“So okay,” I say. We both laugh again, and he kisses the inside of my thigh with affection. Something about it is so sweet, not just sexy, but sweet, and my heart does a thing that I didn’t expect—some squeezy skip that makes me feel like a teenager again.
He takes his time, way too languorous, and I can’t stand it anymore. “Please,” I gasp, grasping his hair.
I can feel his soft laugh on me, and it sends a wave of desire up my body. I’m about to lose it when he crawls back over me, pulling a condom out of thin air. His eyes ask the question and my body answers.
His teeth graze over a tender spot on my neck as our bodies move together, and I am done. My entire world narrows to the rhythm of our breaths, the taste of his skin, an overwhelming sensation ofyes. There’s nothing else—no past, no future, nothing—a sense of pure freedom. When I come undone, he’s right there soon after and we find each other’s lips at the same time.
8
Nothing goes according to plan.
I was going to gently kick Ellis out the next morning, with the grace of a seasoned lover, then go about my usual Sunday-morning routine: coffee (drip, healthy heaping of half-and-half, no sugar) and breakfast (scrambled eggs with chives and a slice of sourdough) by nine a.m.; yoga on the deck; laundry and a deep clean of the kitchen and bathroom before lunch. All while thinking back fondly on my hot one-night stand with a twenty-eight-year-old.
But I didn’t know we’d reach for each other in the middle of the night, that he’d have me gasping on my back more than once in the early hours of the morning. That, at the crack of dawn, feeling him curled up behind me, we’d move together in a dreamlike state, until both of us were exhausted and passed out.
It’s been a while since I’ve slept with someone, so I want to chalk up this obsessive state to neglect. But a voice in the back of my head is telling me that this isgood. That this level of good has maybe never happened to me before.
When we actually wake up, it’s almost noon. And we only get up because Betty is literally screaming at us from the other side of the closed bedroom door.
“Oh, shit.” I scramble into a sitting position, the light unnaturally bright in my room. “I have to feed Betty.” It’s been years since I’ve overslept this hard. I didn’t even know my body was physically capable of it.
But I’m gently pushed back down. I’m about to protest, like, I really need a sex break, my guy. But he just presses his lips to my forehead and gets up from bed, pulling on his crisp cotton boxer shorts. “Where’s her food?”
He proceeds to feed my horrible bird, then makes coffee in the kitchen as I stretch out under my soft comforter, my body a giant relaxed noodle.
I’ll take the coffee, then politely nudge him out.
The coffee arrives in a hand-thrown mug, a speckled brown and white one with an enormous and uncomfortable handle. A souvenir from Marcella’s ceramics phase. I take it from Ellis with a grateful smile. “Mm, thank you.”
He places the half-and-half and sugar bowl on my nightstand. “Not sure how you like it, so brought the usual suspects.”
“Thanks,” I say, pouring some cream into the mug, then peer at him over my cup. This guy looks great in the morning. His hair is tousled, shirtless in white boxers. Who even wears white undies? Risky as hell. His cheek has a red crease, and I reach out to touch it without thinking. He leans into it and something tugs low in my ribs. I try and ignore it.
“Your house is a real house,” he says as he stretches with zero self-consciousness and I tear my eyes away from the delicious sight. “You have an espresso machine and a wine fridge. What else is lurking in your bespoke cabinetry—cloth napkins?”
His tone is teasing but not mocking and I smile. “I might even have scissors specifically for cutting poultry.”
His eyes roll back in bliss, and I laugh. Suddenly, Betty swoops in. “Hey!” I yelp. “How’d you get out?”
Ellis looks sheepish. “Um, I let her out. She looked so sad when I pet her.”
“Don’t let her fool you,” I say. Then pause. “Wait, she let you touch her?”
“Yeah.” He looks at her fondly as she lands on my dresser, preening in front of my mirror.
I look at her, at how comfortable she is around a new person. “That is very strange. She never lets anyone but me touch her. Many a friend has left here with broken skin.”
Her feathers fluff up in pride. Ellis looks surprised. “Really? She let me hold her, too.”
“What?” I am quite literally shook. “That’s…she barely tolerates my touch.”
“What can I say? The birds love me,” he says, joking.
But I assess him. Something about him brightens up every space he’s in. My room feels different with him in it. Betty is certainly basking in it. And try as I might, I can’t quite kick him out.
So we end up spending the day together. Even though it’s legit afternoon by the time we get out of bed, we make eggs and eat them on the deck, the afternoon sun feeling good. He marvels at the views of the canyon, the comfort of my red loungers. When a hawk flies overhead, his jaw drops. “It’s fucking incredible that you found this house.”
I think about people his age and how impossible it is to buy a house in Los Angeles proper unless you are obscenely wealthy. My house is modest, but it’s special. “I didn’t actually find this house. I grew up in it.”
