“Are they the ‘disappointed in you’ kind or the ‘find your way’ kind of parents?”
She smiles; I can feel it.
“The ‘find your way’ kind. I’m lucky.”
“I’ve always wondered if I’d been adopted if my life would’ve gone differently.” I exhale because I’ve also always had the same answer. “And I always think, I hope not. I like the result. The journey was a different story. You know?”
“I get that.”
She does. It’s not something she’s just saying. More goop hits my chest, so I lower my head, eyes back on hers.
“Is this shit going on my whole body?”
She winks.
“If you’re lucky.”
I give her a wink back and just sit there like a good test dummy as she gets that thoughtful look on her face.
“When I look back on where I was at twenty versus where I am now, I don’t even feel like the same person sometimes. I bounced around from thing to thing, from idea to idea. Until one day, I was like, ‘it’s embarrassing that I don’t have a thing.’ I mean, I had a job. But that’s different from a calling. So, one night, over couch sushi and wine with Millie and Sam, I just started making a list of all the things I would want to do with my life if I won the lottery. And bam…skin care, wellness, that was like my thang.”
She laughs, and I want to follow suit, but my concentration is currently being stolen by the feel of her fingers sliding down my throat to my chest over and over absentmindedly.
But the words formed tumble out on their own anyway.
“I think it’s brave to take the time to figure out what you want. We only get a handful of trips around the sun. Might as well make them epic, right?”
Her eyes bore into mine as if a thousand thoughts are cluttering her head. So, I fill in the silence.
“And for the record, you’re good at this. Cuz I really like having your coochie cream on my face every day.”
She gives me a little shove, laughing.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying the cream, but truth be told, I also like your face in my coochie every day.”
Dirty little thing. I fucking love it.
I grab her waist and tickle her, smiling as she screams and wiggles.
“No! Crew!”
She smacks my chest, grinning ear to ear, but I keep tickling her, forcing her sideways until she’s lying flat on her back and I’m looking down at her, nestled right between her legs.
“I’ll kill you,” she exhales a little breathlessly, staring up.
Her eyes are so pretty that I’m starting to wonder if the memory of them will ever do them justice. And before I know what I’m saying, something stupid pops out.
“I want to come to the opening of your salon.”
Why the fuck did I say that? No, no, no. I have to take that back.
She stares back at me, unblinking, not saying anything. Because it’s one thing for us to play house, but what I just said took us into the real world.
And the one thing both of us have done since the beginning of this has been to dance around what happens after. Are we friends? Are we still hooking up? It’s something we don’t touch.
My lips part to take it back or, if I’m being honest, to confess the truth. Can we know each other after this? is on the tip of my tongue. But she smiles just as cold cream hits my face.
I suck in a breath as she smears the handful down over my chest, laughing her words out.
“Okay, but only if you promise to bring the girls you’re hooking up with. Because securing all the pussy in the Bay Area would be awesome.”
And just like that, the clock is reset.
I reach into the dish behind me, grabbing who knows what.
“Oh…you think that’s funny? Because you’re so clever? That’s right, I’m a big ole whore.”
I smush my own handful into her cheek as she screams. And like two responsible adults, we do exactly what we should.
We break out into a full-fledged food mask fight.
Shit’s getting slung everywhere as we scramble to the sides of the room, trying to pelt each other with nasty-colored yogurts and whatever else we can find.
She takes off running toward the kitchen for more supplies, but I’m right behind her, hooking my arm around her stomach and lifting her off the ground as I slather her hair in whatever the blueberry stuff was.
“Did you think you were going to get away? Yeah, right. You’re a terrible fucking running back. Who runs a straight route?”
She laughs harder as I carry her like a football from the kitchen toward the living room so I can empty the bowls on her.
But she stops me in my tracks as she says, “What the hell is a running back?”
I set her to her feet and look her directly in those yogurt-and-fruit-crusted eyes, unable to hide my shock.
“Did you just ask me what a running back is?”
She shrugs the cutest fucking shrug as she scrunches her nose, countering, “Are they important?”
Are they important? Is she serious? This is a joke.
My head draws back as I huff a laugh and look over my shoulder because I must be hallucinating.
I wag my finger at her, matching her smile as I say, “No wife of mine. No. Wife. Of mine. Not even a fake one.”
eleanor
He’s insane. He’s lost his fucking mind. We’re standing in the living room, covered in gunk drying on our bodies, and he picks up a chair and moves it to the left side of the room.
“Okay, baby, so the couch is the offensive line. I stand behind that line. You are the defensive end, so you’re lined up with the chair.”
He motions for me to line up with the chair, so I walk over, chuckling.
“Okay, but so, where’s the running back on my side?”
Crew throws his hands in the air, turning in a circle, making me laugh harder before he points at the chair.
“Wild Card, listen to me when I’m on the field. The other team’s defense is on the field. Your running back is on the bench.”
I squint one eye shut and nod.
“Got it. So you’re supposed to throw the ball to me?”
Crew looks like he might give it all up and try punching a hole in the window just so he can jump from the thirtieth floor. But I can’t help myself. I refuse to tell him that I was only kidding.
I know exactly what a running back is. I grew up listening to my father TV coach the Niners since I was little.
Now, I may not know who any of the players are because I tap out at watching the game, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know what a fucking running back is.
His hands smack down on the back of the couch as he lets out a frustrated breath before he stares at me. Shit, this is getting harder to sell. I can’t stop smiling.
And the longer we look at each other, the more I start to laugh.
“You. Little. Bullshitter,” he barks, standing straight, finally seeing right through me.
I break and start laughing hysterically. Crew walks around the couch, shouting playfully. “It’s written all over your face. Son of a bitch. This whole time, you knew exactly what I was talking about.”
I shrug, sinking into his arms as he wraps them around me.
“I mean…I’d actually never heard the term flanker, so it wasn’t a total lie.”