“Hey sexy, I want to see your penis tonight. Clothe it in some jeans first and I’ll unwrap it later.” This time I did laugh. I was hopeless. I thought about asking Raya or Tara for help, but how embarrassing would that be? I’d think of the perfect way. It might take all day, but I’d think of it.
I wrote and erased a handful of texts that day, including:
I have a red, lacy bra that wants to go get dinner this week. Would you be open to showing her a good time?
You mentioned ravaging me. Can we put that on the schedule for this week?
I want to go out and then I want to stay in. Are you up for one or either of these things?
Elijah, I don’t think I’m fun. But you make me want to be.
And now it was late and I was sitting in bed with a glass of wine, frustrated with myself. How could I overthink a stupid text that he was going to respond to in five seconds without analyzing at all?
I was hoping the wine would loosen up my thoughts a bit or my inhibitions, but it seemed to be doing nothing except reminding me, in detail, of the make-out session we’d had in his room the other day. His tongue on my inner thigh, his hands on my body. I closed my eyes and took another sip. Then I put my wineglass down, picked up my phone, and typed:
I thought of more places I’d like your tongue to explore. Is it available for a date this week? And if you have to come too, that’s fine.
I hit send this time and immediately wanted to press unsend. I didn’t. Instead, I threw my phone onto the bed like it was on fire, downed the last of my wine, and went to the bathroom to brush my teeth. It wasn’t until my toothbrush was in my mouth that I remembered I’d never sent Elijah a text before. Not a single one. This would be the first one he’d ever gotten from me. How had I even saved myself in his phone? Had I put a name? I didn’t remember. I’d entered my number, for sure, but a name? I must’ve. He was going to think this was common texting fodder for me. That I just habitually wrote sexts as my inaugural text to people.
When I came back into my room, I stared at my phone sitting innocently on my bed for a moment. I rubbed at the knots in my neck, then approached it slowly.
The text waiting for me read:Are you trying to turn me on before bed?
I smiled and typed back:If I’m turned on, you have to be too.
My phone buzzed in my hand with an incoming call, his name lit up on my screen. I took a deep breath and answered. “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself,” Elijah said. “Are you asking me out?”
I climbed into bed, pulling my blanket over my legs. My room looked just like it had when I’d left it almost ten years ago. A soft gray comforter, a desk, a few perfectly placed band posters on the wall. I wasn’t surprised my mom hadn’t changed it. She hadn’t done anything to the house since Dad left. Maybe she wanted it to be exactly the same when he came back.
“I am,” I said to Elijah. “Are you free a night this week?”
“I am,” he said. “What did you have in mind?”
“Aside from the tongue thing?” I asked.
He chuckled. “Yes, that’s a given.”
I looked toward my desk and the date sheet, its other boxes still behind their scratchable surfaces. “I’ll surprise you.”
“Sounds good,” he said.
I snuggled even more under my blanket, adjusting the pillow beneath my head. I wondered if he was in bed too. What he was wearing, what his adult room looked like.
“Can I ask why you’re turned on?” he said.
A small smile flitted across my lips. “I was just thinking about what someone was doing to me in a certain bedroom during this one party.”
“Less than five minutes of action and it’s on your mind for days? Imagine what memories an entire night would leave you with.”
“Has it not been on your mind?” I asked, my overthinking self creeping in.
“It has,” he said in his husky voice. “I wanted to taste more of you.”
A jolt of pleasure shot between my legs.
“Your little noises are making me want to be there.”
