Matthew
“You… you asshole!”
The door to Cecelia and Molly’s apartment flies open, and Cecelia stands in the doorway, chest heaving and bright red with fury. Her long brunette hair flows down her back, still damp from a shower and her eyes are wild with rage.
Yeah, I am an asshole - an insensitive prick - and prove it by laughing as Cecelia grabs me by the shirt collar, aggressively shoving me with all her might, both palms flat against my chest. I grab her by both wrists as she unsuccessfully attempts to propel me into the wall.
She’s breathing hard, face bright red and…. so is her half exposed chest. I force my eyes up, and bite my lip to stop another burst of laughter.
She looks so unbelievably infuriated.
“You are such a dickwad,” she spits out.
“I’m sorry. I wanted to see you.” Loosening the grip on her wrists, she seems to get control of her erratic breathing, and looks up at me. I’m still dressed like a pirate, having chased all over town driving my friend’s home and haven’t been home yet.
“Did you think scaring the living shit out of me at two in the morning would be funny?”
“Um…” How do I answer that? I can’t say yes. She’s obviously super pissed.
Cecelia continues ranting and tries shoving me again. “What an idiotic thing to do, you big jerk off. Why would you do something like this?”
Newsflash: I am a guy.
We think everything inappropriate is funny; farting, burping, lighting shit on fire - and yeah, scaring the living shit out of girls we like at two o’clock in the morning.
Do you want to know how I know men are idiots? Because one time I had an ex-girlfriend who posted a sign on my refrigerator after one of our many knock-down-drag-out fights (note: she was clingy and wanted a commitment) that said: ‘Men are stupid. If you forget, give them a second. They will remind you.’
So yeah – if you need further proof, I have it in writing on my fridge.
At the moment, it appears Bridget (the ex) might have been right.
Go figure.
“Don’t be mad. I didn’t think you’d be that freaked out,” I grin, the lie slipping out easily. With make-up on, Cecelia is beautiful. Without it (damp hair and all) she’s absolutely a-freaking-dorable.
And do-able. (Haha – see what I did there?)
I pull her in a little closer.
“Why are you here? I’m beginning to think you might have a few screws lose.”
“My car drove itself here. It’s like that car from Knight Rider.”
“What the hell is Knight Rider?”
“It’s a TV show from the 90’s. Michael Knight’s car Kitt was bad ass and drove itself.” Cecelia is regarding me like I’ve lost my mother effing mind. “On second thought, you know what? Never mind…”
“It’s past two o’clock,” she reminds me again. “This was kind of a dick move.”
I shuffle my feet, still stuffed into my borrowed black, steal toed construction boots. “Are you mad?”
I can’t even flirt without scaring the shit out of a girl and realize I’m pretty terrible at this relationship crap. Then I recognize the fact I just classified us as in a relationship.
I stare down at Cecelia, seeing her in a new way as she bites her lip and stares at the far wall, thinking. “No. I’m not mad.”
I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “Good. Because I wanted to tell you good night.”
“You came all the way over here to tell me good night? You need medication.”
“Probably. Also… maybe I wanted a peek at you wearing nothing but your jammies.” I peer down at her cleavage. Her round breasts are smashed against my chest, pushed together from the contact of our bodies and taking on a Maxime Magazine worthy appearance.
Nice.
“Are you here to call in the bet?” She squints up at me suspiciously. “Because you can’t kiss me until you do.”
Actually, I hadn’t thought about the bet in days… but now that she brought it up…
Laughing, I brush a few stray hairs out of her eyes as an excuse to touch her face. “Do you want me to call in the bet?”
“No… but… the bet was that you could kiss me. We never agreed I couldn’t kiss you.”
Cecelia
Matthew’s nostrils flare as I say “We never agreed I couldn’t kiss you,” and his pupils dilate.
I wonder if he’d agree to wear eyeliner for me more often.
It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen…
“I can live with that,” Matthew gruffly replies, the low timbre of his voice vibrating against the walls. He runs his large hands up and down my arms, as if trying to warm me up.
Trust me. It’s totally unnecessary.
My body is plenty warm.
“Just so you know, I’m not kissing you on the lips.”
Matthews’s eyebrows shoot up and he wiggles them suggestively, then rubs his pelvis against mine. I can feel his erection through his pirate cargo pants. “I’m totally okay with you kissing me other places instead.”