Page 54 of Bedding Rose
Friday
He can’t seeme today. He says a friend has come in from out of town and he has to take care of some things he’s been neglecting.
Even though that’s practical, I can’t help the fact that my throat grows tight at the thought that I won’t see him.
That is, until I get a text.
Boyfriend:By the way, I licked your vibrator. Think about that the next time you use it.
I do.
And I’ve never come so hard or so fast solo.
* * *
Saturday, Sunday, & Monday
I thinkAngelo might be trying to kill me.
I’m pretty sure he’s invented the sex equivalent of the board game Clue and is acting it out with me.
In the hot tub, doggie style, with a vibrator.
On the balcony, against the railing, wearing a buttplug.
On top of the piano, feet on the keys, my hands cinched with a rope.
* * *
Tuesday
We agreeto meet up somewhere since our last attempt to drive together in his truck was a disaster.
We go for ice cream at a cute little cafe calledDonna’sthat backs to a park. It’s mid-afternoon when we get there, and I’m dressed more conservatively than I have been around him. I wear a knee-length puffy jacket over a long-sleeved black shirt and black yoga pants.
I get the mint chocolate chip and he gets butter pecan and we decide to stroll through the park since it’s a rare, semi-warm winter day.
It’s not very scenic, without leaves on the trees and everything brown and barren, but it’s quiet. There’s a neighborhood surrounding the little ice cream shop so the entire area is pretty much abandoned by people working or schooling or just getting out. We’re the only ones there.
I’m just about to ask Angelo what his favorite movie is—to broach some kind of first date topic—when something wet and cold hits my nose.
For a horrifying second, I think a bird’s shit on me.
Then the wet substance drips onto my lips and I hear Angelo laughing. I turn to see him licking his fingers.
Suspicion rolls through me.
I let my tongue dart out to lick the speck on my lips. That bastard threw ice cream at me! Swiping a hand over my nose, I hiss from between my teeth. “Oh, it’s like that, cabrón?” I launch myself at him, my cone raised like a weapon.
With a laugh and a whoop, he darts off through the grass. The bastard has legs that are twice as long as mine and I chase him around the entire perimeter of the park, huffing and screaming, leaving a trail of green drips behind me. I only end up catching him near the slide because he lets me.
When he comes to a dead stop in front of a child’s ladder leading up to the colorful playset and puts his hands—one still holding his cone—up in surrender, I narrow my eyes, untrusting.
“Truce. We need a truce or our ice cream is going to melt.”
I grit my teeth but grudgingly agree. “Fine. But you’re still a bastard.” Anyone else would get a fake smile, but Angelo—I don’t have to pretend with him. I don’t have to be nice. And it’s so damn refreshing.
I stick my tongue out at him before I go to lick my ice cream and I find myself getting spun around a second later, captive in his arms, my back to his front. Holding me in place and pinning my arms down with one hand across my chest, he attacks me again, gliding his frigid ice cream cone over my neck.
