“You guys are really close,” she said, continuing our slow walk. I liked the height difference between the two of us, because I got to watch her little legs work double time to keep an even pace. “I never got to ask how the whole cam sex convo went.”
It went exactly how you would expect two grown men to act around each other after something like that. We sat outside on our back patio under the bulb lights, beers in hand, and stared silently into space as we drank them. Mateo picked at the label on his bottle and made a face that looked like he was either contemplating or constipated, and I pulled the brim of my hat down low enough he couldn’t see my eyes.
I didn’t care if my buddy was fucking on camera. That was between him and his girl, and they both seemed pretty on board with it given the Broadway-level production complete with lighting, music, and costumes.
My only wish was that I didn’t have to see it to believe it. The full-frontal view of Tally burned into my mind made me feel like a permanent pervert. She was like a fucking sister to me. I wasn’t sure if Mateo was sitting there waiting for an apology, or waiting for me to address the fact that I now knew what his girlfriend looked like on all fours.
The girls had long been scattered when I broke the tension and asked, “Old Saint Dick?” to which he replied with a shrug, “Paid for the chair you’re sitting on.”
And that was the end of that.
“I’ve seen Mateo naked more times than I care to remember,” I said, amused. “So walking in on that was like any other Friday.”
Ophelia paused next to the rail to look at a Cabbage White perched on a leaf. “Nat suggested we film an orgy,” she announced nonchalantly.
My steps faltered as that image materialized. “Is that what you consider proper first date etiquette? Laying all your kinks right out in the open?”
“You were just thinking about it, weren’t you?” She grinned, pointing a teasing finger at me.
I grabbed that little palm and brought it to my chest. “You wouldn’t have an orgy with our best friends.”
She tried to make herself bigger—rolling her shoulders back, tilting her head, licking her lips a bit to entice me. Maybe she liked some kinky shit in the bedroom, but I was calling that group activity bluff.
“Wouldn’t I?” She shrugged.
“No, because you’re selfish, just like me.” I leaned in so I could whisper. “You need a man on his knees for you, and only you. I’ve told you this before, O, I don’t fucking share.”
We were in our own little bubble under the hanging plants for a moment. Our hands still clasped together at my chest, focus wavering between mouths and eyes, the soft panting of a thousand wings overhead. Ophelia swallowed and I watched her throat contract with rapt attention.
“You’re right, this isn’t first date material,” she said softly. “You should focus more on getting to know my personal thoughts and opinions on the current political climate.”
I huffed out a laugh and dragged her along the path by her hand. “For some reason I don’t think we have nearly enough time for that.”
At the rate we moved through the exhibits, our trip to the museum would outlive the butterflies themselves. We lingered in the tropical rainforest, reading the park map, identifying what was flying above us as I bent over the informational brochure with my hand on the small of Ophelia’s back.
Natural.
Everything was natural. Spending time with her was kind of like slipping beneath the covers into freshly washed sheets. You just laid there for a while with a dopey smile on your face, kicking your feet around because it felt so damn good.
“Look at this one, Frankie.” Ophelia called me over to stand in front of the running waterfall, pointing to a butterfly with brown wings and bright yellow edges perched on a leaf. “What is it?”
I assessed it. “Mourning Cloak.” There were very few butterflies with colors that dark.
“You could be totally making this up, and I wouldn’t know either way.”
I flipped through our little pamphlet and found the page with common butterflies listed and pointed it out. “Don’t insult me, Trouble.”
She snorted, reaching over to try and touch the little guy. “Their wings are so cool up close like this.”
“They’re actually translucent, believe it or not.” I examined it as closely as she was. “There are scales covering the actual wing that reflect light to make them different colors.”
“Fun fact.” She smiled. “My sisters would love this place. I should send them a picture.”
“I’ll take one,” I offered.
“Oh no, I don’t need to be in it.” She chuckled nervously.
“You look like you belong in this garden, Ophelia. Now get your cute, sunshine ass up on that bridge so I can take a fucking picture.”
“So bossy,” she commented. Her hesitation only lasted a moment before she was positioning herself at the center of the tiny walking bridge that crossed over the stream. “Is this good?”
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and opened the camera. “Move a little bit to the left.” There were people walking around in the background ruining the shot. “Now lean against the post—no, not like that, that looks like you're a department store mannequin.”
As she readjusted herself I snapped photos, catching those candid moments where I could tell she didn’t know whether to kill me or kiss me.
“Add ‘Instagram boyfriend’ to your dating profile,” she suggested.
“I don’t know what that is.” I squinted. “Can you move that one piece of hair behind your ear?”
“You’re unbelievable.” She laughed, swiping the pesky strand away from her face. “Better?”
“It was never bad; you know you’re killing me in that dress.” Her forearms settled on a spot on the railing where the sun found its way through the thick leaves. “Now smile like you’re enjoying leisurely butterfly watching with the man who’s going to blow your back out later.”
Her eyes widened and a broad, amused grin lit up her face. Perfect.
When my camera roll could easily incriminate me as Ophelia’s stalker, I waved her back over. “Got some good ones,” I said. “Just had to loosen you up a bit.”
“I think you still get some points off for vulgarity.”
“But I get some points added for photography, so we can call it even.” I reached down and nudged her hand with mine, pleased when she grabbed it without question. “Is this okay?”
She nodded shyly.
Holding hands felt like a foreign gesture. The little things about being in a relationship were what I’d forgotten: opening doors, sharing meals, offloading about our shitty days. A partner was like an extension of yourself and being able to open those previously locked doors with Ophelia when it came to dating felt like reintroducing myself to, well…me. The version I shoved in a closet and turned the key on.
I didn’t talk to Mateo about butterflies. I didn’t talk to anyone about anything most of the time, because I viewed my vulnerability as weakness, and being weak was never an option for me.