She straddled his lap, staring into his eyes. Am I forcing this? She questioned herself. Am I making intimacy my mission? It had been two months since her breakup with “what’s his name”, as her friends had resorted to calling him. Two whole months since she had sworn off love and embraced the pursuit of all things hedonistic.
Just go with it and stop with the fucking questions! She chided herself. His eyes were honest…kind. Who cares! You’re not doing this for the emotion. Pressing her lips to his, she felt his hands slide around her back, threaded fingers pulling her closer. “You’re beautiful”, he exhaled the words into her open mouth. She pulled back, refusing to inhale them. “Let me fix you a drink.” Sliding off his lap she walked in the direction of the kitchen.
“You’re beautiful.” He leaned against the door frame, watching her intently. “That’s all” crossing his arms, eyebrow quirked, three days of stubble only justifiable for someone in his line of work, “no additional motivation”.
She believed him. “Thank you.” Awkward.
“Do you believe it?” He asked, genuinely curious. She continued pouring, playing amateur barkeep. He filled the silence, “I recall the day I saw you speaking to someone in the coffee shop, you never smiled, you were so intense. It was stunning.” He stepped forward, away from the door frame. “I remember thinking that your teeth were perfectly imperfect and I loved how your lips curved at the corner. I was willing to approach you even if it meant having that mouth tell me to shove off.” She smiled at how his accented speech made everything alluring.
Handing him the glass she slid past. No eye contact. “Are you working tomorrow?, she asked, obviously seeking a distraction. “If not, there’s a gallery preview that you may be interested in.” She watched him sip his drink thoughtfully.
“Will this give me more time with you? If so, tell me what time and I will be there.” He took another slow sip allowing the whiskey to slip past his lips with appreciation.
“Do you ever say the wrong thing?” She asked skeptically.
“Of course I do, most of the time, actually”, he laughed. “It just seems to happen less frequently when I’m with you”, he paused, “something about you makes me want to say the right thing all of the time.”
She walked toward him. Damn Oprah and her ‘aha’ moments. Is this mine?
Is he part of my truth? Someone who wants to please me. The guy that doesn’t try to justify why he doesn’t “need” me with scientifically therapeutic explanations. The one who’s okay needing me because he’s sure that he wants me.
She realized, two months after “what’s his name”, that she had been missing something as human and fragile as necessity.
(Constructed to Kimbra: Settle Down)