot, she said, “Does that shit really work for you? Do real women actually beg for the privilege of sucking your dick as a result of those comments?”
I leaned forward, my elbows propped on the table while I rubbed my eyes. I loved debating with her, but I couldn’t do it tonight. I was tired and I hadn’t eaten more than some walnuts since morning, and as much as I craved time with Tiel, I didn’t want to be listening to sad piano music. I wanted to be in her little apartment with my head in her lap while she talked over entire movies and I wanted to feel her, skin-to-skin, and know her in every way I could.
“I really don’t want to go there with you tonight. Is there a specific question you’re asking, or are you just busting my balls right now?”
She didn’t say anything while the waiter returned with our drinks. I studied the space again, recognizing that this wasn’t Tiel’s usual scene. She liked fast-paced shows that kept her bouncing with the music, and a vibrant, hip crowd that embraced every subculture under the sun. This seemed too sedentary and sleepy for her.
“You know I got married young,” she eventually said. “And that it didn’t work out. I was nineteen, and I never stopped to realize that my life was going to change. I mean, you don’t get married and live in separate dorm rooms.” She laughed, her fingers running through her dark hair. “There was a lot to figure out. Before I knew it, we were ending things.”
I didn’t know what to say. I watched her eyes, those expressive hazel eyes, and waited for more.
“I had to grow up really quickly,” she said. “Too fast. And not just because I got married. Sometimes, I look back and I think, wow. I never had a chance to be a kid.”
This was how Tiel got her thoughts out: she started at one point, veered off in a different direction, doubled back, traveled in another direction, and reached the end point in a circuitous, disorganized way, but it made sense in the end. My brain preferred a more linear approach, but there was something captivating about her thought process. Something about getting lost with her.
“I understand,” I said. “I’ve never been divorced, but I know all about growing up too soon.”
“I know. I think I can see it in you,” she said. “Isn’t that why you’re willing to accept quick, emotionless sex from women who expect nothing from you? Isn’t it your way of repossessing some youthful irresponsibility?”
I should have known she wasn’t following the path I expected, but nothing could have prepared me for a discussion of her divorce to end with my sluttiness. I’d never thought of it that way, and I wasn’t especially comfortable with that extrapolation. At the same time, I didn’t see a reason to unpack her assumptions.
“And you’re suggesting there’s an issue with that?”
“Let me ask you something.” She scooted her chair closer and folded her arms on the table. “Think about the last time you hooked up.”
