“What are you thinking about, Prudence?” His voice sounds a little hard, if you ask me.
“Nothing.”
“You’re in your head.”
How can he tell that? He barely knows me. “I’m not. Just enjoying the afterglow.”
“Bullshit.” Nate pulls away from me, rolls into his back, and sits up. “What’s the matter?”
A startled laugh escapes. “Nothing’s wrong.”
Without a word, he gets off the bed. I watch him search his room for something. I can’t help noticing how nice his butt is except I lose that train of thought when he slips his underwear back on. His jeans are next, then his shirt. “Gonna check on the food.”
“Okay.” What the heck did I do wrong?
I slip off the bed in search of my own things. I spy my underwear and skirt first. My bra, I see is, on the other side of the bed. Slipping that on, I tiptoe out into the living room in looking for my shirt. It’s crammed into the cushions on the couch. Once I’m dressed again, I contemplate my next move. If he’s angry with me, I should probably go except I can’t figure out why he’d be mad. Was I bad at it? You know… the sex?
I bet that’s it. Travis always told me I was lackluster in bed. I took his criticism to heart, reading more about sex and ways to make it better for my partner.
This time, however, Nate didn’t give me an opportunity to do anything other than receive. Still, it bothers me, this angry act he’s giving me. Time to get to the bottom of it.
“Food’s done.” He practically drops the pan of lasagna onto the table. It clanks and clatters everything around it.
“Why are you upset with me?”
“Me?” he asks, holding a basket of garlic bread.
“Yes. You seem angry. Did I do something wrong?”
Please say no.
Nate sets the bread down, and instead of coming to me, he puts his empty hands on his waist. “The minute I got done fucking you, you closed off.”
I’m not sure which part of that sentence bothers me more. The part where he breaks down what we just did to “fucking you” or the other. “I was merely quiet.”
“Why?”
“I was relishing the feelings.”
“Bullshit.”
And that does it. “Don’t tell me how I was feeling or what I was doing. You’re not inside my head, Nate.” Nor will he ever be if this is how he behaves postcoital.
“No shit.”
“Why are you reacting like this?”
“I ain’t reacting any which way. You’re the one that shut me out.”
“I didn’t. We finished making—”
“Fucking.”
Ignoring his crass correction of my words, I continue with what I was going to say. “We just got done a few minutes ago. I didn’t realize there was going to be a stupid quiz at the end.”
That gets a smile out of him, but it’s too late for that. Searching the floor, I locate the flip-flops I had on when I arrived. My purse is on the counter, so I pick that up. “I’m going home.”
“What about dinner?”
