Afterwards, I drape an arm over my face. Fuck. That’s embarrassing.
He lifts my arm away and kisses me. Why?
I don’t know. It feels sort of desperate. Like I haven’t had sex in so long that I just go off when you touch me.
Your body is very responsive. Which means that fucking you is going to be a ton of fun. Mats says the dirtiest things in such a matter-of-fact way. What could be better than sex with someone who enjoys herself?
Oh boy. Sex! And he mentioned it first.
Mats frowns. He sits up, reaches for his shirt, and pats the pockets. Shit. I forgot to bring condoms.
No condoms? I squeal. He forgot? Am I the only one in this relationship who is obsessed with sex? If so, why don’t I have a full supply of condoms? There might be one or two somewhere in my desk drawer, but they’re probably expired, since I got them during freshman orientation.
Well, I’m on birth control, so we could just…
As I’m pleading, there’s an odd scraping sound. We both turn to see a strip of condoms sliding into the room from underneath the door.
His eyebrows lift. The walls are pretty thin here.
I groan. Only when people are deliberately listening. And those people need to fuck off, I say, in my best Marjorie-volume voice.
Mats just chuckles. He pulls on his T-shirt and walks to the door, bends down, and picks up the condoms. Then he announces loudly, Unfortunately, these ones are too small.
I fall back on the bed laughing. Not having sex with Mats is surprisingly fun.
He puts on his shirt and kisses me on the nose. I’m going to take off now. Don’t worry, Cleo. We will be worth waiting for.
Oh, I’m sure of that. Look what the guy can do with just his mouth and forefinger.
Just then, something flat slides under the door. It’s a red balloon.
Our eyes meet, and we both burst into laughter.
16
SUNDAY FUNDAY
CLEO
HAVING A FULL DAY TO SPEND WITH MATS IS GLORIOUS. OUR WEEKENDS ARE USUALLY CRAMMED with games and homework, and since our teams share an arena, when one of us is on the road, the other one is here.
But today, I get to spend as much time as I want with him. We’ve already eaten a delicious waffle brunch, and now we’re exploring downtown St. Viola on a sunny winter day. He still finds small-town Minnesota interesting, since he hasn’t lived here forever.
Too bad we couldn’t have eaten Japanese food today. I’ve been practising my chopstick technique, I say. Woolly has chopsticks for her healthy stir-fries, so I’ve been using them to eat my meals whenever possible. I’m pretty good now.
Mats smiles. You weren’t that bad for your first time. Besides, I’m picky; I don’t eat Japanese food unless I’m back in Vancouver. Or in Japan, of course.
Same, same. I, too, prefer the Japanese food in Japan. Italian food in Italy. I don’t touch Icelandic food unless I’m actually in Iceland, I deadpan. What even is Icelandic food? Ice cream?
Are you mocking me? he asks.
Well, yeah. You sounded pretentious. Plus, you make me feel like a hick who has never been anywhere. Maybe because I am a hick who has never been anywhere. Unless you count hockey tournaments.
Mats takes my hand. Oh, so I can’t talk about things I’ve done because you haven’t?
Ugh. When you put it like that, I feel like a whiny baby. If his hand didn’t feel so warm and safe, I might accompany this by stomping off. It’s our thing.
If the knitted booties fit, Mats jokes, then returns to the original topic. Guess when the first time I used chopsticks was?
