“Tomorrow,” he nods, smile wide, eyes happy, body relaxed.
I haven’t felt this warm, this hopeful, in a very, very long time.
TWENTY-SIX
Dexter
Alisand I have spent the last two weeks getting to know each other freely, stealing away from campus each day for lunch, talking honestly and openly about our hopes, dreams, families, and friends; making out in my Range Rover like two horny teenagers with a curfew. I’ve never met a woman so smart, so driven, so… warm. At first hearing she hasn’t truly dated since college and hadn’t even kissed a man in the last nine years, I worried Alis would be detached and distant, only supplying as much information as is necessary. I worried that, despite her saying she didn’t want to hide our relationship, she’d be stiff and shy away from public displays of affection.
Thankfully, my worries were for naught. Despite her fears, overthinking, and obvious emotional scar tissue, Alis blossoms when we’re together. She’s the woman I met at the bar — flirty, intelligent, quick-witted. She speaks of Belle with such reverence and love, and while I admire her affection for her sister I often wonder if Alis uses her memory as an excuse not to embrace her true self. Belle was bold, brave, passionate — the embodiment of everything Alis feels she lacks. I wish she could see herself the way I see her. She is both gentle and bold, careful and brave, logical and passionate. Despitethe wealth of literary knowledge stored in her mind, tales of love and laughter and the complexity of the human mind and heart, Alis doesn’t seem to apply the universal truths revealed through centuries of writing to herself.
I’ve found myself prompting her to consider the parallels of life and literature to herself on more than one occasion, and I know she hears me, but there’s still something deep inside her that refuses to let go and embrace the freedom that comes with loving someone fully. That ‘someone’ being herself.
I promised her patience, and, truly, helping her work through her thoughts and feelings is no burden to me. She makes me feel alive, and I can tell I do the same for her.
Today is the first time Alis will come to my home, and she’s bringing Sunny with her. Perhaps I should be nervous, but I’m not. More than anything I’m excited to spend time with the kid and get to know her better. Our first meeting was unexpected but delightful all the same. She’s a firecracker, no doubt. Alis speaks of Sunny with the same affection and awe bestowed upon her sister, and while, yes, from my limited interaction with Sunny I can see so much of what Alis has told me about Belle in her. However, I see in Sunny all the qualities and strengths Alis refuses to attribute to herself.
The doorbell rings and Otis, my Australian shepherd, barks and runs to greet our visitors. Not many people come to my house, aside from Leo, so I’m curious to see how Otis handles having two females in our space.
“Calm down, buddy,” I scratch behind his ears and pat his back, signaling for him to sit while I answer the door.
Upon opening, I find Alis standing with her hands clasped in front of her, picking at her nails — her nervous tell. Before I can offer greeting or invite them inside, Otis pushes his body through my slightly parted legs, causing me to clasp the door for balance, and lunges at Sunny, smushing his nose into her face. She erupts in fits of giggles, hugging and petting Otis and telling him how handsome he is.
“Hi,” I say through a laugh, watching my dog and Sunny’s instant connection and affection for each other play out on the front porch.
“Yes, you are a handsome boy. The best handsome boy. Give the best kisses, yes you do!” Sunny laps praise on him as he barks and jumps and licks her face. I’ve never seen Otis interact with children — he’s typically too busy chasing other dogs at the park. It’s nice to see Sunny isn’t overwhelmed by him. He’s not a large dog, but he isn’t small, either.
“Hi, yourself,” Alis says, stepping closer and interlocking her fingers with mine. I’m taken aback by her easy affection in front of Sunny, and she sees the surprise on my face. Laughing, she says, “What? It’s not like she doesn’t know we’re dating. She’s nine, not four.”
I give her my best half smile, “I know, it’s just —” I pause, unsure how to articulate my thoughts.
Alis smiles knowingly, “It’s just that you keep expecting me to freak out?”
I rub the back of my neck, chagrin taking over. “Maybe? I don’t know. It’s more that I haven’t wanted to touch and laugh and be close to someone in a long time, and even then, it wasn’t like this. I guess I often wonder if I’ll overwhelm you, so it’s a pleasant surprise when you initiate. It boosts my confidence.” I drop my mouth to her ear, lowering my voice so only she can hear, “And, it makes me want to push your back against this door and slide my hand under your skirt.”
I pull away before Alis can react, letting out a short whistle to signal Otis that it’s time we invite our guests inside. Alis slaps my back in playful frustration, following behind me as both Otis and Sunny run through the open floor plan of my house to the back patio doors.
“Can we go outside?” Sunny asks, Otis standing on his hind legs and pawing at the glass to show his unwavering support and excitement for this request.
“Definitely,” I say. “The door’s unlocked and the gate is closed. Go crazy out there.”
Sunny slides the door open, Otis pushing his way out before it’s open wide enough to fit through. She runs out after him, not bothering to close the door behind her.
“Those two are getting on famously,” Alis comments.
“You won’t hear any argument from me,” I say, sliding the door closed once again before backing Alis against the wall next to it and kissing her soundly. I saw her, kissed her, held her just yesterday, but seeing her in my home, in that skirt with those ridiculous blue polka dot tights and bright red Chuck Taylor’s does something to me.
She returns my kiss, sliding her tongue against mine and holding me to her with a hand on the back of my neck. Both my hands are braced on the wall, one on either side of her just above her shoulders. I push my body against hers, feeling the length of her pressed against me for the first time. God, I’ve fantasized about this moment. This feeling. I’ve wanted to kiss her, touch her, feel every inch of her pressed against my body since the moment I saw her reflection through that bar mirror.
We haven’t ventured beyond kissing, what with our liaisons limited to the front seats of my Range Rover, parked inconspicuously in whichever restaurant parking lot we escaped to that day.
Now, with Sunny here, is not the time, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting this, wanting her.
“Alis,” I groan, pulling out of our kiss but keeping my body firmly in place. I know she can feel the evidence of my need for her against her stomach, and I can see every thread of want and desire reflected back at me in her gaze.
“Dexter,” she pants, the rise and fall of her chest no less tempting in her tight sweater than it would be in something more revealing.
I lower my forehead to hers and inhale, her shampoo and perfume working together to create the scent that is Alis Gilmore — the unexpected, beautiful, awkward, nerdy, fucking desirable woman of my dreams. Dreams I never realized I’d had until I met her.
