Page 8 of The Ground Beneath Our Feet
Holy fuck, she’s beautiful.
And I wasn’t talking about the woman I was screwing.
From the doorway, startled, wide brown eyes took me in, on a face I’d seen in dreams and magazines, but not in real life. So goddamn fine. A brunette with smooth, golden skin, and luscious features. She oozed innocence, but in a hot way like Marilyn Monroe—if Marilyn Monroe were Latina—vulnerable and sexy at the same time.
It wasn’t just her face. My God, those curves. Her tits rounded out a soft, red sweater, and dark jeans caressed her full thighs. I loved it when girls didn’t wear baggy clothes—the better to see their assets.
She was my absolute ideal beauty.
I hadn’t heard her come up the stairs, which normally made noise like an old man. She must be the quietest girl I’d ever come across.
How this woman could be an attorney, I had no idea. I thought attorneys were assertive. This woman was the opposite. She looked completely shit-scared. Frozen.
Of course I knew why she looked that way. I was buck-ass naked andin flagrante delicto. Anyone would be freaked out by that.
With a shriek, she came to, then was gone. Feet sounded down the stairs—now I heard her—and the door slammed and a car started.
Oops.
I had a pretty good idea of who’d just walked in on me fucking Cherry. All I could think about was,this was not the best way to give a first impression.
Unless she wanted an impression of my ass.
I snickered, and Cherry looked up at me, flaming red hair spread over the pillow, pissed as a wet cat. “Who was that?” She had the right to be pissed. I still had my dick in her.
“I think that’s my new roommate.” I couldn’t help but laugh.
Shaking her head, she glared at me, makeup she didn’t need smeared around her eyes. Normally, Cherry dressed like she was going to the Oscars, in high heels and painted lips. Even if she was just going to Walgreens.
While I liked her appearance just fine, I thought women looked better when they used a lighter hand with makeup—when they were touchable, when they didn’t try so hard. If you kissed a woman with heavy lipstick, you’d end up looking like a drag queen. My type was less high-maintenance. The woman who interrupted us was that kind of natural beauty. Cherry was not.
“Honestly, Mikey, what the actual fuck?”
I raised my eyebrows, pulled back out of my head and into my reality. I needed to apologize, and fast. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t think she’d be here until after I got off work. When you texted for a quickie, I thought we could get away with it, and be done and back at the office before my new roommate showed up. Apparently not.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and rolled her eyes. “You’re living with a woman now? Is that a good idea?”
“She’s just a roommate.”
Clucking her tongue, she gave me a look that said, “You’re gonna get in trouble, and it’s gonna be fast.”
Maybe so.
I could see what she was thinking. Since high school, I’d been known as the easy-going, fun flirt. Forward, too. I’d never met a stranger. And I’d had my share of women, although I tended to go from relationship to relationship, rather than spreading the love far and wide. She probably figured I couldn’t keep my hands off my new roommate.
What could I say? I was a demonstrative guy. I’d never be the type to hold back. In all areas.
I’d always tell you how I felt, but I didn’t hold grudges. If we had a fight, I’d invite you over for a meal afterwards.
I think the way I was raised had something to do with that. My mom solved problems by yelling, then giving a big hug, then making her special lasagna. Me too.
Cherry couldn’t deal with me, though. We broke up two years ago because we were too much alike. Our eighteen months of marriage could be summed up as nearly constant fights, periodically interrupted with decent sex. The split was amicable because we agreed that we were a lot happier being divorced.
That didn’t stop us from an occasional adult naptime session if we were both horny and available. Like today. Even though she was between men, Cherry’s life was a Mae West quote: “Save a boyfriend for a rainy day—and another in case it doesn’t rain.”
I was the one in case it didn’t rain.
To quote the Princess Bride, I wasn’t sure I wanted to be that anymore.
