Page 88 of Guy's Girl
“Adrian,” she whispers. “I want to feel you inside me.”
“Not yet.” He slips one finger down, sliding it over her opening but not quite going inside.
“Fuck.” She pulls her hand out of the covers and grips his biceps. “Adrian, please.”
“Not yet. I want to get you close.”
He keeps working, alternating between rubbing the sensitive spot at the top of her pelvis and playing with the rest, sliding his fingers along its wet surface. She tries to keep her breathing steady, to stifle the moans coming unbidden from her lips, but it’s impossible. She has to turn her head, to press her mouth to the fabric of Adrian’s shirt. It feels nothing like the sex she had in the past. She isn’t putting on a show for Adrian’s benefit. In fact, she’s trying to control herself, but she can’t. Each touch of his fingers sends little sparks through her, and the sparks multiply, and they gather together at her very center, pulsing, tightening, until she knows they’ve reached their limit.
“Now,” she whispers. “Now, Adrian, please.”
“Condom.” He slips his hand away from her pelvis. She keeps hers there, not wanting to lose all the heat he just created, and within seconds he’s back, ripping the wrapper off the condom.
“Let me.” She sits up, and he hands her the rubber. She takes him in her hands. Before pressing the rubber atop the head, she pauses to rub her thumb along its top. He shivers. Then she slides the rubber all the way down and lies back against the pillow.
He positions himself above her. She feels the tip of the rubber. He shifts his hips back and forth, teasing himself against the outside. “Like this?”
She groans. “Fuck’s sake, Adrian.”
He laughs silently. “As you wish.” Then he pushes inside her.
It doesn’t take long after that; she was so close already. When she comes, she wraps her arms and legs around his torso, pulling him as deeply into herself as she can.
When they’re both finished, Adrian rolls off her but keeps one arm around her shoulders. She huddles into his body, laying her head atop his chest.
After a minute, he asks, “Did you come then?”
In response, she just laughs into his chest. He wraps an arm around her back, pulling her in tighter. And even though she can’t see his face, she knows he’s smiling.
***
On their walk the next day, Adrian holds Ginny’s hand. They take their usual route down the hill, but before they reach the river, he pulls Ginny into a coffee shop. In Hungarian, he asks for two iced Americanos and a chocolatefánk—a donut. They wait beside the front window for the barista to call out their order. Adrian holds her hand the whole time. Once, he leans down and kisses her forehead, and it is such a natural gesture that Ginny thinks she might die.
They take their coffees down to the river. They walk and walk, going much farther than usual, as if they never want the walk to end. They walk so far, in fact, that when they finally turn around, Adrian says it will take them an hour to get back. He pulls Ginny into a bike rental shop and tells the owner they will return them first thing tomorrow morning. Then they bike back along the Danube. Ginny’s hair whips against her face and the air smells brackish. It’s the happiest she can remember being since arriving in Hungary.
When they return home, Ginny FaceTimes her mother from her bedroom. She shows her the bed, the armoire, the colorfulhouses across the street. Her mom wants to see the rest of the house, too, so she walks her through the kitchen and the living room, then sits down on the couch.
“I thought you were coming home last weekend,” her mom says. “Did you extend your trip?”
“Yeah,” Ginny says. “It’s a long story. I’ll explain when I’m home again.”
Ginny hasn’t told her she’s bulimic. She knows that telling your secrets can be therapeutic, can make them feel like less of a burden, but she isn’t ready for her secrets to extend beyond the safety of Szentendre just yet.
After a long goodbye, in which her mom asks Ginny twice whether she is eating—to which Ginny can, for the first time in years, honestly replyyes—they finally hang up.
Ginny sits on the sofa for a long time, staring out the window at the blue plaster of the house next door. She is thinking about the strangeness of her situation, wondering how she got here. She snaps out of it only when she hears a noise behind her.
She turns to find Imre ambling into the living room. She smiles at him, and he smiles back. She expects him to head straight for his usual armchair. Instead, he walks over to the couch and settles down beside her.
With a little wink, he pulls out his Samsung phone and points at its screen. He opens a translation app and types something in. When he turns the phone around to face Ginny, he looks rather proud of himself. She grins at him, giving him the thumbs-up. Then she squints at the screen.
He has never brought a girl home before.
Her eyes widen. She takes out her own phone and types hastily:Oh, I’m not his girlfriend.
When Imre looks at the screen, he clucks. He types into his Samsung: Titles are meaningless. Love is what matters.
Then, without giving her a chance to argue, he tucks his phone back into his pocket, pats her shoulder once, stands up, and walks away.
