Am I already in love?
Damn. I might be.
With a gusty sigh, I lean back against the concrete pillar behind me, phone in hand. As I’ve done several times today, I pull up the picture of Elise’s ID card and zoom in on her picture. I did embarrassing things while staring at this photo last night—and it’s only from the neck up. I’d barely gotten myself warmed up before I finished all over my stomach, the Mets game playing on the screen of my bedroom television. Didn’t even have time to grab a tissue.
I’ve never had trouble lasting in bed. In fact, with my one and only partner, I had a hard time staying focused at all, my mind consistently drifting to other things. Like food. Or building permits. Eventually I would find the rhythm I needed to finish, but I’m fairly positive it used to take me at least twenty minutes. Masturbating to the thought of Elise? Twenty seconds.
It won’t be like that when and if we have sex. In real life.
It won’t. Right?
Shaking off the concern, I add the photo to her contact and the temptation to text her becomes too much. I haven’t sent a personal text to anyone in weeks. Only work ones. The last time I texted anything personal was to my brother, reminding him not to park with his tires on my lawn. He responded with a picture of his middle finger and continued to do it anyway. Maybe it’s just something I have to learn to live with. How many times in my life have I resigned myself to being inconvenienced or overlooked?
What difference does one more time make?
I rub at the uncomfortable notch in my throat and pull up an empty text screen with Elise. I already feel better just seeing her name. Even better when I start typing.
* * *
Me: You’re so beautiful.
Elise: Hi Gabe.
Me: I hope you’re not texting me to back out of our date.
E: You texted me.
* * *
I’m such a bozo.
* * *
E: I heard you gave my number up for meatballs.
Me: Sort of. I gave Tobias a fake number.
E: You’re my favorite, Gabe. Despite your thievery.
* * *
My dick starts to turn stiff over that. Being her favorite. Is she just saying that? Shit, I don’t want to know. I’m just going to pretend like she does.
* * *
Me: What are you doing right now?
E: Getting dressed for a yoga class.
Me: Oh. Jesus.
E: ??
Me: I have a little thing for yoga pants. By that I mean I have a thing for wanting to see them on you. Don’t send me a picture.
E: Why not?
Me: You remember my issue on the tram? It’ll become an issue again. Real fast.
* * *
A picture comes through of her and I shake my head, “Nope,” starting to put my phone back in my pocket. Yeah, right. I don’t make it five seconds before I’m tapping download on the image and then heat is running rampant through my body, with an emphasis on a certain appendage. She has sent me a shot of her in a white sports bra and navy blue nylon pants. They’re so tight, I can make out the shape of her pussy clearly. And the low-rise band of said pants gives me a view of those little peach fuzz hairs under her navel. The shape of her hips. Her breasts, nipples clear as day. This woman is artwork in human form.
* * *
E: See you tonight, Gabe.
Me: I’ll be seeing you pretty much all day, every time I blink.
E: #Favorite.
* * *
When I recover from that single word, I take a gulp and overdo it. Can’t help myself.
* * *
Me: I needed this. To talk to you.
* * *
A chunk of seconds passes before she answers.
* * *
E: I told you. You’re capable of more than you think, Gabe. Remember that.
* * *
When I return to work at the end of my lunch hour, there is a little more steel in my shoulders, energy in my step, and her words echoing in my head.
* * *
Tobias
* * *
I knew the muppet would only change one number—and the last one at that.
Within five tries, I’ve reached Elise.
I’m sitting in the waiting room at my therapist’s office when she texts me back.
* * *
Elise: Gabe only changed one number, didn’t he?
* * *
My laughter startles the receptionist. After catching her breath, she gives me a sly, questioning smile. Understandable. Normally I’m leaning across the desk by now, flirting with her until my appointment time arrives—what else is there to do? But Elise must have completely ruined me, because the only thing that turns me on at the moment are venomous insults. Furthermore, the idea of flirting with another woman turns my stomach sour.
Alarming, to say the least.