He reaches out to run a hand through the hair on my chest. I try not to purr. “I’m starting to understand why you want someone with you at the festival.”
I sit up, suddenly wishing I’d stripped naked in here instead of leaving every stitch of clothing I own in the next room. Looking back over my shoulder, I meet the curiosity in Toni’s watchful gaze. “I’m not safe with him.”
A moment of understanding passes between us, and then Toni rises to kneel in close behind me. His arms come around my waist and he rests his chin on my shoulder. “I know I’m not the kind of man you would choose to be in a relationship with. I’m difficult and short-tempered. I don’t always do the right thing. But I can promise you this,” he lifts his hand to my cheek, turning my head so I’m forced to look into his eyes, “you’re safe with me.”
The force of his conviction surprises and consoles me. It cuts deep into my chest, finds the place where all my doubts and my fears hide, and curls itself around them. I take a deep breath, my shoulders lowering, and I nod. “I believe you.”
He smiles, giving me one last squeeze before his arms fall away. “Good.”
Standing, I make my way to the living room to get dressed, while Toni does the same in the bedroom. When he emerges, we stroll to the front door.
“I think we’re going to make excellent real boyfriends who have sex,” he says cheerfully.
I grin. “Agreed.”
He pauses beside the door, one hand on the knob as he looks up at me with a shy smile. Which is weird considering how hard he just reamed me. Christ, I’ll be feeling it for days. “So, um, I’ll pick you up at nine on Saturday morning?”
The brightness in his eyes dims slightly. He opens his mouth to speak, but then closes it again. He shakes his head, as if to dislodge a thought, and then he pulls on a wide, plastic smile. “I’ll see you Saturday,” he says, yanking the door wide open.
I step out into the hallway before facing him. “Thank you for tonight. I had a great time.”
He nods. “Yep, me too. Goodnight, Ned.”
The door closes in my face, and I stand there staring at it. Did I do something wrong?
It’s not until I’m back in the elevator, hurtling towards the ground floor, that it hits me. Yes, I did something wrong. I missed the one simple action that makes all the difference between a hook-up and a date. Between a fake relationship, and a real one.
I didn’t kiss him goodnight.
EIGHT
______
TONI
Who needs kissing anyway? Just because Ned and I are boyfriends doesn’t mean we need to be locked at the lips every other minute.
Stomping into the kitchen, I yank open the bottom drawer and grab the key I keep hidden in the back before slamming it closed again.
So what if Rodney and Leif spend so much time kissing it’s a wonder they manage to breathe. Not everyone has to be so openly amorous. Logan and Patrick don’t go around slobbering all over each other. At least, not in public. They share quick hello kisses and playful pecks goodbye, but they manage to keep their tongues in check—most of the time.
I jam the key in the lock and my office door swings open. I don’t bother flicking on the overhead light before dropping into my plush office chair and turning on my computer. I won’t be here long. My fingertips drum a steady beat against the surface of the desk as I wait for the computer to finish booting.
It’s not like Ned and I haveneverkissed. We have—twice even. Once at the pub the night this all started. Once tonight. I’d been so relieved he still wanted to have sex with me, I’d practically thrown myself at him. He’d seemed into it at the time, even if the kissing part did fall away as I became distracted with other, equally enticing, parts of his body.
I did expect us to share a kiss goodnight, though. Simple acts of affection are supposed to be one of the perks of having a boyfriend—or so I’ve heard.
Irritated by my own fantastical assumptions, I open my graphics editing software and fold my legs up on the chair as I get comfortable. Picking up my drawing tablet and stylus, I get to work. Lines appear on the monitor with every stroke of my stylus across the black surface of the tablet. I switch between different pencils and brushes with a practised ease, my tools responding to minor variations in pressure and angle. All thought falls away as the disappointment left by Ned’s impersonal departure leeches out of me and into the pixels.
My eyelids are heavy by the time I finish adding the final shading to the black and white image. I glance at the clock in the bottom corner of the monitor. It’s after 3am. Getting up for work in four hours is going to hurt like a bitch. I’ve never been good at minding the time once I start to draw.
With a sigh, I export the finished product and send the file to my printer. While it whirs to life, I rest my head against the back of the chair and allow my gaze to wander over the image. The tilt of my head is shown in smooth curves and subtle shading. One of Ned’s hands is visible, his fingers gripping my chin, as if he can’t imagine not wanting to taste me. Our eyes are closed, and our joined lips glisten with the wetness of desire.
This is the kiss I would have hoped for if this thing between Ned and I were as real as I’m making it out to be. It’s how I’ve always imagined a night with my boyfriend might end. The sweetness after the heat. Silent promises of more to come.
The printer spits out the completed image and I stand to snatch if from the tray before turning to the enormous corkboards I have mounted on three of the walls. Taking one of the few remaining thumbtacks from the pot on my desk, I use it to fix the sheet of paper to a random spot. The sharp point slices through three layers of paper before sinking into the cork. I back away, taking one last look at the image—yet another memory I’ve failed to create. It seems at home, nestled there between the arguments I couldn’t hope to win and the fears I was too scared to show. Every dream. Every nightmare. All my grief and anger and longing. A multitude of emotions purged through my fingers and trapped upon the walls like dead insects on display.
Turning away, I save my work using only today’s date as the filename. The computer is still shutting down when I leave the room.
