“I like him,” I said.
“He was a dreamer.”
“That’s all right. I like listening to people’s dreams. My dad, I don’t think he had any dreams. He was like me—every second’s a dream for guys like us.”
“Well, he must have been ambitious to end up working at the top of the Chase building making all those business deals.”
“What?”
“You know, you told me he works in the Chase building downtown?”
“Oh, right, right, right. I guess I kind of drifted off, thinking about how he used to be. Man, he was fun. He’s a workaholic now, though.”
She nestles in closer and puts her hand on my leg. “Maybe we should go see him sometime. I’d love to meet him. After all, you’ve already met my whole family, and I haven’t met any of yours.”
“Yeah, we’ll have to do that sometime.”
“When?”
“I don’t know. Sometime.”
“How about tomorrow? I mean, if it’s not too short notice.”
“I don’t think so.” I stare off at the TV, even though the movie’s ended. “Besides, he’ll probably be burning the midnight oil at the office.”
“On a Sunday night?”
“Like I told you—he’s a workaholic.”
“How about this, then—we surprise him at the office. We’ll bring him some leftover pizza.”
“Not a good idea.”
“I’ve always wanted to see the view from the top of one of those buildings.”
“Goddamn.” I pull my hand away from hers and look her in the face. “Would you shut up about going to see my dad? It’s not going to happen, all right?”
Her face flushes red and she shrinks away. You’d think I slapped her or something. But, really, the girl just did not know when to stop.
“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice cracking.
“Well, you just kept going on and on. I don’t like to be badgered, you know?”
“I know, I know, that was so stupid. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
I swear, she looks like she’s about to shrink all the way down into the crack between the sofa cushions.
“Hey.” I pat her leg. “It’s not that bad. It just got on my nerves a little.”
“No, I know. I’m acting just like my mom, and I said I never would. But I guess when your family’s screwed up, you’re going to be screwed up too.” She’s actually sniffling now.
“You are not screwed up. Come here.” I wrap my arm around her. “I’m just a little touchy about my dad, you know, spending more time working than with me.”
“I’m so sorry.” She wipes her tears on my shoulder. “I’m so dumb. I should’ve known that.”
The girl cannot stop apologizing, so I do what I have to. I kiss her. And kiss her and kiss her, until finally the sniffles dry up, and by then we’re lying clamped together on the couch with our hands under each other’s shirts, and she’s going, “I’m so glad I met you,” and I’m like, “I’m glad I met you too,” and then the words get lost in more kissing.
Chapter 45
I kiss her mouth, her eyelids, her eyebrows, her forehead, her ears, her neck, even her br**sts through the fabric of her T-shirt. We roll one way, then the other. I’m on top, then she is, then we’re both on our sides, and the couch is so small she almost rolls off onto the floor. I squeeze her tight, and go, “Don’t worry. I won’t let you fall,” and she says, very softly, “Can we go back to my room? There’s more room on the bed.”
“Sure, we can,” I tell her, gearing up to imagine the complete expanded edition of Dumb and Dumber, count to a billion, and maybe even work in a visual of full-frontal frog dissection. Anything to keep from taking it too far with this girl. I mean, if she’s going to start crying just because I told her to shut up, what’ll happen when she has to dump someone she’s had sex with for the first time?
It’s strange being on her bed in the middle of a room full of sci-fi novels and drawings of Commander Amanda Gallico on horseback. You might think it would be the least sexy place in the world, but that’s not the case. Instead, it’s mega-intimate, like we’re alone together in our own little, weird space capsule, hurtling through the universe.
“I like you so much,” she says between kisses. And I can tell she wants to say love instead of like, not because she really does love me but because she just wants to say it. Of course, she can’t, though. Not when I haven’t said it first.
“I mean, I really, really like you.”
“You’re spectacular,” I tell her. “You really are.”
“Can we take off our clothes?” she says.
What am I going to do? Say no? I mean, there’s no movie funny enough, no number big enough, no dead frog ugly enough to stop things now.
“Sure, we can.” My mouth is so close to hers the words seem to drop one by one down into her like pennies into a wishing well.
This is always the awkward part. Am I going to take her clothes off? Is she going to take mine off? Or do we take our own off? I mean, who wants to fool around with someone else’s socks? So we do a little bit of both.
I have to withdraw everything I ever said about this girl not being hot. Without her goofy horse-face T-shirts and the off-brand, baggy-butt jeans, her body is absolutely fabulous. I’m not talking about gaudy curves. It’s more that her skin is so pristine. Alabaster in the glow of the digital clock.