The Girl He Knows (11 page)

Pulling a blanket from my closet, I cover him, tucking in his feet the way he likes. I grab my pajamas, change, and wash up in the bathroom. Just a few weeks ago, I was sneaking out of a window, hoping to avoid any aftermath. Now, I crawl into a bed to lie next to him. This time there will be no sneaking out of my own house.

It’s nice lying in the dark listening to the sounds a man makes when he sleeps and knowing someone is on the other side of my very large bed.

I snuggle under the covers, forcing myself to stay on my side, and fall asleep watching Hank. I’m pulled from slumber when someone whispers my name and I feel a soft caress on my cheek. I catch the minty smell of toothpaste.

Warm kisses are pressed to my jawline, and I smile.

Mmm, this is either heaven or the best dream ever.

I roll toward a whisper and his warmth and feel the pull of arms bringing me closer. I moan Hank’s name.

“Shh.” He kisses me long and hard. “Lord, Paisley. I can’t get enough of you.” He moves to tease the sensitive spot below my ear.

With only the moonlight and our senses to guide us, we caress, explore, and learn more with each touch. We clutch each other, pressing our bodies together, melding them into one as joint tremors rock us, stifling our cries with kisses. It’s the best way to wake up and an even better way to fall back to sleep, snuggled in his arms.

I wake for the second time with the swirling sensation of need filling me. Hank nuzzles my neck. Is he up for a quickie? Bright sunlight streams through my room and between the warm beams and the feel of Hank against me I bask in my happiness. Even though I don’t hear anything from the other rooms, I assume his friends still are out there. Therefore, I reason, a quickie sounds like the best, most logical, solution.

His arm is across my chest so I snuggle in closer, hoping he’ll get the hint, don’t want to seem too brazen after all.

“I’m going to jump in your shower, OK?” he whispers, pressing a light, wispy kiss on my neck.

I nod, too disappointed to say anything.

So much for a quickie and my art of subtlety.

I guess it’s better to not go there anyway with his friends potentially waking at any moment. I roll to my side to watch a buck-naked Hank slide out of bed, my gaze drawn to his backside. He thinks nothing of walking out into the hallway to my bathroom without so much as a hand covering his bits.

I close my eyes and stretch, satiated by the memory of what occurred last night. I’m complete, warm and whole. I want a lifetime of this.

My eyes pop open as I contemplate my last thought. Clearly, there’s something wrong with me. Nothing permanent can come from this and entertaining the thought is asking for trouble. I repeat my mantra: Hank’s my rebound guy, I’m playing the field, gaining experience, and living for me. I’m not settling down. To think otherwise is stupid.

Hank turns on the water and his smooth baritone carries through the wall as he hums. In my heart of hearts, I know I allow this to go on because he would never purposely hurt me, because it’s safe. If we got together, I believe, without a doubt, his absence for long periods, the waiting, and uncertainty would destroy us. I’m not a strong enough person.

I take comfort in knowing our friendship has withstood the test of time and when we end this agreement, say good-bye, and move on, we’ll be able to remain friends. I need to make sure we don’t go too far and cross the line. Not that I’m sure I even know what too far looks like. I hope I’ll know it when I see it.

Listening to him hum in the shower is something I choose to simply enjoy and not make too much of. Like Hank said before, I’m not going to let things get crazy in my head. I’m going to relax, take this experience for what it’s worth.

I roll onto my back and stretch, my limbs limp noodles. It isn’t until Hank’s humming suddenly stops, followed by a burst of laughter, that I remember what’s in my shower.

Hank’s found BOB.

I sit up, mortified, and clutch the sheets to my chest.

Ohmigod!

Can I claim it’s someone else’s? Damn that Josie. Damn that Kenley.

I’m suspended in time, uncertain about what to do. The shower turns off and the curtain’s metal rings collide with a tinny sound as Hank slides open the curtain. It propels me into motion. I leap from the bed, but my foot is caught in the tangle of sheets, and I fall to the floor, missing a blow to the head from my dresser by a hair. I struggle like a mad woman to detangle myself before he comes back. I tug on the sheet while pulling back my foot, my hands tremble, my heart races and pounds in my ears.

