Page 16 of What It Means To Be Found

LOGAN

I stood there, staring at my reflection in my bathroom mirror. My toothbrush hung loosely in my mouth as I listened to the last of Eloise’s voice memos. My hand halted mid-brush at the sound of Eloise’s giggly, intoxicated voice.

I was stunned.

I wasn’t sure what to expect when I woke up this morning with three unheard voice messages from Eloise, sent directly to me and nobody else, but it sure wasn’t this. I had seen the notification on my phone, thought it was weird, and took a shower without listening. Once I was awake enough after my shower and started brushing my teeth, I finally listened to them. Which brought me to this moment, staring at myself blankly in the mirror.

Was she talking about me?

Did she mean to send these to me?

The time stamp said she sent these around four a.m., just four hours ago. Which was an odd time to masturbate to someone and send them voice memos about it. But I knew very little about Eloise at this point, so maybe this wasn’t that unusual for her.

“The communication barrier? Hot.”

I had never been told that my inability to vocalize was hot, but I guess everyone had their kinks.

“The protectiveness? Hot.”

She must have been talking about when I went after Monet, number eighteen, during the game last night. Courtney had signed to me during the game that he flipped them off for cheering me on, after stealing the puck from him. What I didn’t expect, however, was for him to retaliate by making crude gestures to my friends. I didn’t think twice, really. I dropped my gloves and swung.

He was labeled as the instigator since everyone could see his tongue swiping between his parted fingers as he made very specific and direct eye contact with the group. Even Josh looked a little pissed off, and that guy never got mad.

We each got five minutes in the penalty box as a result of our fight, but it was worth it. He was a young kid, barely in his twenties, and clearly had a chip on his shoulder. I had no problem putting him in his place.

I played Eloise’s next message again because I still couldn’t believe what I was listening to.

“The things I would let him do to me. I’m so glad I charged my vibrator recently. Hot. Damn!” the fact that she left me hanging after that message felt almost painful.

What? I thought. What would you let “him” do to you, specifically? Leave no detail out, please, and thank you. The mental image I was immediately able to create of Eloise pleasuring herself with a vibrator was alarming. Had I thought about her before? Yes. I hadn’t in a while, though. The last time I had thought that Eloise may be into me was almost a year ago after she smashed a plate of pie against my chest, and we were both in the bathroom cleaning up.

She had stormed off, probably to cry. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the first time I had unintentionally made her do so. I had gotten most of the pie off of my shirt in the kitchen sink and had found my way to the bathroom to try to rinse the stain out. Eloise was in there when I walked in, both of her hands bracing either edge of the bathroom sink as her head turned sharply to see who was interrupting her privacy.

I had stood frozen in the doorway, my chest wrenched at the red and water rimming her eyes as she glared at me.

Then she had looked down at my shirt and sniffed, stepping away to make room for me to move in front of the sink. I had been surprised she didn’t push me out of the bathroom, so I stiffly followed her instructions and turned on the tap. I had used my fingers to try to rub the stain out, which made Eloise roll her clear blue eyes at me in irritation before she had grabbed my shirt and taken over rinsing the stain out.

I was just surprised she wasn’t punching me at that point, so I stood there like an idiot and let her take over the task of washing my shirt.

After getting as much of the stain out as she could, she had pulled a towel off of the rack of Josh’s first-floor bathroom and tried to dry off my shirt as much as possible, her knuckles grazing the bare skin of my abdomen as she held my shirt with one hand and the dry towel with the other.

I thought about that touch too often.

I also thought about how she felt me up a few seconds later. Satisfied with how she was able to dry off my shirt enough, she then tugged the hem of it down. She brushed her hands over the front of my shirt in an attempt to straighten it and remove any unnecessary wrinkles.

Her fingertips pressed firmly against my chest and abdomen, and I held my breath as her eyes widened a little after the first pass of her hands.

Then she made a second pass, a third. That one felt more deliberate and exploratory. She brushed her fingers down my torso slower as her eyelids drooped the slightest bit, feeling the ridges of my muscles underneath the shirt.

Holy shit, I thought, she’s feeling me up.

My cock twitched in response, not understanding that we had absolutely no chance in hell with this woman.

Something made her snap out of it, pulling her hands back quickly and shooting me one last glare with her eyes before she slid past me and stormed out of the bathroom. I waited only a few seconds before following her out, brushing the moment off as nothing.

Have I gotten off to the thought of Eloise enjoying what she felt? Yes. More times than I’d like to admit. At first, I told myself it was because I was a guy, and that I was doomed to think dirty thoughts about a woman who enjoyed the feel of my body under her hands. I, later on, accepted that my gender had absolutely nothing to do with it and realized that I was simply attracted to Eloise.

Who wouldn’t be? She was a beautiful woman.

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