Page 58 of Happy After All

Maybe I will.

Maybe I need this to live.

He cups my face, his hand large and rough, and he makes me feel small and fragile in a way that makes me feel special, not reduced, not like less. I’m somehow infinitely more. Free to melt against him, free to feel, more than I ever have been.

When we part, he’s breathing hard, tortured, ragged breaths that assure me I’m not alone in this insanity.

“Your room,” he says.

I feel that’s best. It feels wrong to have sex with a guest in his room.

And we’re going to have sex.

I have no doubt about that.

He takes my hand, and I lean against him as we skirt the edge of the courtyard, heading toward my room, which sits on the edgeof the motel. We’re in the shadows, and everyone seems to be away for the night anyway. Still, my heart is thundering, the thought of being caught ...

It only fuels my excitement, actually. If I’m honest, everything about it excites me.

The little fizz of naughtiness I feel makes it all the better.

As if anything could make it less.

We walk, careful to avoid the light, and when we stop in front of my door, I reach into my purse and produce my keys.

We move inside, and I click on the lights a split second after I close the door, locking it firmly.

It is a mess. I didn’t plan on having anyone come visit. I was right earlier when I wondered if I had left my pajama pants on the floor.

If he notices these things, he seems completely unbothered by them. He doesn’t say anything about the room. He isn’t looking around—he’s hungrily taking in details about me. He claims my mouth with his.

He kisses deep, intense. He kisses like he doesn’t care if it becomes more.

He kisses like the kiss is the destination. Slow and thorough. Perfect.

I begin to tremble as he moves his lips along the edge of my jaw, down my neck.

Then he stops. “Do you have condoms?”

I feel a flush of color work its way up my neck. “I do.” I need to explain them, since I told him already that I’ve been celibate for a while. “I keep them behind the desk. You know, customer service. I have a few boxes in the closet in here. I keep some of my extra things here because it isn’t like I have security.”

He looks at me like I’m strange, but also wonderful, and I feel like that glance is one of the nicest compliments I’ve ever been given.

I move away from him, and I go to the closet. Open it. There are dryer sheets, some small boxes of detergent. There are travel packs of aspirin, small hand sanitizers, stacks and stacks of brochures.

And boxes of condoms.

I take out one of the large boxes. “Bulk protection,” I say.

“Wow,” he says. “People take these a lot?”

“Enough.”

“They just come ask you for emergency late-night condoms?”

I nod. “Yes.”

“You must see interesting things here.”

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