Something terrible has happened for him to be this way. And I’ll be there, waiting patiently for when he finally wants to reveal those reasons. Something tells me that by giving him the promise he all but begged for, to not leave him, his trust in me has risen to a new level.
Twitch asked me to meet him at my place when I was done with work. He said he was taking the afternoon off and we’re going to be staying at his house tonight.
Everything inside of me told me not to go. To not be at his beck and call. That I needed to be independent.
But all I could think about was how much lost time we had to make up for.
Truthfully, learning about Twitch is more important to me than anything.
And tonight is going to be the night.
I text him back, telling him that I would meet him and that he’d better be ready to talk.
And talk is what we did.
I found him in my room when I got home, and at seeing my selection of underwear, he curled his lip in disgust. “Seriously, babe?”
“What?” I asked.
He took a pair of my pink cotton panties and stretched them between his fingers. Making a slingshot with them, he flung them across my room, then stalked over to the bed.
Sitting, his eyes took in my body as if he were undressing me with his eyes. And it made me a little uncomfortable. I’m not used to being scrutinised so close up.
He pulled me towards him so I stood between his legs. His hands travelled up my sides, then over my breasts and back down. He muttered vacantly, “This body.”
Snapping out of his daze, he offered, “A body like this is a gift. So it needs to be gift-wrapped. I like my gifts to be wrapped in sexy.” Trailing a fingertip from my belly button down to the top of my mound, he muttered, “I like my women in silk and lace, frills and bows. I don’t do pretty, but I like women who do pretty.”
Looking up at me, he stated, “You do pretty, you won’t get rid of me.”
For Twitch, that was kind of sweet. And very macho. And seriously sexist.
The feminist in me booed and hissed, while the horny teenager in me slumped against a wall and sighed dreamily.
Not wanting him to know that, I teased, “You’re my stalker. I couldn’t get rid of you if I tried.”
His lips twitched. “I like Lexi. She’s funny. Not a huge fan of Alexa, though. She kinda sucks.”
I was confused. “But I’m Alexa. And Lexi. We’re the same person.”
He grinned hugely, “No. You’re not. Just like I’m Twitch sometimes, but I’m also…” My eyes widened.
Please tell me. Open up to me. Please.
His smile faltered only a second before he said, “C’mon. Let’s go home.”
Home.
With Twitch.
That felt so right that my mind wasn’t able to form words. Mouth parted, I simply nodded, and off we went.
Home.
Spending the afternoon with Lexi was crazy.
It was crazy because I don’t remember a time in my life when I laughed so much or smiled so hard. The woman is a serious clown. She’s adorably goofy. And I love that.
I never thought it could be this way with the two of us.
She says she loves me. And when she said it in anger, I knew it was true. I can’t tell her how I feel about her yet. I need her to know me – all of me – before I can tell her that. I have my reasons.
We spent the day outdoors. She dressed herself in the bright yellow sundress I bought her, after an argument which lasted almost an hour about me buying her things. She lectured me about people starving around the world, and about kids living on the streets. She only gave up her argument when I blurted, “I know, Lex. I was a street kid. So I get it.” Her face turned soft and her argument died. I added, “Just wanted to do something nice for my girl, okay?”
Standing by her dresser, she answered quietly, “Okay, honey.”
Like I said, I always win.
I showed her some of my favorite places in the city, including a small Italian café where we had something light for dinner. She said smiling, “You like Italian food, huh?”
Leaning back in my chair, I told her, “I think it’s got something to do with my heritage. I love Italian food. It’s my favorite.”
She smiled harder. I’m sure it had something to do with the fact that I was slowly giving her information about myself. “Okay, then. I’ll remember that,” she uttered.
Hand-in-hand, we walked all over, mostly in silence, but every now and then explaining to the other what places we liked and why.
I found out that Lexi loves Mexican food. The spicier the better. She also told me that she made a mean cocoa, as long as I didn’t mind a lot of booze in it. She mentioned her brother, which held my attention. She said he was a great brother and was extremely protective. When I asked where he was, she pulled her emotions back inside of her and told me blankly that she hadn’t spoken to him in a while, but the last time she checked, he was back in the US.
It made my chest ache for her.