Pretty Girls Don't Cry (4 page)

His voice deep and husky, he said, “Are you going to invite me in?”

“Oh, I want to.” They kissed again, hungrily.

“I understand,” he said.

“No, it's just ... I live with my parents. This is their house.”

“I don't live with my parents,” he said, unfastening his seat belt to shift a little closer to kiss her again. “This is nice, we're getting to know each other.”

“No roommates?” she asked.

“None that I know of.”

“It's not all that late,” she said.

“I have some wine at my flat. Or coffee. Would you like some coffee?”

Nora put her hands back down on his muscular thighs and gave them a squeeze. “I'd like whatever you're offering.”

“I have tea, I have the aforementioned wine, and I have fizzy things too.”

“Drive us there now, then, before my parents come to the window wondering what fool is idling their noisy car out front.”

“As you wish.”

*

Bobby lived on the fifth floor of a new building. The lobby had a circular geometric pattern on the floor, in black and white marble tile, and a rough-looking chandelier with welded-together gears and metal parts.

“Don't be too impressed,” Bobby said as Nora gaped up at the metal art. “My place is quite standard by comparison. They put all the glitz up front.”

“Like the ad agency office,” Nora said.

When they stepped into the mirrored elevator, Nora caught a glimpse of herself in the unflattering lighting. To avoid having Bobby look at her in the light, she grabbed him by the jacket lapels and pulled him in for a kiss. By the time they reached his floor, Bobby had Nora pressed against the mirror, her bum just over the handrail. He held her hips with both hands and leaned into her, kissing her on the mouth and then on the neck and the collarbone. She ran her fingers through his soft red hair, breaking up the little spikes held together by hair product. His head smelled fresh, and being so close to him was intoxicating.

They had just met, yet they'd been speaking on the phone a few times a week for months, because Nora was the voice for some of the agency's clients. They'd both made each other laugh, but she'd always assumed he was much older, like a father figure, and she hadn't entertained the idea of this—of
all
of this—happening.

The elevator doors opened with a ding, then closed again, with them still inside. Their faces moist from shared breath and kissing, they laughed as the elevator stood still.

“Is there a camera in here? This is how those viral videos start,” Nora said. “We have to leave the elevator, now, or I'll be talking about a certain hot elevator video Monday on the afternoon show.”

“I like it here with you.” He grabbed a handful of her hair. “This hair! I just want to eat it up. Is that a fetish? I just want to eat
you
up.” He made a trail of kisses down her neck.

At the mention of fetish, Nora had tensed up. Reality snuck in with that word. When would she tell him about her foot?
Later
, she decided. Not now.

The elevator suddenly shifted without notice, and began moving. They pulled apart just before the doors opened on another floor. Bobby held her with her back against him, his arms around her waist, hiding his excitement from the new elevator passengers, but making it only more apparent to Nora. Other bodies were so warm.

She pressed the number for his floor, and this time, they got off the elevator. Nora giggled nervously as Bobby pretended to try all his keys before finding the one for the door.

Inside, she noted the apartment was
Bachelor Chic
, as expected, with black leather furniture and a large, wall-mounted television. A basket of unfolded laundry sat on the coffee table. Except for the laundry, it was quite tidy.

Without a word, he led her to the bedroom. There she stood, her purse at her feet, as Bobby folded down the covers on the bed, revealing dark gray sheets. He turned on one of the bedside lamps and dimmed it, then pulled a small box from a drawer. “In case we need these, they're here,” he said.

Nora took off her shoes. She was wearing thigh-high stockings under her jeans. She removed her shirt and bra. Bobby, who had already taken off his jacket and laid it across a chair, sat on the bed and slowly began unbuttoning his dress shirt.

“Are you cold?” he asked.

“A little,” she said, which was a lie. She was nervous about the foot, the damn foot. She didn't want to tell him. She eased down her jeans, careful to keep the stockings on. “Mind if I keep these on?” The tops of the opaque black stockings were a decorative lace, and matched her underwear.

