Anne has a roommate. Her roommate is away for the weekend. She tells me this as soon as she opens the door to let me in. Her eyes are wide. Somethings flickers across her face, a mix of apprehension, excitement and uncertainty.
“We can just go out for a cup of coffee,” I say. I don’t need the shelter of her apartment. I’ve spent a winter in my car. With the right gear, I would not be in danger of hypothermia.
“No, no,” she says opening the door wide. “I can make coffee. You can put your stuff on the couch.”
She disappears into the kitchen. I drop my sleeping bag and a Walmart bag with a change of clothes and toothbrush onto the couch.
She comes back with two cups of coffee and a package of Chips Ahoy cookies under her arm.
Anne is amazed that I left Roady with Mammy. I am too.
“It just happened. Roady was laying his head on her and I left.”
“Maybe you saw that she was lonely and needed Roady more than you?” She smiles at me and I feel it straight through to my heart. What power in that small dose of her admiration.
There are cookie crumbs on her chin. I brush them off lightly, though we both know it’s just an excuse to touch her face.
The simple contact is like a switch, just that small hint of welcomed intimacy and I’m emboldened to kiss her. Then we’re lost in it. Coffee. Cookies. The sweetness of her mouth that has no words to describe. The heat between us leaps alive with hunger for more. But she is leaning against my sleeping bag and the plastic bag. It slides, her head drops and I cry out in pain as the sudden awkward movement pulls at my incision.
Anne straightens up. “Are you okay?” Passion is snuffed out like a giant foot came down over us.
I feel a stinging throb. “I’m fine.”
“Let me see.”
She lifts up my shirt. There’s some bleeding at the middle of the scar where the stitches didn’t take as well. She doctors me up with some ointment and makes me lie on the couch while she sits in an arm chair. A part of me is okay with how things defused because there was no plan in going too far. But the other part sees her curled up with her legs under her, squished into the seat like an elegant cat and I want to pull her to me even if I split open and my guts spill out.
I’m stuck in the thought of how crazy strong the desire is.
“That wound of yours saved us,” Anne says with alarming discernment. “We’ve got to be smarter.”
To that I can only laugh.
Read from the start of the Roady Series by choosing it in categories. Be a fan and ‘Like’ this post. Join the fan family and follow this blog. EnTylerwords is all fiction. For more writing and tips by Clare Graith go to ClareGraith.com. Thanks, Clare