Page 18 of Love, Lines, and Alibis
We walked silently for the few blocks between the hotel and our building. My steps were so unbalanced—especially going down the hill—that David got closer and put his arm around my waist to make sure I would not fall. Since I promised you transparency, I’ll go ahead and admit that I may have overplayed the drunk role. I may have even been able to walk in a straight line for at least half a short block. But I was too thrilled at his body being so close to mine.
“Are you wearing my deodorant?” he asked, as the closeness between our bodies allowed him to sense not only my heat but also my fragrance.
“No, but my heater broke and I was trying to get a shower this morning when the alarm went off—and you know the rest,” I explained, not explicit enough to add,So, it’s you that you’re smelling on me because I still haven’t showered since last night.
When we got inside the Eastern Columbia, we saw that the elevators were finally working again. I may not have been as inebriated as I was pretending to be, but I still don’t think I could have climbed ten floors. We both got inside one of the elevators and David pressed the ten but not the two. Lusty, wanton anticipation grew in my body.
“So, we’re working on this together,” I said, trying to keep my mind cool and my thoughts steady. There was a chance I would start undressing him inside the elevator otherwise.
“It looks like we are, yes.”
I wondered if he could see my desire.
“Let’s not do a podcast though,” I said, feeling an urgency to pretend I wasn’t craving him with all my body. “I don’t want to beOnly Murders in the Building, LA Edition.”
“I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
Of course he didn’t.
The elevator finally made it to the tenth floor and the doors opened. I could feel the impatience between my legs. David walked me to my door.
“Are you coming inside?” I asked, tired of pretending I wasn’t starved for him.
“You’re still very drunk,” he told me, and I suddenly hoped I hadn’t stopped feigning disinterest because I knew that was going to be a no. “I’ve walked you to your door because you literally can’t stand straight, and I wanted to make sure you made it home safely. We both need some quality sleep tonight.”
“I hate it when you sound reasonable.”
And I did.
So I kissed him playfully on the cheek while tugging the waist of his jeans, told him good night, and closed the door of my apartment behind me.
I was still tipsily elated, so I undressed and proceeded to power on one of my favorite sex toys. There would sadly be no unexpected surprises that night.
I couldn’t avoid reminiscing about the previous evening though.
Don’t get ahead of yourself. This isnotthe chapter where I tell you what happened between David and me on Wednesday night. We’re still barely at the beginning of the second act and we’ve almost already kissed on the page once and have had a handful of mentions about how unbridled our orgasms are. We cannot have a sex scene so early in the story.
Please don’t hold that against me. Writing smut is hard and awkward but I enjoy the process anyway. It’s just that it goes against all the rules of slow-burn narration to have explicit content among the two main cast members so early in the story, and I’m a stickler for procedure and abiding by the genre’s formula.
But don’t be too disappointed. I promise I’ll be persuaded to tell you all about our night together before this manuscript ends. It’s relevant for the story, as a murder was taking place while we were shamelessly frolicking.
What I can tell you now is how incredibly disappointed I felt by that Wednesday night’s end.
David and I had fallen asleep after sex. And so that I’m clear, there was zero frustration to report up until this point. It was the first time that we’d slept together—literal meaning here, not the euphemistic one—since breaking up. He’d been incorrect in his assessment while we were having drinks at Agua Viva: Yes, sleepovers had never been on offer before. But they somehow had been the night of the murder.
We woke up in a jolt to what sounded like fireworks but could have equally been some shots. The noise startled me and then I realized that David was still in my bed. It was reassuring, having him by my side. He’d also woken up. We sought each other’s eyes in the darkness of the room—as if realizing what had happened and searching for certainty that everything was still okay. I took my hand to his jaw, closing in on his lips with mine.
I can’t shake the feeling that had I managed to kiss him then, our situation would be different at present. Perhaps we’d be sharing the same bed now.
Not only did I want to sleep with him on Wednesday, actually sleep, but I was even tempted to break the silence vows I seemed to have made with him and talk about whatever our relationship status was. I knew he’d been wanting to do it for a while now.
But I didn’t get the chance to kiss him. Right when my lips were brushing his and I could sense the notes of spices and honey on his breath, he moved away from me, from my mouth, my body. I keenly felt the absence of his warmth. I didn’t understand what was happening at first and grabbed his forearm, pleading with him to stay. He removed my hand from his arm, looked me in the eyes again, and we said the first words we’d exchanged since the breakup.
“Don’t go yet,” I begged.
“I need to,” he replied.
I guess now you’ll understand a bit better why I was so cross with David the following morning when a fire alarm threw us onto the streets and he started playing the exemplary neighbor.
