I pulled up his chest so my face was in his line of vision.
“We lived in a gated community, our backyard butted a golf course,” I said. “Every time I drove through that gate I wondered if it was there to keep people out or lock me in. I hated that gate. I hated living behind a gate and what that said. I hated golf and I still do. I had a girl who cleaned my house and I liked cleaning my house. It was a big house but I didn’t do anything in my life where I saw the results unless they were on a graph in some report and what does that really mean?” I planted a hand in his chest and kept going. “I didn’t even paint my own nails. I rarely cooked because Brad was never home and both our hours were crazed, not to mention he was carrying on an affair. If I wasn’t cleaning my house, I didn’t like it. It was too big, too shiny, too new. I didn’t drink grape Kool-Aid there because Brad’s not a Kool-Aid type of guy but I was scared I’d spill it on the furniture. Everything was so perfect. Nothing had personality.” I took a deep breath and kept babbling. “I didn’t like my job, I liked the people I worked with but I didn’t like my job. It was all about rules, about policy. I’m all for rules and policy, I just don’t want to be the one pushing them down people’s throats. I don’t know why I did it. I was lost after college and I got into human resources on a fluke. I liked it. It fascinated me, people fascinate me. And it just took off from there. My Dad taught me to be a good employee, work hard and smart, be loyal. It just ballooned and there I was, where I didn’t want to be, at work and at home. Sometimes I’d sit in my office and look at my computer and wonder how I got there and then I’d wonder why I stayed. But Brad liked the life we could live on our salaries and I loved him so I –”
“Ace.”
I was so on a roll, I blinked when Tate spoke and asked, “What?”
“You can shut up now.”
I studied his face and saw he was fighting a grin.
“What’s funny?” I asked.
“I ain’t a grape Kool-Aid type of guy either,” he answered.
“That’s funny?” I asked.
“But you want it, you shouldn’t stop yourself from havin’ it just because I ain’t.”
“Okay,” I said softly.
“You spill it on my couch, babe, just sayin’…” he stopped.
“What?”
His neck bent and his face got close to mine. “I really don’t give a fuck. My couch is shit.”
It took me by surprise, starting in my belly then my body shook with it and finally I dropped my forehead to his chest and let the laughter escape my lips.
As I laughed I felt his arm give me a squeeze and his lips kiss the crown of my head.
I stopped laughing and turned my cheek to rest on his chest and my eyes to rest on the TV. We both watched the muted TV for awhile and then Tate’s arm dropped from my shoulders so his hand could pull my shirt up at the back and then his fingers trailed random patterns against the skin at its small. This felt nice and I relaxed deeper into him.
That was, I relaxed deeper into him until his legs and hips shifted and he muttered, “Fuck.”
My head came up and I looked at him to see his eyes were beyond me, staring in the vicinity of our legs and there was an expression on his face I couldn’t read.
“What?” I asked, pulling slightly away only to have his hand flatten on the skin of my back and hold me still. “Are you uncomfortable?”
His eyes went from our legs to my face.
“Yeah and no,” he answered.
“Sorry?” I asked.
“Babe, sittin’ here lookin’ at your legs thinkin’ of this mornin’ and just lookin’ at your legs, thinkin’ of this mornin’, them wrapped tight around my back, I started gettin’ hard. Just lookin’ at your fuckin’ legs. Christ,” he bit off the last word.
That fear that went away came back, it was different and it was mostly about not understanding why he looked suddenly annoyed. To me, this was all good, really good, happy good. To him, it seemed the opposite.
“Um… isn’t that kind of…” I hesitated. “Good?”
He stared at me then stated, “I ain’t fifteen.”
“No,” I agreed because he wasn’t. I still didn’t know how old he was but he wasn’t fifteen, I was sure of that.
“Fifteen year old kids get hard like that. Men…” He shook his head.
I tipped mine to the side, suddenly finding this conversation very interesting.
“They don’t?” I asked.
“Nope,” he answered.
“Really?” I asked and his eyes grew intense on my face.
“Okay, I’ve no fuckin’ clue so let me rephrase, I don’t.”
He didn’t.
So this meant Neeta who could work her body and blow kisses to hotel clerks and laugh so loud it rang in the air didn’t make him start to get hard just looking at her legs.
But I did.