Trying, and failing, to feel casual about it all, that we don’t need to be together every night, that it’s all right if she doesn’t reciprocate the infatuation I feel.

Saturday night passes in silence, with me alone at the house watching B movies on mute, trying to read through a stack of new releases from Wednesday. It’s no surprise that she’s shutting herself in to focus.īut this understanding grows into unease when Lola doesn’t answer for the rest of the day and she doesn’t text. I call her to make sure she is feeling better now that she’s home, focusing on work, but it goes to voicemail. This is it, she is my life my heart has already decided anyway. It feels settled, as if we’ve been together years, rather than days. She came on my fingers, promised me it was good, but I don’t think she realizes how it changed everything for me. I was shaking, rigid, and nearly out of my mind when I realized what she was letting me do. I indulge these daydreams I hide in my office to avoid conversation with Joe so that I can stare off at the wall and remember waking up, kissing Lola’s warm breasts, following her into the shower. And I’m grateful for it: I’ve never not felt like working at the store, but this stage of my relationship with her-the hunger, the obsession, the clawing ache all along my skin to be touched, to fuck, to come-brings a delicious distraction. I don’t want to do anything but be with Lola, in my bed.Īs weekends go, it’s a slow one WonderCon up in Anaheim has most of the local geeks out of town. The sun beams directly into my kitchen, into the windscreen as I drive, in through the front windows of the store, washing out everything around me, bleaching away color. THE HOURS SEEM to bleed together after Lola leaves, details around me fuzzy enough to ignore.

Dark wild night