When the credits roll, she turns to me. “Want to watch Nick’s show?”
No! I don’t want to watch TV! I want to undress you and lick every inch of you. But you’re acting so damn normal, it’s throwing me off.
I shrug. “Sure. I’ve only seen every episode twenty times. Which one do you want to see?”
“I’ll find it,” she says, leaning across my legs to grab the laptop and toggle through Comedy Nation’s streaming app to find The Adventures of Mr. Orgasm. Soon enough, the familiar theme music begins, and so do the adventures. I close my eyes and let my head fall back into the couch cushions when I realize which episode she picked.
It’s the one where the woman has misplaced her orgasm. She hasn’t had one in a year, and she has to hire Mr. Orgasm to track down her missing climax.
It’s hilarious, and Charlotte laughs incessantly through the show, and I have a sneaking suspicion what she is trying to prove by acting like we’re just good buds when we both know we’re dying to do the deed, because she wants it as much as I do. The clues have been in front of me all along, and maybe I’ve been dense up until now, but I’m not anymore. I also don’t think I can wait any longer to find out if I’m right.
I reach across the couch and hit pause on the show. The din of a siren carries from somewhere else in the city, mingling with music from the bar down the street. My home has its own noise. The hum of possibility. We are teetering on something. Something I shouldn’t want. Something I want desperately.
“What did you want to prove? You said at the museum you wanted to prove something to me.”
She straightens up on the couch and sits cross-legged. “That we can be friends,” she says matter-of-factly.
“Okay. And did we prove that somehow tonight?”
She nods, looking pleased. “Yes. We ate gummy bears, and drank margaritas, and watched TV, and did all the things we’ve always done.”
“Why did you want to prove this?”
“Because I’m going to proposition you,” she says, speaking as directly as if she were going to offer me a job. “As you may know, it’s been a while for me.” She pauses and meets my gaze so I know what she means. I do. Oh yes, I do. I nod. “And apparently, I’m quite attracted to you. Go figure.” She shrugs, as if this is a big surprise.
I laugh. “Yeah, go figure.” I make a keep rolling motion with my hand. “Do go on.”
She gestures to the laptop. “I’d like your help.”
“Be more specific. Pretend I’m a totally clueless guy and you need to spell it out for me,” I say, trying my best to stay cool.
“Just as you propositioned me and asked me to be your fiancée for a week, I’d like to proposition you and ask you if you’d return the favor for the next week, in a slightly different way. The way where you finish what we started last night.”
That was where I thought we were heading, but now that she’s said it, I’m completely unprepared for the reaction in my body. I am electrified. The key has been turned in the ignition, and I race down the road of possibility of reenacting my fantasies from last night.
“Now, I know what you’re thinking,” she continues, and I hope to God she doesn’t know what I’m thinking, which is about how she looks naked coming on my cock. “You’re worried about us staying friends. That’s why I said I wanted to prove something to you. We can stay friends. It won’t be weird.”
Oh. Sure. Yeah. I wouldn’t say I was thinking that just now, but I’ve thought it before, so let’s go with it.
“Yes, that was on my mind,” I say, fibbing mildly.
“But we’ve made out like, what, three times already, and it hasn’t changed our friendship. Right?” she says, sounding so casual and so damn convincing, but I’m pretty sure she had me at farm fresh, the words she uttered when she walked in the door tonight.
“Right,” I say in a strong, assertive tone, like I’m banging a judge’s gavel because I’m so damn certain we should screw. Now. Then many more times tonight.
“So what would you think about us kicking things up a notch during the next week?” she says, then kicks me gently.
I think that’s a genius idea, and I’m ready to pounce on her and strip her naked. To fulfill all those fantasies I had last night, and all the ones she has. To give her an epic fucking orgasm or twenty to make up for months of none but the solo variety. But deals are always done best when both parties know what to expect from the get-go.
“We just need a few ground rules,” I say.
“Yes. Ground rules. Like no anal, right?”
“Um. That wasn’t really on my list, but I can live with that restriction,” I say with a laugh.
“Good,” she says, nodding, then she scrunches up her brow. “Why? What were you thinking for ground rules?”
“More like how long this will last.”
“One week. Until we break up.”
Clearly she’s given this some thought. “Got it. Makes sense.”
“Then we go back to being friends. Promise?”
“Absolutely,” I say, offering a pinky even though, let’s be honest, I don’t do pinky swears, being a guy and all. Still, it seems the right time to start, so she twists her pinky around mine.
“That’s vital,” she says emphatically as we link fingers then let go. “We just slide right back into the friend zone at the end of the week.”
“No sleepovers, either,” I add. “Because that just makes shit weird.”