Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 65582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
“Ewwww. A woman’s sleeping bag? Gross.”
“I was trying to be polite. Would you rather me say pussy? Because I have no problem saying pussy.”
“Apparently, and you just did twice. Also, you sure didn’t mind saying it earlier.”
“Earlier I was eating your pussy. We were in the moment. Now we’re walking down the street, to who knows where in the world, holding hands.”
“Was that you romancing me, Hardy?”
“Nope. But if I was, would it be working?”
“Totally.” She leans her head on my shoulder, and squeezes my hand tighter. “Sleeping bags are cozy and comfy and warm, like sweatpants. And you know I like those.”
“See, I’m playing to my audience.”
“You’re generous like that, and you’re warming my hands up.”
Warming cold hands. Gloves are great for that. “Oh, I almost forgot.” I reach inside my coat pocket and pull out the gloves. “I got you these.”
Her feet come to a sudden halt and she takes the gloves from me. “You bought me gloves?”
“Yeah, earlier tonight.”
“You bought me gloves earlier tonight from Bendel’s?”
“I did.” I reach over and touch them again. “They’re cashmere.”
“Hardy, I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything. Just wear them.”
She pulls them off the hanger and slides her hands into them. “Oh my God. These are heaven. Heaven, I tell you.” Her body is clinging to mine, her arms wrapped around my neck cutting off my airway. “This is one of the most thoughtful gifts I’ve ever received.”
I loosen the noose of her arms, and cough. “They’re only gloves, V.”“You don’t understand. I was shopping today and every store was sold out. I was so disappointed, but here you are taking me to dinner at an impossible to get a reservation restaurant and pulling gloves from your pocket like they magically appeared after a wish. I don’t know where you came from, Hardy Richard, but I’m so fortunate to have you in my life. Thank you for the gloves. I love them.”
“You’re very welcome.”
She kisses my cheek and then takes my hand again. This time her hand is fuzzy and warm. Similar to my feelings right now.
Excitedly, she points, and announces, “There.”
“A hotdog stand?” I’m not disappointed but I am surprised. “I wasn’t filling enough?”
I’m elbowed. “You were too filling. As for food, let’s eat.”
Five minutes later, I’m standing on the corner of a Manhattan street holding the cart owner’s last two dogs while she carefully pulls the gloves off her hands and tucks them in her pockets.
Two minutes after that, she’s tossed the napkins and devoured the hot dog and she’s putting the gloves on like they are gold rings. I almost expect her to call them her precious. Freaky bastard.
We walk faster this time, both of us cold. Before we reach the building, she asks, “Will you stay?”
No build up or word foreplay. She just throws it out there like the opening pitch at the start of baseball season, and I catch it. Yes. Yes. Yes. “Sure,” I reply casually with a shrug, pretending I could take the offer or leave it.
What? Did you expect me to say no because of earlier? I’m a guy. We get over shit quick. Feelings are handled by hiding or ignoring them completely. If an emotion decides to hang around too long it basically becomes a round of hide the sausage. You know, tuck it here. Tuck it there. Tuck it anywhere you can shove it. Preferably into a warm, wet—the door to her building is opened.
The doorman is onto us. I’m sure he has a second sense for couples getting it on. He’s looking me over like an overprotective older brother, which thank God, she doesn’t have. Brothers can be real dicks to deal with when it comes to dating their sisters. Especially if said sister, after she begs you to hide said earlier sausage inside her, has an overly steroided brother bust into her room and start a fight while yelling, “Mine” and “Hands off my girl.” And the classic, “I will kill you.”
Then, as you’re running out the door with your frank n’ beans covered, you see them making up with a kiss. Yeah, now that’s a horrifying sight that stays with you long after you find out they’re stepsiblings, and they just met two years earlier. They’re still fucking. Christmas at their house must be very entertaining.
I’ve just heard of this kind of thing happening. It’s never happened to me. Nope . . . Not to me. But I digress . . .
I nod as we pass by and go back upstairs. In the elevator, we’re quiet. It’s late. We’re tired, and probably have too much on our minds. Things have really changed the last couple of weeks, and I never saw it coming. Even my initial blindside has been blindsided. I sneak a glimpse of her just as she’s sneaking one of me. What must she think of me? What goes on inside that pretty head of hers? I sometimes wonder if she feels the same about me as I do her. Communicating those feelings could probably set things straight, but what’s the fun in that? Aren’t our twenties about fumbling around trying to find ourselves, and hoping love finds us along the way? Fuck, who knows? I sure don’t. Anyway, she’s made her choice more than clear.