“I'd be delighted,” Bobby said with a huge grin. He unbuckled his belt, loosened the top of his dress pants, and patted his legs. “Come here.”

“Can you turn the light off?”

He fell back on the bed and clicked the lamp off. Only the light from the city filtered in through the blinds. “You have nothing to be shy about, you hot, sexy thing.”

Nora stepped forward and climbed on the bed, on Bobby's right side, with her right leg tucked slightly back so the room-temperature silicone just under the stocking didn't contact Bobby's leg. She kissed him on the mouth as her hand explored his chest and the hair that ran down the middle of his stomach. There was enough light in the room for her to see the hair was red, like the hair on his head.

“Does the carpet match the drapes?” she asked with a giggle.

He rolled on his side and pulled at the seam of her underwear. “I'll show you mine if you show me yours.”

“Okay,” she said, and she carefully removed her underwear while he pushed down his pants and then his own underwear, a pair of boxers.

He gently pulled her toward him, and when their naked bodies made full contact from top to bottom, she shivered again, though she wasn't cold. They did not speak again for the next hour.

*

Having sex with someone she hardly knew was thrilling, though not that unusual. Of the grand total of five guys Nora had slept with, four of them had been one-time-only deals. Of those four, three had been guy friends or acquaintances in college, and one had been a professor. She hadn't regretted any of those, because she didn't want to be one of those women who marries her high school sweetheart and spends the rest of her days wondering what sex might be like with a different man. Nora had slept with men of different ages and ethnicities and body types.

Her on-again, off-again boyfriend during her first year at college was the boy she lost her virginity to. Andrew worried he was overweight and refused to take his shirt off when they were in bed together, but he was eager to please her, and they'd experimented with each other for hours. In retrospect, they hadn't spent much time together that wasn't in bed. Crawling under the covers with cuddly Andrew was the equivalent of curling up with a good book and a pint of ice cream, only with the bonus of orgasms.

They'd reconnected over the next few years more than a dozen times, whenever one or the other got a craving that ice cream wouldn't fix. Nora had the impression she could still call him any time, even though it had been three years, and he'd be eager to jump on a plane or train to warm her bed again. Living with her parents as she did, it would have to be in a hotel. Her parents were progressive, but they weren't that progressive.

The last time she'd seen Andrew had been the last time she'd had sex. Andrew told her she was beautiful. No other guy had ever said that to her. They always used the word
sexy
, or
hot
.

The professor had said Nora had a
rockin' body
. He wasn't that much older than the students, but she still liked to think of him as
the professor
, so proud was she of her one taboo-breaking night. He'd clenched his jaw and worked her like a piece of gym equipment, and while it hadn't been satisfying, it had made for a good story. Tianne had asked to hear about that sordid night, in full detail, several times.

Nora had loved some men, but none of them overlapped with the group of men she'd slept with, though she did feel some tenderness for Andrew.

The men she fell for were the ones all the girls went crazy for. At the side of the room, holding up the walls at every party, Nora never stood a chance with the guys who were so popular they had their choice of girls, sometimes two at once.

That night with Bobby, she'd kept her eyes open, drinking in his good looks.

It wasn't right to grade men, but if she did, Bobby's points would blow away everyone in Nora's bedroom history. He had a lean, muscular body, and he was confident. He moved and kissed her with such presence, as though he could imagine what his touch felt like to her, and he varied between soft caresses and animal grabs in a way that made her eagerly anticipate each second to come. By the look on his dimly-lit face—a look of rapture—she wasn't doing so bad either.

They switched so she could be on top, and she leaned back to look at him.

Finally, she relaxed, and her hands and body moved without thought.

She was whole; she was complete.

Chapter 3

Nora had drifted off with her black stockings on, next to Bobby. She woke up uncomfortable and realized it was her right foot—or rather, the object attached to her residual limb—the prosthetic she never slept with. Half-asleep, she got up and retrieved her cell phone to send a quick text letting her parents know she was spending the night at a friend's. Her parents wouldn't be awoken by the text, but they'd be assured the next morning when they discovered her bed empty, and
probably
wouldn't call the police.

