My hand digs into my thigh, to stop my fist from going into my mouth, give me something I can bite down on, as she tortures me like this.
Her palms slide up her body, across that silky top, over all that skin I’m dying to explore beneath it, and she grabs her boobs. She’s going to fuckingkillme tomorrow, but how am I supposed to stop her without making a scene? “These things are a goddamn menace,” she says, all forlorn. “Like two fucking baby watermelons, no matter how much I work out.” Her hands drop from her chest, with a plop, back down in her lap. “Do you know how heavy huge boobs are, Asher?” My dick twitches, but I manage to keep my mouth from doing the same.
“Can’t say that I do,” I tell her honestly. She’s got a bigger rack than any girl I’ve hooked up with, that’s for sure.
“Like, at mylowestweight, they were a double D. But usually they’re more like a triple. And these aren’t implants, oh no.” She wags a finger in the air comically, the universal sign forno. “These don’t float. They don’t defy gravity. Oh no, sir. I’m still waiting on NASA to make a bra that keeps these things up. There’s weight to these bad boys. They’rehefty,” she nearly slurs the word.
I need to change the subject, and fast. Mostly for her, but also for the sake of my semi. I’d listen to anything she wants to tell me, especially about her boobs, but when she’s drunk isn’t the time.
“It’s mostly genetics for me,” I try to console her. “I don’t work out as much as I should. You’d probably put me to shame in the gym.”
I get clever, fast, and steer the conversation away from anything that might make her regret tonight when she wakes up tomorrow, and before long we’re laughing over some of the clients we’ve been working on this past month, quoting obscure references fromThe Officeat one another, and just having a fairly wholesome good time.
It’s when she’s just started in on her second drink, a good steady buzz going now that we’re balancing it out with plenty of water and a little bit of food, that I bend over and do my best impression of SpongeBob being a chicken, you know, the one that’s in all the memes, in response to something she said, and she loses it.
“Wait!” She’s fanning her face, trying to get oxygen into her mouth. “Wait, wait, wait! Are you telling me,” she wheezes, struggling to get enough air in from how much we’ve been laughing. “Are you telling me that we watched half the same damn shows, even though we’re from entirely different generations?”
I tilt my head at her, give her half a shrug. “You tell me.SpongeBob,The Office,Friends,Psych,” I list off, and her jaw drops. “Taste knows no age, Ellie.”
“Okay, if you tell me you watchedSex and the CityorThe OC, I’m going to start thinking we’re the same person.” She holds up her hands in between us, like she can’t believe this is happening.
“You’ve got me there. Haven’t seen either of those.” Take a sip of my water. “Yet,” I amend, with a head tilt.
“So is that how you’ve seen all those eighties and nineties movies, too? Your inherent good taste?” She asks, incredulous.
“My dad got me into a lot of those, actually. But yeah.” Not often I mention him, not even to those who knew him. Especially not to those who knew him. But it’s the truth, so I give it to her.
“Wow,” she says, nodding. “I’m impressed, Ash. Your taste in music is abysmal, but your taste in TV and movies almost makes up for it. I hereby award you the status ofhonorary millennialin TV and film.”
She tilts her head down at me magnanimously, pretending to knight me, tapping each of my shoulders once with an extended arm, and I play along. Turn in even more toward her, take the chance to brush a few fingertips across the top of her thigh, innocent enough, but almost not.
“Hey now,” I tell her. “I like all sorts of music. I just showed you one kind. Don’t give up on me just yet.” I shoot her a wink, tilt a corner of my mouth up at her. Her cheeks are already flushed from the alcohol, but I think part of that might be from me, too, which is promising.
This is the best night I’ve had in so fucking long. Sure as fuck beats being hit in the face with a dildo, and being called a pussy for not hooking up with a random girl for the four hundredth weekend in a row.
“Hey!” she says suddenly, sitting up real tall. Still a little shorter than me when she does, but it’s cute.
“Yeah?” I ask her.
“I have to pee!” She says it like it’s an exciting revelation, another adventure we’re about to embark on in Asher & Ellie’s Great Escape.
“Okay,” I chuckle. “I’ll walk you there.”
“I’m fiiiine,” she tells me, but she sounds a little too much like Ross Geller when she does.
I stand from the barstool, offer her a hand to hold onto as she hops down from hers. I find our waitress in and amongst the busy crowd with my eyes and make a couple of motions between us and the table, try to tell her we’ll be right back. Not sure if that’s what she understood, or else she thinks I just told her we’re running out of here and not paying the bill, but hopefully we’re all good and don’t get tackled on our exit.
Still holding onto Ellie—I’m not sure if she needs the extra support, she’s walking all right, but feels like the right thing to do after I pinky promised her—I wind our way through the other patrons and find the entrance to the bathroom, at the end of a little dim hallway.
“I’ll wait here,” I tell her, gesturing to the hallway, off to the side of the ladies’ room.
She nods, goes inside, and I lean against the wall, hands behind my back, waiting. Tonight has been all sorts of surprises for me. Ellie having a couple drinks. Being such a lightweight. Opening up to me so much more than I expected she would. (More than I’m sureshethought she would.) All the laughs and jokes between us. I’m hopeful she’ll remember all this tomorrow, that I won’t have to start from square zero next time, but I’d do thisFifty First Datesstyle, if I had to.
What can I say? Adam Sandler is a classic. I’ve seen all his movies, not just the slapstick nineties ones.
The door to the ladies’ opens, and Ellie kind of trips on her way out, stumbling forward, and I dash forward to be what she falls into. Our bodies collide, her hands pressed to my stomach, fingertips clenching into my abs, my arms wrapped around her soft frame. What I wouldn’t give to slide them down, on top of her shorts, then inside of them. Grab a handful of what she’s working with. Slide a couple fingers down farther, press them in, see what was waiting for me there.
I hold her there for a minute, soaking in the feel of her, letting her adjust, get her bearings again. Try to keep my thoughts above water, above board. I feel her nose in my neck, against my collarbone, and she inhales deeply, then groans. It does something to my insides, and my cock responds.
