Lisa’s face lights up. “What’s got you grinning? Is it something, or someone?”
“Nothing.” I sip my mimosa.
“It could be her friend.” Marcela shrugs with an apology and a smile I want to knock off with my baguette. “Sorry, sis.”
“Oop! Did Baby Beckford find love in the Rust Belt? So soon too. You’ve been here, what, a week?”
“I’m not in love, nor am I dating,” I say to Lisa and cut my eyes at my sister. I’ll thank her later for not disclosing Wednesday’s find-a-friend bus tour. She still needs to zip it.
“I have a friend who’s up here from DC,” I reveal, much to my annoyance. “We’ve spent some time together now that I live in Buffalo and have finished my PhD. He’s—”
“He?” Lisa’s eyes widen.
“Is fine,” Marcela says. Her hands fly up at my glower. “What? You see him twice with those glasses on. The manisfine and has body for days. That’s all you, little sis.”
“It’s not like that at all,” I protest. “Two people can share platonic interests without it meaning a trip to Canada for secret sex, or Aruba to score a handbag.”
“Hey!” they shout in unison.
“We’ve been friends for a few years, but we’ve never spent time together. That’s all we’re doing. Painting walls and building furniture.” I leave out the near peen sighting and the glimpse of Antonio’s muscled butt, which would make a person with 20/20 vision lose sight from crossing their eyes.
“I’m sure he did paint your walls all night,” my sister snickers into her glass.
“That’s all I hear from you two—penis, penis, penis! There’s more to life than a hard dick!”
A throat clears. Our server stands frozen, and nearby diners shift back in their seats for a better look at the woman who’s shouting about shafts at brunch.
I force my eyes shut and rub my temples. “We’ll take the check, thank you.” I don’t bother looking at the server, who rushes off like the building is on fire. I’m embarrassed for both of us.
“Miri. I didn’t mean to get you worked up.” Marcela’s voice is low and holds a degree of what I assume is concern.
“I’m not worked up,” I mumble.
“Your face is red, and your glasses are two seconds from cracking. I won’t poke fun about you and Antonio.” At least she has the decency to push down the humor in her tone. “Sidenote: I think this is the first time I’ve heard you say ‘dick.’”
I drop my hands from my face and give her a deadpan glare. It morphs into a snort at the pride beaming across her face.
“You bother me.”
“Love you back,” she says.
The truth is, I don’t want to think about penises because I’m struggling not to think about Antonio in that way. What he would feel like. How he’d makemefeel.
I see clearly—glasses on or off—how attractive he is, along with the benefits of adding rugby to your workout regimen. His voice alone licks the shell of my ear, and I don’t need to test the theory of what will happen between my legs if we step beyond the boundaries of a platonic friendship. Said boundaries are in place so I don’t ruin years of friendship for one night of pleasure. I can’t. He’s my only friend, and he’s too important to me. Not that he would see me that way.
What if he did?
Please.
I never gave thought to an “us” because it has no chance in reality. He’ll screw just about any woman, and his history proves he will leave this earth a bachelor, sowing every oat in his box. He doesn’t do relationships, and he enjoys a new woman to replace the ones who temporarily have his attention. I’ve seen him and his charm in action. I know better.
Something we do have in common is our lack of experience as someone’s significant other. I’ve never had a boyfriend in order to keep school a priority; he refuses to settle down in order to keep multiple options in rotation. The difference is that I do want love and commitment one day.
Dating was never top of mind for me because of my studies. With that lengthy chapter of my life closed, I have time I’m willing to dedicate to seeing who’s out there.
And fulfilling any physical urges my box of goodies can’t satisfy.
“Antonio.” Lisa chews on the name with a crease between her brows. “Antonio Knight, who plays for the Steel?”