The foot. She had to take it off, or she'd never sleep, and besides, she needed to let her skin breathe overnight. The suction fit didn't allow for a lot of airflow.

The memory of a stupid movie popped into her head. In the film, the boy woke up with a girl and her prosthetic leg in the bed between them, for comedic effect. It was humorous, in the abstract sense, but not specifically for Nora. Bobby was a nice guy, and it wouldn't be right for her to shock him like that. She could tuck the foot under the bed, but if he ran his hands down her legs in the morning, she didn't want to see a shocked look on his face.

Going home wasn't appealing, because she wasn't finished with him.

She tapped him on the shoulder.

“Mmm, what's up, sugarlips?” he said groggily.

“Bobby, I need to tell you something. I lost my right foot in an accident years ago. I wear a prosthetic. I'm going to remove it right now and put it under the bed. I'll keep myself covered so you won't have to see anything.”

“Okay,” he said, pecking her on the cheek before rolling over.

“Okay?”

“I know about your foot. It's on your bio page, for the radio station.”

“No, it isn't.”

He sat up. “Oh. I guess I must have googled it. I had a crush on you from the phone and I wanted to see what you looked like.”

“You googled me?” Of course, that made sense. While the accident wasn't something well-known at the radio station, there had been newspaper stories over the years.
Young people overcoming their disabilities,
and other uplifting tales.

He said, “Yeah. I kept trying to get you out for a date, but you weren't picking up on my subtle hints over the phone. I had to do a little digging to make sure you weren't married, or eighty.”

“What if I were eighty?”

He shrugged. “I'd still shag you. Shag. I haven't said that word in ages. Do you like it when I talk all English to you?” He tickled her stomach. “Shag, shag, shag. Do you know what we call umbrellas? Brollies.”

She sighed. “You are a strange and wonderful man.” She removed the prosthetic and the thin stocking she wore over her residual limb. Normally, she'd clean the interior with a damp sponge, but this once she'd tuck it under the bed and forget it. Bobby didn't look down. “You can look,” she said.

He scanned slowly down her body and back up again. “You are a goddess,” he said, grabbing for her hair again. “This hair! I still want to eat it. Don't ever straighten this hair, promise.”

“What if I ... had a little work done on my nose?” She covered her nose with her hand. “I wouldn't change much, just a bit of refinement.”

He pulled her hand down. “Sure, if it makes you happy. I think you're a sexy little beast. Hey, do you like spanking?”

“What?”

“Just kidding, me neither. Unless you do.” He rolled over onto his stomach, showing his bare bottom. “Smack it.”

“Uh.” She tapped his bum cheek timidly.

“Like you mean it. I'm a very bad boy.”

“Okay,” Nora said, and she slapped him a little harder. She didn't like this type of play, but she didn't hate it.

To Nora, spanking or goofing around like this was funny, like two kids playing doctor or daring each other to do strange things. It didn't feel sexy, like slow dancing at the club or kissing in the elevator had.

She spanked Bobby and they had sex again, though this time she felt sad afterward.

Somewhere in the world was a man she could fall in love with forever, but it wasn't Bobby. Snuggled in his arms, she felt more alone than ever.

*

On Saturday morning, the bitter truth came out: Bobby had no coffee in the place, just five types of tea that would be equally useless against Nora's caffeine withdrawal. “We'll go out,” Bobby offered.

They were still in bed, and she pushed the blankets off. “I'll just get a cab home, don't worry about it.”

“At least let me buy you a coffee at the little place downstairs, it's the least I can do for last night.” He kissed her on the hip and grinned. “I'll get you a fresh towel so you can wash up.”

Nora considered Bobby's bathroom, which contained only a stand-up shower. Although generous in size, it had not been adapted for her use like the one at her home. Usually in situations like this, she'd opt for a bath, but there was no tub. As much as people with a disability insist their lives are exactly like everyone else's ... well, sometimes there were differences. She lied about having no time, and said she'd skip the shower.