Julian

II. February, Ch. 19

     Calvin re-opened his eyes. "Really?"

     "Why do you think I was desperate to get you in the house?"

     He knew why he thought she wanted to get him in the house, but he'd make paper cuts on his cornea before he'd admit it.

     She stared at Calvin like she at one time changed his diapers. "You thought you were going to get lucky, didn't you?"

     His jaw fell. As soon as he'd start pronouncing one word, he'd abandon it to start another, ultimately saying nothing but half-noises. He took a deep breath to reboot. "I thought you were afraid of the dark."

     She hit him again. "That's for being a liar."

     I deserved that. He brought his hand to his injury.

     The temporary silence was taking its toll on Calvin's conscience. He remembered what his father told him. Apologizing is an admission of guilt.

     Genevieve bit her bottom lip. There was a sly edge to her eye-smile. "You would've had the night of your life."

     Oh, no. Don't do this to me in the morning. Calvin pulled the blanket closer to his waist. "I won't dignify that with a response."

     She looked into his eyes, savoring his discomfort. "I'm serious, Tang. You would have fallen in love with me."

     "Okay, that's enough."

     But his pupils dilated, his mouth got drier, and his pants felt tight. Damn, I've gotta get out of here.

     She turned her torso to face the coffee table, grabbed an aspirin and a glass of orange juice, and held them in front of Calvin. "This is for your headache and your morning breath."

     Yes, take my mind off waking up next to you in some ungodly way. He took the juice and medicine and consumed them with greed.

     She gave his hair a final combing with her fingers before getting off her knees and walking to the kitchen. "Help yourself to the phone or the bathroom while I finish with breakfast."

     The second she gave him her back to walk away, he missed her.

    At least the view is nice.

     Calvin scolded his naughty eyes. Take a cold shower.

     He sat upright on the couch and checked his watch. Seven fifty-five in the morning. Roger and Cookie would be awake in the next hour. If he left with plenty of time, he'd arrive before they noticed his absence, if they hadn't noticed it already.

     Once he put on his shoes and jacket, he dragged his feet to the kitchen, where Genevieve's citrus scent was replaced with that of bacon grease and melted Kraft American Singles.

     He placed his empty glass of orange juice on the table and took a seat. "How are you not feeling miserable? Didn't you drink more than I did?"

     Genevieve transported a fried egg from the hot, buttered skillet to an open sandwich. "There are good things that come with age."

     "Like learning Spanish?"

     She looked at him. Something in her face went missing, something pleasant. She went back to assembling breakfast.

     "Was it that guy you told me about, Pablo, who taught you?"

     Her eyes were back on him. "What do you know about Pablo?"