First Comes Love(14)By: Emily Goodwin
I follow her as she walks through the living room and into the kitchen, disappearing into the laundry room. I open the fridge and look for something to eat. I’m hungry, and Lauren probably is too. Her fridge is full, but it’s all ingredients, all healthy stuff. I don’t want to make anything. I close the fridge and open the freezer.
There is one frozen pizza, buried underneath more healthy crap … and a bottle of tequila. I pull it out, grinning.
“For someone who claims not to drink,” I start when she comes back into the kitchen. “This is an awfully big bottle of booze.”
She waves her hand in the air. “I didn’t say I don’t drink, I just don’t like the way alcohol tastes. And it’s from a sex toy party. Months ago.”
My eyebrows go up. “You had a sex toy party?”
“Yeah, why is that so surprising.”
I step back and let the freezer door close. “You just don’t seem like the type who would.”
“You’re typing me?”
“It’s hard not to, after knowing you for so long.”
She crosses the kitchen and leans against the counter next to me. Her arms cross and she tips her head. “So, tell me what type I am.”
I give her a good look over. Her wet hair is brushed and pulled into a ponytail. She removed her rain-smeared makeup and is comfortably dressed in a tank top and pajama pants … which I think are patterned with Disney princesses. She took off her bra and I can just make out the outline of her nipples.
No, stop it. Off-limits, remember?
“You’re a bit uptight. Maybe a little prude-ish. Definitely not the type who’d have sex toy parties … or even buy sex toys. You don’t like to get in trouble or do anything you think is wrong. And really, that means what you think others think.” I set the bottle of tequila down. “Actually, that’s your whole issue.”
“Oh, I have issues now?”
I nod. “Yeah. You’re so worried about what other people think of you, you forget to live your own life.”
Her eyes narrow. “My own life is fine, thank you very much. I’m happy, I work hard, and I’m headed in the right direction.”
“And you give that answer to everyone, right? You don’t have to be perfect all the time, you know.”
She gives me a what-the-fuck-are-you-smoking look, then laughs. “I’m far from perfect. I’d think you of all people would know that.”
She’s perfect to me.
“Yeah, you’re right. You’re not that great.” I shrug and put my hand on the fridge. “Got anything good to eat?”
“You’re not that great either,” she snaps. “And yes, I do. What do you want?” Her tone hasn’t changed and I’m not sure if she’s serious. Then she steps in close. “Is a sandwich okay?”
Well, I guess she is. “Yeah, that’s fine.”
I sit at a table under a window, watching the rain come down while Lauren pulls out what she needs to make us both sandwiches. Suddenly, she turns to me.
“I’m not a prude. And I do have sex toys. That I use. And enjoy.”
I try not to think about that, try to keep the image of her pleasuring herself out of my head.
“And there is nothing wrong with being good and staying out of trouble. Maybe your issue is seeing others not fuck up their lives make you feel guilty.”
I slowly shake my head. “Nope. No guilt. I do what I want and don’t care what others think. I’m just as happy as you are.”
“I don’t care what others think either. And that’s good for you,” she says and puts four pieces of bread on the counter with more force than necessary. I watch her open a bag of lunch meat and cheese, all the while glaring at the food. “And I’m not a prude!” she finally exclaims. “I can have fun. I can be spontaneous. Wild, even.”
“Uh-huh, sure you can.” Pushing her buttons is pushing mine. I need to stop.
She glares at me then snatches the bottle of tequila from the counter, gets two shot glasses, and fills them both. She puts one in front of me and holds hers up.
“See?” she says after she takes it.
“That doesn’t make you wild.”
She takes another shot. “Whatever.”
I smile when she turns her back, drinking my shot slowly. Nothing is said while she finishes making our food. She comes to the table with both plates, and the bottle of tequila. She takes another shot.
“You might want to slow down,” I warn her. She ignores me. I eat half the sandwich before speaking again. “Thanks. For this and for letting me wait out the rain.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she says and her words slur. In a few minutes, that last shot will hit her and she’ll be fucked. Then I’m tucking her into bed and parking my ass on the couch until morning. “I wouldn’t make you ride in the rain. Seems dangerous.”