Just Lunch Page 3

  “I kind of feel like Mexican, if you’re stopping,” she says. “Not a burrito, but maybe a burrito bowl? Only half the rice they’d normally put in there, and …”

  For a woman who is mostly low-maintenance, Danielle’s food preferences can get pretty complicated. So, I listen, repeat her order back to her, and head over to get the Mexican food that I would not have chosen to eat, but for the fact that I generally wind up doing whatever the heck she wants me to. I don’t even know how and when it happened, but that shit is real.

  When I finally get to her place, she opens the door barefooted, but wearing a blue-and-white striped maxi-skirt and white tank top, with a large turquoise necklace around her neck. She obviously hasn’t been home long.

  “Finally,” she says, reaching for the paper sack. “I’m dying here.”

  I hold the bag out of her reach and instead dip my head, leaning in until I get a kiss first. She tastes like strawberries, and wine. I cup her ass and pull her against me, and allow her to take the paper bag only once I’ve gotten a good, solid grope in. When I pull away, she’s smiling.

  “C’mon …” she says, rushing me inside, as if the kiss-and-grope is only a distraction from something much more important. “I want to hear all about what happened with your broadcast.”

  ~3~

  There’s a little spot of sour cream on the tip of Dani’s nose. I let her talk for about ten minutes before I tell her it’s there, then I lean in and remove it with the pad of my thumb. We’ve eaten all the Mexican food, and the day is beginning to catch up with me—the broadcast, the long drive, the heavy food … I can feel my eyes grow heavier.

  “Tell me what happened with your show,” Dani says, when she’s done with her soliloquy about her morning run and the little gift someone’s dog left on the track for her to step into.

  She is clearing up the trash from our meal and I wish she would slow down and just sit next to me, but she’s busy that way, always on the move. But whenever she’s still? Especially when she is still and next to me, I feel myself grow calmer.

  “I was just leaving the bar when something happened, and I missed it because I was …”

  “You were at a bar?”

  “Yeah. You know, the Velvet Rooster? That place. And two guys were talking about something you said, but I missed it because I had to leave for Trudie’s thing.”

  “They asked me about the ‘take a knee’ protests,” I tell her, shrugging. “And I said I wouldn’t stand either if I was still playing, but that every guy should act according to their conscience.”

  Dani turns around and looks at me. She leans against the edge of the sink. She smiles.

  “Oh,” she says, after a moment. “Cool.”

  “That’s all?” I say. “Cool?”

  It’s only then that I realize that I’ve been waiting, since it happened, to hear her opinion.

  “It’s cool,” she says again. “I think you said the right thing …”

  Dropping the dishtowel that was in her hand on the kitchen counter, she comes closer. When she is directly in front of me, she shoves my knees apart to stand between them. “And it’s cool that … that if you were playing, you wouldn’t stand either.”

  “Had a couple people tell me I was being stupid to say all that.” I hold her hips, pulling her even closer.

  “Then they’re stupid,” she says reflexively, and I try not to smile at the fact that she is so quick to defend me.

  “Well. They didn’t say it in those words, but …” My hands, moving almost of their own volition, run upward to the waistband of her skirt.

  “I don’t care what words they said it in. It’s never stupid to stand up for something you believe in.”

  She’s cute when she’s irritated. Her nostrils flare and her lips get tight at the seam, like a little purse. I run my hands under the waist of the skirt and then downward, cupping her smooth, round ass.

  “Wait a second,” I say, pulling her closer. “Are you not wearing any …?”

  “I am,” she says. “It’s a thong.”

  My eyes widen slightly. “Since when do you wear thongs?”

  “I thought I’d change things up a little.” She shrugs one shoulder and bites the corner of her lip.

  Still running my palms over her butt, I pull her even closer. “I like.”

  When our lips touch, hers part right away. Every single time we kiss, she responds like kissing me is all she’s ever wanted to do, all she’s been waiting to do, all day.

  “I have a confession to make,” she says while I kiss her neck.

  “What?”

  “The place where I went to buy the underwear?”

  “Uh huh?”

  “It’s French. Like a boutique.”

  “Okay …” I peel her tank top strap to the side and kiss her shoulder, moving inward.

  “And next to it …” She gasps a little because being kissed along her clavicle is a weakness of hers, I’ve discovered. “Next to it was a French bakery, Rand.”

  I raise my head and look at her, trying not to smile.

  “I bought éclairs,” she says, sounding like she’s confessing having visited a crack house. “Three of them.”

  “Were they any good?” I peel off the other tank top strap. Now, the garment is held in place only by that little bandeau thing inside that substitutes for a bra.

  Dani rolls her eyes. “I didn’t eat them. Like, how weak do you think I am?”

  This time I don’t smile, I laugh. “You just said you bought three of them.”

  “They’re in the fridge.”

  I shrug. “So, if you don’t want to eat them, throw them away.”’

  She shakes her head, like I’m the dumbest person she’s ever had the misfortune of knowing.

  “I’m not throwing them away. That’s expensive, high-quality pastry. Here’s what we’re going to do …”

  I listen, though I’m still getting hard, just watching her lips move, and seeing the twin peaks of her hardened nipples through the fabric of her tank.

  “I’m going to have one bite. Of one éclair and then when you leave, you’re going to take them with you, and give them to Little Rocket or something.”

