Page 47 of F*ck Marriage

“My tattoo. This way to paradise.”

He looks startled for a moment and then his face breaks into a smile. “Fifteen hundred dollars couldn’t erase who you actually are.”

I shake my head. I’m notdrunk-drunk, but I am drunk. The room sways around me as I step inside and flick the light switch. Nothing happens. I try another and the room stays dark.

“Power’s out,” I say.

I stand still in the middle of the room, swaying in the dark. I hate how when I’m drunk I feel everything. I thought getting drunk helped take your mindoffof things.

“He left paradise.”

Satcher comes in and closes the door. He walks to the breaker box and opens it. “Who?”

“Woods, he left paradise.”

He shuts the box and turns around to look at me.

“Paradise lost. Poor Woods.” I crack up, then I start crying.

“It’s not the breakers,” Satcher says, walking toward me. “Must be the whole building.”

“I’m drunk and I’m afraid of the dark,” I say. I lift my hands to the ceiling and spin around. Satcher has to catch me before I hit the ground.

“Don’t forget dramatic,” he adds, righting me on my feet. “We can go back to my place. I’m not leaving you here in the dark.”

“Is this how it works? You lure a woman into your shiny bachelor pad with the promise of warmth and drink?”

“And dick,” he says, which makes me laugh until my stomach aches. “But no drink,” he finishes. “You’ve had enough.”

“I’m probably an alcoholic,” I admit.

Satcher has his back to me now as he grabs a duffel bag out of the hall closet. “Yup,” he says. “Probably so.”

I nod, grateful, wondering how he knew to look there. “Just let me grab some of my things.” I use the flashlight on my phone to grab pajamas and clothes for the next day, tossing them into the duffel. Then I make my way to the living room where Satcher is waiting. He’s scrolling through his phone and when he sees me, one corner of his mouth lifts. It’s so natural that I walk right into his arms and hug him.

“What’s this about?” he says into my hair.

“I don’t know. It just feels like you’ve been saving me since I got back to New York.”

“Billie, you are the very last woman who needs saving. One day you’re going to realize that.”

Idoze in the backseat of the cab for the ten-minute drive. By the time we climb out of the elevator in his building I’ve sobered up and have the beginnings of a headache.

While he makes a snack, I wander into the bathroom to change into my pajamas. I laugh when I look down and see I grabbed my most grandmotherly pants and shirt combo, decked out in pink roses. I stuff them back in my bag and put on a T-shirt I brought instead. When I join Satcher in the living room, he eyes my legs and whistles low.

“I see paradise,” he says.

I bend at the waist and study my thigh. “No way,” I say. “You have to get really close to see it.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about, Billie.”

I straighten up and he laughs at my blush. Then I do something so completely unlike me. I lift my T-shirt over my head until I’m standing in front of Satcher in only my panties.

“Why just look?” I say.

I’m on my stomach, the soft down comforter beneath me; my fingers grip the material, making fists. I’m nervous but without the awkwardness. I’ve known Satcher too long to truly be out of sorts. He’s behind me. I can feel his heat on my skin. I turn my head to watch him, my hair partly obscuring my vision. He rubs warm palms down my back, putting pressure in all the right places so that I arch beneath his hands like a cat. When I feel like things can’t get any more intense, he grips my buttocks between his hands, kneading. I’m wet at his touch, and I turn my face away so he can’t see the desperate begging in my eyes. Gently, he takes hold of my ankle and pushes my leg up so that my knee is bent toward my chest. Then he releases himself from his pants with one hand, while a finger from the other slides inside of me. I blink hard, breathing through my nose, my chest heaving as I bite the insides of my cheeks. I’m squirming, unable to keep still as a finger works into me. He groans when he feels me, like this is the first time he’s touching a woman this way. As he works one finger then two inside of me, he bends down to kiss my shoulder ... my neck. I’m panting; the sound makes me ashamed and I try to quiet it, but when I do, Satcher twists his fingers in such a way that I start up again.

He smacks me hard on the fattest part of my ass and my eyes fly open in question.

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