“Come on, come on, come on,” I plead with the sheet.

My foot jerks free and knocks against the side of the bed. Wincing, I spring up and limp hop to my closet hoping to pull out my robe in time. Hank flings open the door, wrapped only in a towel, holding the purple penis.

I scream in horror. Using my hands, I attempt to cover both my girl parts and my eyes.

“What’s this?” he asks with a look of such naughtiness I know my soul is damned to hell just for owning such a thing.

“Close the door, Hank,” I cry. I’m afraid one of his friends might pass and stop to check out the commotion.

“Don’t worry about them. I heard them leave earlier. Probably out for breakfast. I don’t think they’ll be back for a while.” He steps closer. His eyes gleam.

Hank waves the toy around and takes another step. He cocks one eyebrow and turns on the battery end of the penis, making it hum.

God help me. I want to die.

With one hand still covering my girl parts, I pull my robe from the closet. “My girlfriends gave it to me as a gift.” I clutch the material to me, stepping back toward the bed.

“Have you used one of these before?”

I shake my head. He stands a breath away and I’m paralyzed.

“Ah. Let me show you.” Hank pounces on me before I’m able to process his words. One minute I’m next to the bed with my robe clutched to my front, the next I’m thrown on the bed. Hank, minus the towel, is on top of me, and BOB is discarded.

With a hot, firm kiss on my mouth, Hank brands me with his touch. There is something about the press of his hard body against mine, the ripples that define the muscles in his upper arms, that sucks out all reason and self-control and leaves me wanton and needy. Like a top spinning crazily, I try to touch all of him. To feel everything at once. I nip at his neck and wrap my legs around him, grinding my pelvis into him while he caresses me with the strokes of a hungry man. I slide against him and get as close as possible. I want to fuse our bodies. Our need for each other overflows.

“You’re going to kill me,” he says.

His words empower me to take control, something I’ve never done in the past and yet I know just what to do, where to touch. I guide, I lead, and I command. We laugh at our haste, as our bodies collide, and press kisses wherever we can. We can’t stop looking at each other as we meet the other’s needs.

“Sweet Jesus,” he exclaims as I cry out.

It’s the best quickie. Of all time. Ever.

Hank rolls me beneath him and we pant in unison. His grin is big, his dimples deeper than normal and without thinking, I rise up, press a quick peck on his chin, and plop back with a laugh. My skin tingles with pleasure and tiny goose bumps ripple over Hank’s arms. Moments pass as we search each other’s faces. He lowers his head, our lips a breath apart before he gently brushes his against mine.

I close my eyes and think about rocking his world again. If this is the life of a hussy, I’m willing to give it a shot. I’ll continue to work and shop. I won’t need to eat or exercise, these bedroom activities will be my substitute. I’d probably be the most relaxed I’ve been in my entire life if I go on a sex-with-Hank diet.

He picks up one of my curls and twirls it around his finger.

“Better get up, babe, fellas will be here in a short time.” He rolls onto his back, squeals like a girl, and pops up off the bed. BOB, still humming, apparently poked Hank in the backside. Hank picks it up and grins at me.

“Here I’ll... You can...just...ah...give it to me.” I reach over and take it, fumble to turn it off, and slide it into the nightstand drawer.

“I’m curious. You’re obviously uncomfortable with it. Why do you even have one?” He pulls the towel off the bed and wraps it around his waist.

“It’s my new boyfriend until I find an official one. Josie says I may never want to find a real one because I could get too attached.” I gesture to the drawer with my head and try to make light of my embarrassment.

Hank stares at me. “What determines an official boyfriend?”

I shrug. “I don’t know, haven’t had one since Trevor.”

I roll out of bed and pull on my pajamas. Though we just made insanely hot love, I’m still shy about him seeing my body.

“Might sleeping with someone count in the boyfriend equation?” His face seems to harden, and he glances at his feet. My mind races, trying to understand where he’s going with this. But I feel compelled to remind him this was his idea.

“In the past, I only slept with someone after they were my boyfriend.” I hold up two fingers to remind him of my limited experience. “This is new territory for me. What you and I are doing. If this was the past and I went a day without hearing from you. Well...cuckoo.” I laugh awkwardly while making crazy signs beside my head.

