“Really?”
“Yeah, in college.” Jay leaned in the doorway. “A physical one.”
The image of them hurting each other was almost too painful to conjure. “About what?”
“It was a culmination of things. But my point is, it was really hard but we worked it out. Friendships can withstand a lot. So, don’t worry about Milan. I know you two. You’ll work it out.”
He touched my shoulder. I took his hand, kissed it, then continued flipping through the album. There was a picture of me, chubby-faced at nineteen, sitting on the sofa in Mr. Wright’s living room during my first Christmas in LA.
“I was gonna grab some wine,” Jay said. “Do you want any?”
I said sure. He left the room. I stumbled on a photo that was similar to the one of me on the sofa, but with a different constellation of people. I must’ve been home that Christmas because Tristan was there (one of the times we’d missed each other), his arm around a girl. She had the kind of pillow-soft lips, carved-away waist, coupe-shape breasts that made her seem unreal—not fake, just unattainably pretty. I understood then that he had a type.
Jay returned with two glasses of wine.
“Is this Shannon?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“She’s gorgeous. I feel like a bridge troll now.”
He didn’t laugh. “She wasn’t gorgeous on the inside.”
Closing the album, he set it aside. Mouth slightly stained with red wine, he murmured, “Want to fuck in my childhood bedroom?”
I laughed. Whenever he said “fuck,” it felt like an occasion—he had such a puritan’s mouth. He downed his drink, a smile forming on his lips when he leaned in to kiss me, his tongue sharp and bitter with Malbec. I polished off my wine then set it on the nightstand. The bed creaked comically loud when I straddled him. We paused to laugh, then I covered his laughing mouth with my hand. When he said, “I like when you do that,” his voice vibrated against my palm.
I slowly removed my panties and stuffed them in his mouth. “How about this?”
He nodded, his teeth clamped around the cheap lace. I took him in my fist, guiding my hips down onto him. Rocking against me, he groaned. Gently, I held his throat, his pulse beating into my grip. For a moment, it was overwhelming, having his racing heartbeat in my hand.
“You come when I tell you to. Okay?”
His response was muffled. “Yes, okay.”
“But”—shoving my underwear deeper—“if these fall out, you don’t come at all.”
He whimpered, hips bucking beneath me. Hastily, he turned me onto my back and got on top, my panties now hanging down from his mouth. I put my legs onto his shoulders. He stroked slow circles around my ankle bones with his thumbs. From this angle, I could see all the dark beauty marks on his chest, creeping up his neck, in the lamplight.
Overcome with the desire to kiss him, I ripped my panties from his mouth and threw them on the floor. As we kissed, he mumbled, “Wait, so does this mean I don’t get to come?”
Laughing, I caught his hips between my thighs. “Come for me.”
Watching his face crumple with want, utterly vulnerable, I felt flooded with shame. It was like a lid had come off after being shut for a long time. His brown eyes reopened sluggishly like the sun rising over my face.Poor Jay, Milan had said on the fire escape, seething with disdain.
I turned onto my side, shielding my face with my elbow.
“Hey,” he said. When I didn’t answer, I felt his hand on my shoulder. “Are you okay? Hey, hey. It’s all right. Come here.”
He rolled beside me, lifting an arm. I shifted beneath it. His chest was hot on my cheek. In the beginning of our relationship, I used to joke that he needed to go to the hospital to make sure he wasn’t overheating.
“You’re not upset I tore the lace off your underwear, are you? I can buy you another pair.” When I looked up, he was smiling.
I touched his cheek. “I just miss you. That’s all.”
He kissed my eyelids. “You don’t have to miss me. I’m right here.”
Chapter 32
