don’t think I can wait any longer,” I said, laughing. I pulled off my turtleneck sweater and looked down at the white cotton bra that I had put on that morning. “Sorry about this…I didn’t know what today would bring in terms of nudity.”
He reached up and unhooked my bra. “There’s only one way to solve that,” he said, and threw the bra across the room. “Get rid of it.” He reached up and touched my breasts. “Where’s Trixie?”
“You see breasts and you think ‘Trixie’? I’m going to have to change that.” It took me a minute to think of where she was. “Bagpipe Kid. I’ll call him later and tell him to walk her tonight and in the morning.”
“You really are sleeping over?” he asked, surprised.
“Can I?”
He kissed me, his tongue tickling my lips. “Of course you can.” His fingers slipped inside the waistband of my skirt. “I just can’t believe my luck.”
I leaned down and unbuttoned his shirt. “Go easy, Crawford. It’s been a while.” I tried to sound lighthearted but in reality I was terrified. I’d been thinking about this man for the last several months, but now that everything I had dreamt and fantasized about was here, I was a wreck. Figured.
He put his hands on either side of my face and looked at me. “For me, too.”
I sat up. “Really?”
He nodded, a little embarrassed.
“How have you made it through all these years?” I asked. “Because, frankly, I’ve been going a little insane. I think that’s why I’m so cranky all the time.” Or maybe not. Maybe I’m just a bitch.
“I fantasize. A lot,” he said, and burst out laughing. “It’s the only way to survive sitting in a car with Fred for hours at a time.”
“You don’t fantasize about Fred, I hope?”
He reached around, unzipped my skirt, and pulled it down, getting more serious. “I think about you all the time.”
I managed to get my skirt off without having to get off him. All that was left were my panty hose and panties; the lights were on and I felt a little exposed. “Do you think we could dim the lights?” I asked.
He reached up and clapped loudly and all of the lights went out instantaneously. I started laughing and couldn’t stop. “You have a Clapper?” I said, dropping my head onto his chest.
“A gift. From my aunt Bea,” he said, choking out the words between guffaws. “Sexy, huh?”
We got up off the couch, and I took off his shirt. I fumbled with his belt buckle, got it open and put my hand on his zipper, thinking that if we didn’t consummate this relationship soon, his pants would rip apart by the force of what was underneath. If that happened, it would be like having sex with the Incredible Hulk. He shook his pants off, leaving them somewhere between the living room and bedroom. We made our way into the bedroom, and I sat on the bed, taking off my panty hose. The room was dark, but I could see his outline as he made his way over to the bed, his boxer shorts hanging off his slim hips. He pushed me back and lay on top of me, his body covering mine. He put his hand to my breast and his other hand behind my head, bringing my face as close to his as he could. “I love you,” he whispered. “I’ve loved you since I first laid eyes on you.”
I opened my mouth to speak but he covered it with his own. “Crawford, go slow,” I said, wrapping my arms around him and holding him close.
He stopped for a second or two and answered me. “I will,” he said, his voice deep and husky. He kissed me, his lips soft on mine.
I opened my mouth to speak but the trill of the phone on his nightstand cut me off. It rang six or seven times before the sound of it registered in our lust-filled brains. The machine clicked on and he dropped his head to my breast and moaned. “No,” he said, rolling off me. “No.”
“Detective?” the voice on the machine inquired.
Crawford sat up and stared at the phone.
“Detective. I’ve got your aunt. She’s with me.”
I recognized the cadence, if not the voice, as Peter Miceli’s.
“It would be in your best interest to meet me at Morella’s junkyard,” he said. “East 229th Street…”
Crawford moved to the edge of the bed and lifted up the receiver. “Hello?” It was dark in the room, but