Page 23 of Cloud Nine Love

I started to take it from him, but he denied me access.

“No. This is my job.”

I couldn’t help but grin as he lowered down beside me and spread my legs apart, gently wiping the cloth on the apex of my legs. Even though I’d had two orgasms, the way he was caring for me, combined with the rough texture of the washcloth, had my body rallying for number three.

“That was…really…” Good didn’t seem like a powerful enough adjective to describe what we’d just shared.

“Perfect,” he said as he set the cloth to the side and laid down beside me.

“Perfect,” I parroted.

For a split second, I thought he was just going to close his eyes and go to sleep, but then he rolled over and pulled me to him, so I was the little spoon. I’d never enjoyed cuddling, even with partners I felt comfortable with. It was probably an extension of my sensory issues. But being held by Kyle, being tucked into him, feeling his skin against mine, felt safe. It felt right. It felt perfect.

9

REMI

“An average cumulous (fluffy white) cloud weighs one million pounds.” ~ Tim Rhodes

I woke to the familiar sound of my phone buzzing on the nightstand. It took every ounce of strength to pry my heavy lids open. My first cognitive thought was that I must have had too much to drink the night before. Once my eyes were open, it took me a second to orient myself to my surroundings. Through my bleary-sighted lens, I slowly came to the realization that I was in a hotel room. After getting my bearings, the memory of why I was in the hotel room and what had happened in the hotel room came crashing down on top of me. I wasn’t intoxicated from alcohol; I’d gotten drunk off Ana. This was an Ana hangover.

That surge of information had me sitting straight up as my heart rate shot up as if I’d just been injected with a full vile of adrenaline. My eyes scanned the room as I stood and walked to the bathroom. Both were empty. As I processed that information, I noticed that the pink and purple mermaid-scale suitcase was also gone.

She was gone.

I stood staring at the spot where her luggage had been.

She was really gone.

And I didn’t even know her name.

“Fuck.” I ran my hands through my hair in frustration.

My plan had been to find out things like her name, her phone number, where she lived, if she wanted children, if she would marry me—you know, the basics, this morning. I hadn’t wanted to do anything to ruin the night before. I’d just wanted to float in the bubble of magic and mystery, and if I’d asked any of those things, it would have popped it.

When my phone buzzed again, I walked over and picked it up. It was a message from the airline with my flight information. I checked the time and saw that it was going to start boarding in twenty minutes.

“Shit.” The drive to the airport took ten minutes, and then I had to get through security.

I ordered an Uber, grabbed my bag, and took a quick, one-minute shower. I got out, dried off, brushed my teeth, threw on some clothes, and checked out via the television. I made it downstairs right as my car was pulling up.

As I stepped outside, I noticed the sun was shining; the sky was clear blue and dotted with fluffy white clouds. The pavement was dry, and the air was fresh and clean. There was not a single trace of the storm that had blown through hours before. It made the entire night seem even more surreal.

On the ride to the airport, all I could think about was how to find Ana. The only story I knew from her life that might have a digital footprint was the car accident she’d been in with her dad that she’d survived. But I didn’t know the year. I didn’t know the state it was in. I had no other information.

Trying a different route, I began to scroll through Instagram. I rarely ever went on social media, but I’d never had someone I wanted to find before. I wasn’t sure why I thought that app would help me. It’s not like I had anything to go on that would help me identify the mysterious Ana.

As I scrolled, I saw that Misty had posted a photo of her ultrasound on her Finsta account. Because she was a model, she had a public account and then a ‘fake Instagram’ that only her family and closest friends were on.

I stared at the image, and my first instinct was to ‘like’ the photo, but I wasn’t sure what the protocol was for what we were going through. Questions and doubts began to infiltrate my mind.

Should I unfollow Misty?

Should I be more upset that she was having another man’s baby?

Should I be thinking about her instead of Ana?

I considered that maybe the reason I was so focused on ‘Ana’ was because I was trying to distract myself from Misty. But I quickly dismissed that theory. I’d had a strong reaction to her before Misty had dropped her nuclear bomb on me—so strong that I’d decided to remove myself from the situation to avoid temptation. I was glad now that my plan had been foiled by Ana nearly knocking her drink over.

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