“So what’s—” He starts.

“I don’t want to be that person anymore. Maybe it’s because I trust you or have known you forever or both. I dunno, I don’t feel so crazy about this.” I sweep my hand toward my rumpled bed and give him a tentative smile. “I like how comfortable this is. How I don’t have any expectations.”

My best guess about this conversation is Hank’s history of avoiding relationships. In the years I’ve known him, I’ve never seen him excited or eager about one. Considering those facts and his recent statement regarding his work life and limited time to invest in a relationship, I’m guessing he’s worried I’m going to somehow jack up his ten-year plan or whatever it is he has plotted out.

“Don’t worry,” I continue, “I don’t quite know what this is between us, but I’m not interested in ruining it. Or forcing you into a relationship that either of us might not want. I’m enjoying our time together.” I shrug and smile up at him. I hope I’ve said the right thing.

Gone is the soft, sweet look he gave me moments ago in bed, replacing it is one of granite, the only movement a slight tic in his jaw.

“I mean, this is what you wanted, right? Us getting together to have a good time?” I ask.

His jaw unclenches and he looks at the floor, sighs, and looks back at me. “Yeah, this is what I wanted. You still comfortable with everything?”

I rewind, looking back over yesterday and today and until now haven’t been a bit uncomfortable. Does he means am I still comfortable because we’ve sexed it up again?

“Oh, uh...well I do have a date next weekend so I’ll let you know then.” My laugh comes out sounding nervous. Honestly, thinking about it does feel kind of weird. I search his face for signs that he may find it weird too but he doesn’t look at me, instead he pulls on last night’s jeans and shirt.

“I’ll be waiting in the living room when you’re ready to take me to get Surge’s truck.”

“Wait.” I reach out and grab his arm, “Have I said something wrong? I’m trying to make sure we don’t cross the line. Are you comfortable with everything?”

He looks at me and sighs again. “We’re cool.”

He picks up his shoes and leaves.

The room, once warm by our energy, has turned cold. I quickly dress in running clothes, pull my hair into a ponytail, and head out to the living room. We ride in silence to the speedway. The trip seems to last forever with Hank sitting like a rock beside me. Once there, we jump the truck off and he follows me back to get his friends. He doesn’t even get out of the truck to say good-bye. I stand on my balcony, watching them drive away and wonder what went wrong.

My date with Jake falls the week after Hank was in town for the race. I haven’t heard from Hank. Usually I get a brief e-mail or text, but it’s been radio silence since they drove away. I admit I’m too chicken to send him any text or e-mail. Besides, what would I say? Instead I let it hang there, this awkward silence.

But the heaviness of what happened or didn’t happen that morning leaves me unsettled as I dress for my date. About twice a day for a week I’ve thought about canceling on Jake. Funny enough, it was Josie who convinced me to keep it.

I believe her exact words were, “Oh no, go on a date with asshole Jake. Maybe you’ll actually get a fucking clue and wake up.”

I hate first dates. I hate that this may have made things awkward between Hank and me. I hate how I’m thinking of him first and not my original goal of dating. I hate telling people about my life, not to mention my dad. I hate small talk and the awkward moment at the end of the evening where you either want them to kiss you or you can’t get away fast enough. Not a healthy mindset, I reckon, if I plan to have a successful first date with Jake.

I’m in a bohemian mood so I decide on a wrap skirt, peasant blouse, and use a flat iron on my hair. I weave a braid across the front, pulling my hair away from my face and use a flower clip to bind it. As I put on my makeup, I try and calm my nerves by reciting a Robby Burns poem. It’s a trick my dad and Nana always did to distract us. I pick my favorite.

“But to see her was to love her,

Love but her, and love forever.

Had we never lov’d sae kindly,

Had we never lov’d sae blindly,

Never met—or never parted—

We had ne’er been broken hearted.”

Reciting the poem makes me think of Hank and his cadence, which reminds me of the folded paper he put in my purse. I stop and grab my purse and pull the paper from the front pocket. As I unfold it, I find he’s ripped it into the shape of a heart. Written on the paper is the same poem and scribbled in Hank’s slanted writing is,
This is the poem I turned into cadence.