How does she do it
I wonder how she is so good
She doesn’t even watch
As the ball whizzes by
She’s always happy to win the game.
Despite having slept on an air mattress, I wake surprisingly rested. Rising, I make my way to the bathroom. I look back over my shoulder and grin at the sight of River sleeping so peacefully. I notice again we don’t seem to have sides of the bed. I quietly pad over to his closet and find a white button down shirt on top of a bunch of boxes. While slipping it on, something grabs my attention. The top box has River’s boxers in it and Pac-Man catches my eye immediately. Pac-Man? Really? I love Pac-Man! When I was younger, my father used to take me to an old-fashioned arcade down the street from The Greek at least once a week. Still grinning, I slip on the boxers and make my way through the empty house to the kitchen in search of coffee.
Walking down the hallway that leads to the living room, I think about how we spent the remainder of yesterday’s daylight hours in his room getting to know each other in a more intimate manner. I’m surprised by how comfortable I feel with him; the ease and playfulness we experience together is simply intoxicating. It keeps me wanting more, and I’m pretty sure it keeps River wanting more as well.
When the darkness fell upon us last night, the Hollywood sign glowed in the distance. After stepping outside to take it all in, we made our way back inside to the living room where we ordered pizza and bottles of water. We ate and talked, then we laughed outrageously watching Letterman discuss his version of Fifty Shades of Grey while we lie together on his new couch. Finally, we made our way back to his bedroom and continued our most intimate discovery of each other.
Entering the kitchen, I don’t see a coffee pot anywhere, so whether or not he has coffee is irrelevant. He actually has nothing in his kitchen. No food, no small appliances, not even silverware.
I stand in the doorway to the bedroom and look around at the blank canvas. It gives away nothing about the person River is. But I am not looking for it to do so; I already feel like I know him so well. Yesterday, I may have been a little taken aback by my surroundings and the whole LA feel, however, as I think about it now, I know that where River lives is not an indication of who he is. And besides, I actually love this house, especially the incredible view. In fact, I’m pretty sure that I actually . . . I dare not think it, not yet anyway.
As I watch him sleep so soundly, I can’t help but think about how the sound of River’s voice melts my insides, how his gaze makes me quiver, and how his touch drives me wild. Everything about him, about us, feels so right. These feelings I have are unknown to me. I’ve never felt them before, not even with Ben. Suddenly, guilt washes over me with the reality of this situation. The culpability is beaming through my mind like the bright sunlight streaming through the windows. What is the difference? Why are my feelings for River so much more explosive than they were for Ben?
Squinting my eyes while looking out the sheer covered glass doors, I try to squash the remorse I am feeling. I stare at the scenic view and try to think about River, the man I am enamored with now and not Ben, the man I loved for so long. But the guilt won’t stay at bay, and I’m racking my brain trying to remember if Ben ever made me feel the way River makes me feel. I can’t recall having the same feelings for Ben.
Breaking me free of those stray, unwanted thoughts and questions is the voice that liquefies my insides. “Good morning sexy girl,” he says, and I glance his way. Stretching and yawning, he looks ever so sexy himself. “Whatcha doing way over there?” he asks, holding his arms out for me to join him.
“Good morning yourself,” I respond, smiling while I walk toward him and almost jump into his arms. “I was looking for coffee.”