“TV,” I say instead.
I follow him into the living room and sit on the couch. The TV is on some sports channel and he takes the seat next to me and hands me my beer. “Can you grab me that remote?” he says, and I do, watching as he takes a drink from his bottle before setting it on the coffee table in front of us. Now that I’m here, I’m not really sure how much TV we’ll be watching, but I appreciate the gesture.
Luke settles into the couch and begins flipping through the channels, offering up commentary or asking a question about the various shows. He rests his arm on the back of the couch, behind me. This feels decidedly coupley—next to each other on the couch this way—but there’s something nice about sitting here tucked into Luke’s side, about his smell and the warmth coming off his skin, so I don’t comment or move away.
He begins to ask me something, but I cut him off, turning to face him slightly. “Can I ask you a completely random question?”
His eyes move over my face before settling on my mouth. “Of course.”
“Who planted the flowers on your porch?”
He furrows his brow for a moment until he registers what I mean. “Oh. Me?” he says. “Is that weird?”
“I have no idea,” I tell him.
He braces a hand on the side of my neck and tilts my face back so I have no choice but to look at him. “Friends busy tonight?” he says, thumb pressing at the underside of my jaw. It’s strangely relaxing.
“What makes you think that?”
“I don’t know. Guess I can’t really imagine you texting me if you had other options available.”
“They were busy,” I admit. I almost tell him that I don’t actually have a lot of friends here, and that I tend to separate myself a little from people anyway, so this thing between us is pretty new for me. A little scary.
I almost tell him all of this, but I don’t. It’s not what you say in this situation I’m trying to maintain.
“Nothing on TV at home?” he asks, smiling as he smooths my hair with the backs of his fingers. I find myself leaning into his touch, my shoulders loosening, my body sagging in his direction. Being near him is a little like slipping into a warm bath.
I shrug and Luke leans in, stopping just long enough to check in with me. I nod slowly and he closes the distance, brushing his lips over mine. “I’m glad you didn’t have anything else to do,” he says against my mouth. “I’m really glad I have your number now instead of Fred’s. I don’t want to kiss him nearly as much as I want to kiss you.”
And he finally does, making me feel that kiss from the place where our lips meet to the tips of my curling toes. I push him back, lifting my leg on the other side of his hip so I’m straddling his lap.
“Can I put my mouth on you?” he says, hand slipping between my legs, to rub me over my shorts.
I shake my head.
“Why again?”
It feels like my brain is short-circuiting and he’s only touching me over my clothes, back and forth and then small circles right where I need it. “We don’t do that.”
“Right,” he says, voice flat, expression guarded. “We fuck.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s not that I’m complaining, mind you,” he says, moving to undo the first button of my shorts and slowly sliding the zipper down. “But what about over your panties? I could put my mouth there, suck a little. Maybe hum the alphabet.”
“The alphabet?”
“Literacy is very important to me.”
“You are so persistent,” I say, and try to ignore the way his fingers are ghosting back and forth just below my navel.
“I’m persistent when I want something,” he clarifies. “And I really want that.” He takes my hand and holds it over his cock, and rocks into my palm as if to further illustrate his point. “See?”
I can see the shape of him beneath the denim of his jeans, long and pressed against his stomach.
A wave of heat flashes beneath my skin and I lift his shirt up and over his head in a rush, pulling his mouth to mine.
“Hey, hey,” Luke whispers, dragging his teeth over my bottom lip. “Slow down, Albuquerque. We have all night.”
“I’m not spending the night with you,” I tell him, pulling my own shirt off. I’m not wearing a bra and I suck in a breath when my nipples brush against the smooth skin of his chest. “I’m leaving when we’re finished.”
“We gonna fuck right here on my couch again?”
“I like this couch.”
His fingers slide inside my panties and down to where I’m already wet.
I can tell by his open mouth that there was a smart comment on the tip of his tongue, but he seems to have forgotten it. Instead, he pushes the tip of his finger inside me and drags his eyes along my collarbones and down to my breasts, before licking his lips. “Then we’ll fuck,” he says, closing his eyes for a moment before he grips me by the back of the neck and pulls me to his mouth. “Fuck slow this time.”