Page 77 of Come Back to Bed
She goes limp and buries her face in my chest. “Go for what?” she asks, her voice muffled.
“I’m sick of holding back with you.”
She looks up at me. “You’ve been holding back?”
I cup her sweet, confused face in my hands. “Darlin’, you have no idea.”
“What have you been holding back?”
“Letting you know that I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t stop thinking about you, and I don’t want to stop thinking about you. I want to see you every chance I get. I like you, and I don’t want to hide it. You can tell your friend Tommy that I want to take care of more than just your vagina.”
She jerks her head back and arches her eyebrows.
“I’m not talking about the other hole, dirty bird. I’m talking about your heart.”
“Oh.”
I’m not sure which part of her anatomy she’s more afraid of me penetrating.
“Is this…a good idea?”
“We wouldn’t exactly be the first people in history to start with what we have in bed and work outwards from there. But if I’m being honest, I think there was something more between us even before we started sleeping together.”
She nods, shutting her eyes tight like we’re about to go upside-down on a rollercoaster.
“I just want you to know that I’m really nervous. Scared, even. But it has nothing to do with you.” She places both of her hands over my heart, like she’s protecting it.
“I know.” I kiss her forehead.
“You know I’m nervous and scared, or that it has nothing to do with you?”
“Both.” I kiss her right cheek.
“You are infuriating.”
I kiss her left cheek. “I know. I don’t know exactly why you’re so nervous about being in a relationship. But I promise I won’t push you into anything you aren’t ready for.”
Her head tilts back, eyes still closed. “Just promise me you won’t make meconverge-sate.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Good.”
This woman is a little bit nuts and I’m a little bit nuts about her.
I finally do what I wanted to do the first time I saw her in this dress. I move her against the wall, slowly turn her to face away from me and slide the fingers of one hand just inside that deep V opening, my fingertips graze her nipple. With the other hand I reach down to pull up the hem of her dress. She places her hands flat against the wall, shuddering.
I whisper, tickling the skin on her neck with my warm breath: “Brace yourself, Bernadette. You’re about to be pursued by an esquire.”
* * *
This morning, we took Daisy to Central Park to play frisbee at seven am. When we got back, Bernadette joined us for a folksy sing-along session in the living room. For our Saturday night date, I told Bernadette to dress up, but didn’t tell her where we’d be going. She didn’t curse at me for nearly as long as I expected her to.
I know she’s at home, but she has been strangely quiet for the past hour. I thought she’d be running around, trying on different outfits or something, but maybe she decided not to listen to my wardrobe directions.
I put on my suit jacket, straighten my tie. “Be a good girl,” I tell Daisy. “See you soon.”
At exactly seven o’clock, I knock on the door to 4A. Two seconds later, I’m ready to drop to my knees. Bernadette Farmer stands before me in a formal black floor-length gown with a sleeveless top and flouncy lacy skirt, like it’s no big deal. Her hair is up in a messy bun, and I just know that perfectly-applied red lipstick will be all over our faces before the night is over.
