huge, dark, serious. “When did you get so serious, then?”
His eyebrows lower, all beetled and broody. “Serious? I’m not serious.”
“Okay.”
“I’m…very…”
I lean forward, hands gripping the counter behind me. How does he see himself, this big, somber man, whose smiles are so rare. He’s smiled five times tonight. Laughed twice. I counted because they’re wonderfully hard won.
After a long silence, he shakes his head. “I don’t know.”
“You’re kind.”
“No. I’m normal.”
“You’re a good person. Generous.”
“Seriously, Jerusha, don’t—”
“My first week here, you fixed my door. And the step. You told me to knock if I ever needed to.”
“I’m paranoid.”
“Protective.”
“I’ve got a daughter your age.”
“Almost a decade my junior.”
He growls. “I’d better go. Thanks for—”
“Wait.”
This is it. My chance. He’s here. He’s kissed me. He said he liked it. “I like you, Karl.”
“I like you, too, Jerusha.”
“I want you to be my first.”
Those thick eyebrows almost fly off his head. I’d laugh if everything weren’t so twisted up inside.
“Come again?”
“I want you to show me.” I swallow, hard, and forge on. “Sex. Show me how to do it.”
There’s this gap, which one of us is supposed to fill. Him, probably, though I’m the one who created it. I should close it up tight. But I’ve never been the type of person to do that. I can’t fill gaps in conversations and I definitely can’t back off once I’m sure of something. And I’m sure of this.
“Do you know how many dates I’ve gone on in the last six months?” I finally find the words.
Appearing startled, he compresses his lips, shakes his head as if to clear it.
“Guess.”
“I don’t know. Five?”
“Twenty-seven.”
His eyes go wide. “Whoa.”
“Twenty. Seven.”
“That’s a lot.”
“Yes, well, I had a lot of time to make up for. But I didn’t want a single one of them to kiss me.” I raise my hand, palm out, before he says whatever he’s about to say.
“I like men. I mean, I’m attracted to them. I know that much. And some of my dates were good-looking, interesting, talented, polite…” But none of them were you. “But none of them are what I’m looking for.”
He narrows his eyes. “You think I am?”
“I like how you kiss.” It’s all I can offer right now, when he’s giving me nothing—not an inkling of what’s on his mind shows in that scowl. Well, probably annoyance, but nothing beyond that.
It hurts, I admit, how much that kiss gave me, how much I felt from those few, perfect seconds, when he clearly felt nothing.
“The kiss was…” He blinks a few times, breathes out, once, and shakes his head, as if searching for words. Finally, when his gaze lands on me, I know he’s not kidding. “Just not your guy. Okay?”
I smile, so hard my cheeks hurt. “Yes. Yes, of course. Okay.”
“Thanks for uh, the pizza. And beer.”
“You’re welcome.” If I stay like this, I’ll crack. But if I stop smiling, he’ll see how much this means to me and I can’t have that. “My pleasure.”
“All right.” He reaches back to rub his nape with one thick hand. It’s an uncomfortable-looking motion that I’ve never seen him do. A quick look around, landing on me for three seconds, before he walks back up the hall to the front door. “Night.”
“Night-night.” My grin’s still fixed, probably diabolical and creepy, like one of those plastic dolls with the smile painted on. I’ll bet my teeth are nothing but a slash of white.
That’s how I feel, as he carefully closes the door, like a bunch of moving parts that don’t belong. Like a too-big, too-weird, mash-up: half dowdy Barbie and half Little Orphan Annie, with her fat halo of frizzy hair and bright-colored dress.
Old Maid Barbie. Except it’s not the spinster part that bugs me—I don’t want to get married. I don’t want kids and diapers and skinned knees and advice. I like how things are. I’m free and alone, in my long, skinny row house in Richmond’s Fan district, with my scowling next-door neighbor. I’d had hopes, but…
Never mind. I’m fine with my life as it is.
I mean, I wouldn’t mind having sex at some point. The way people do. With orgasms and dirty talk and pure, unadulterated lust.
Now, I guess I’ll have to find someone else to do it with.
Back to the dating board.
5
Come out and play
Karl
“What the hell’s gotten up your butt?” Harper sidles up to the bar and sets down her empty tray, planting her hands on her hips like the bossy little woman she is. Or will be. Christ I don’t know