Page 115 of Take It Offline
His apartment is at least three times the size of mine, and I can tell we share the same soft spot for the essentials—that monstrosity of a television for Charlie, my beautiful couch. Charlie’s made an effort to combat the gray floors and walls with splashes of color, most of it in the form of animal toys.
There’s a dog bed on one side of the television and a cat tree on the other. Food and water bowls sit drying on a rack over the sink, and colorful toys are scattered through the apartment like the pet version of an Easter egg hunt.
There are easily more animal items than human ones. Besides a coffee machine, the kitchen counter is bare, and the same goes for the living room.
My heart aches. I’m tired of seeing empty spaces, and Charlie is too full of life to live within a blank slate.
In a hopeful moment, I sit cross-legged on the floor, batting away the robot vacuum that is dutifully clearing away stray cat hairs, and open the TV cabinet.
I’ve lost count now of the movies Charlie and I have watched together, passing comments through text and, more and more frequently, a phone call. He never complains when I talk over the movie to point out a detail my Nana passed on. I pretend not to love his commentary, even as I laugh. So, I’m curious to see how many of his favorites he owns. But inside the cupboard, instead of a row of DVDs, I’m met with a series of Polaroids and a small box of childhood collectibles.
With my hand on the lid, I debate whether to open it but stop when my phone buzzes.
It takes thirty seconds to locate it—dropped and kicked under the couch during our mutual strip earlier. On the screen is a text from my mother.
A blush rises all the way from my chest. Semi naked is no state to be talking to my parents in.
“Morning, sunshine,” comes from the bedroom.
Charlie is standing in the doorway, smiling. Sunlight creates a halo around him, his hair out of control. My fingers curl with the urge to run through it.
“Technically, it’s noon,” I tease.
“Only if you want to be specific.” He makes his way straight to the coffee machine. “Something important?” he asks, nodding at my phone.
I send off a quick “call you later” response and join him in the kitchen. He’s pulled on the sweats he was wearing when I arrived, but he hasn’t bothered with a shirt, a decision I’m fully onboard with. I’d be okay if he never wore a shirt again.
I slip my arms around his waist and bury my nose in his neck. His skin is warm, and he smells like sex and sleep. I never want to be anywhere else.
“My birthday is next week, and Mom is trying to convince me to let the foundation throw a luncheon for it, but it’s the last thing I want.”
“Then don’t do it,” he says, pressing a button on the coffee maker. “Do what you want to. Although if you say you want to work, I’m withholding sex.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
Tugging me closer, he grabs my ass and squeezes. “I’ll take that bet.”
As penance, I scratch my nails lightly across his skin, just enough to tingle.
His breath stutters. When he opens his eyes, his expression is serious. “You seemed to enjoy being in the driver’s seat earlier. Have you ever tried that before?”
I almost want to laugh. It sometimes feels as though my entire life has been an endless search for control. “No. I’ve thought about it, but no one’s ever been interested before.”
“I am. You’re sexy when you’re in control.”
My heart pounds out a happy rhythm. “So are you.” It’s true. When I asked Charlie to take over, to help me let go, he did it wonderfully.
All while making sure I still felt powerful.
“That’s why management likes you. You’re decisive.”
He shrugs. “I’d rather say sorry than please.”
I can’t help but laugh. That explains a lot.
But damn, it’s a delicious picture. Charlie asking, begging. The fantasy sears every other thought from my mind. “Would you say please if I asked you to?”
He’s thinking of it too, I can tell. The hitch in his breathing, the open hunger in his eyes.
