Page 32 of Wall

John’s devouring my boobs with his eyes. He shifts as close as he can get; his knees meet the side of the tub, forcing my knees wider, as wide as they can go, spreading my pussy lips until I gape. He wraps his arms around my waist, and strokes the small of my back. There’s only inches between us. I feel so small, so naked.

Shivers dance across my exposed skin. I’ve never been this close to a man this muscular before. When we were together, John was a big man, but I’d call him beefy, not jacked. This man isshredded.

This man could be with any woman. He probably has. Oh, crap.

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

He blinks, his hand suspended in the air between us. He was aiming to cop a feel. He fists, then lowers, the questing hand.

“No.”

“Don’t you want to know if I have a boyfriend?”

“You don’t.”

“How do you know?”

“I know.” There’s no doubt in his voice. Does he think I couldn’t get a man if I wanted one? I’ve been asked out a few times. Given, twice was at the Grab-and-Go at a dubious hour of night, and once was a friend of Lorraine’s that I’m positive she put up to it, but still. They count.

John traces my frown with a calloused finger. “Do you want me to be jealous? Do you wanna know that the thought of you with another man drives me fucking insane? It does. You wanna hurt me, destroy me, you got that power. I know it ain’t fair. It’s hypocritical as hell, but if you let any other man touch this body, it’d kill me.”

Huh. How’d he even know if I had a boyfriend? How would I know if he has a girlfriend?

“Are you with anyone?”

“No.”

“Are you sleeping with anyone right now?”

“No.”

I shiver. Fold my arms tight, squishing my aching boobs. John clenches his jaw so tightly the tic on his forehead starts pulsing.

Then he pulls his phone out of his back pocket.

“Here.” He grabs my hand, giving me the phone. “10-12.”

“That’s our anniversary.”

“I know.”

I hold the phone, staring at it stupidly.

“Go on. Check my messages and shit. I ain’t with no one else.”

“I don’t need to check your phone.”

He takes the phone back, taps a few times, and then holds it up. It’s his chat history.

“Is that a picture of a coyote?”

His lip twitches up. “Turns out, yeah. It is.”

“You don’t need to show me your phone.”

He sniffs, and then he tucks it away. He falls quiet. I think about how I can gracefully retrieve my sweater from the tub.

Finally, after what feels like forever, he says, “I miss your humming.”

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