  “You want me to leave?” I ask lowering my head to kiss her shoulder again.

  “In the morning,” she amends. “When you leave in the morning.”

  “Sure. I’ll take ‘em.”

  Sometimes we can talk about the silliest, most frivolous shit, and yet somehow it makes me feel like I’m getting to know her better, and that it’s making us closer. Better friends, better lovers … and just, better.

  “I’d like to have my bite of the éclair right now,” she says then.

  I lift my head and then glance pointedly down at my groin. “Now, Danielle?”

  “It’ll only take a second.” She spins out of my grasp and goes to the refrigerator, returning with a pink pastry box tied with white string. She pulls the string, opens the box, and then hands it to me.

  I lift the lid and inside, nestled in their own little bed of tissue, are three puff pastries, with chocolate ganache topping. They look pretty good, but what I’m thinking about eating right now isn’t in this pink box.

  I take one of the pastries out and hold it between two fingers. Dani is standing between my legs again. She closes her eyes and leans in. Her lips part.

  “How much of it do you want?”

  “Only a little,” she says. “Less than half.” Then she opens a little wider and I slide the pastry between her lips. I see the tip of her tongue just as she’s about to bite down, and my dick jumps a little.

  When she bites down, it’s with an expression of bliss. She only opens her eyes once she’s chewing, and when she swallows, she has a look of dreamy satisfaction. A little custard is at the corner of her mouth.

  “That’s all I needed,” she says. “I’m good now.”

  I shove the pink box to the side and then stand. Because she’s so close, our chests collide a
nd she has to look up to see my face.

  “Is it my turn now?” I ask. “Do I get some dessert too?”

  Dani nods, bites down on her lower lip and blushes.

  We head back to her bedroom, which is messy as usual, with clothing draped over the footboard, her purse on the floor, and an armchair buried in a mound of laundry. I walk her backwards, until we’re about to topple onto the bed, but Dani reaches behind her and shoves a bag out of the way.

  Reaching to take it from her, to set it on the chair, I feel her tense.

  “I’ve got it,” she says. And when I look at her, she is blushing again.

  “What is that?” I ask, reaching for it.

  “Nothing.”

  “What? More lingerie? Maybe we can use …”

  “No, it’s not. It’s just …”

  She looks almost frantic now, which makes me curious.

  My reach is much farther than hers, so I snatch it out of her hand, and look inside. There is a black box with gold lettering which I fish out, and toss the bag aside. When I open the box, I freeze for a second, while my mind processes what I’m looking at.

  Dani pulls it from me and tries to throw it off the bed, but only succeeds in getting it to the edge. She throws like a girl.

  “It’s from that stupid party I went to at Trudie’s,” she says. “It’s not like …”

  Turning, I gently push her back onto the bed, and cover her body with mine. “Wait. So … you …” I narrow my eyes trying to think of how to phrase the question I want to ask, but come up empty.

  Beneath me, Dani is studying me, her eyes slightly narrowed. Her arms come up and around my neck. She parts her legs, so now I’m between them. She chews on one corner of her lower lip as if trying to figure something out, and then takes a breath.

  “Oh. My. God,” she says slowly. “You’re … threatened by the vibrator.”

  I make a scoffing noise. “Hell nah, I’m not threatened by the vibrator. I just …”

  “Just what?” Her lips are trembling with the effort it takes her not to laugh.

  “I don’t know why you would need it, that’s all.” While I speak, I am pulling her skirt down and over her hips, hoisting myself up a little to do so.

  “I don’t need it. I’ve never even used one. But you are definitely feeling some type of way that I have it. I can see it in your eyes, Rand.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  The skirt is off now, and I’m working on her tank.

  I’m lying.

  The truth is, I like knowing that whatever variation of the sex act Dani has had, she’s had it with me. I like the feeling that comes from knowing that no one has touched her the way I’ve touched her. No one has made her scream, groan, moan, whimper and bite the pillow like I do. No one has made her come. Just me. But who would have thought that my possessiveness extended to a damn … appliance?

  “If it makes you feel any better, I only got it to be supportive of Trudie’s friend’s side-gig. It’s not like I’m going to use it.”

  I look at her and she is dead-ass serious. I mean, she is that inexperienced. How many women out there would have a vibrator and be able to honestly say they wouldn’t even try it? But I look in Dani’s eyes and it’s crazy, but she seems to mean it.

  “You’ve never used one?” I ask, eyes narrowed in disbelief.

  “Never. I mean. I wouldn’t even know where to …”

  “Online. From a sex store … anywhere. I’m guessing that if you’re motivated, you can find one.”

  She’s blushing again. “I guess I wasn’t motivated, then. It never would’ve occurred to me to …”

  “So, you’ve never masturbated?”

  “I never said all that,” she says. “But you know. Just …”

  I lean in. “Just …”

  “With … my fingers.”

  I think if her complexion was a shade fairer, she would be bright crimson by now. As it is, she can barely meet my gaze.

  “Well, you don’t need this shit,” I say, shoving the vibrator box over the edge of the bed and onto the floor. “And as long as I’m around you won’t need your fingers either.”

  Dani splutters. “Wow. My hand, too? You’re threatened by this?” She holds up her three index fingers.

  “Quiet,” I say.

  I reach down between us, and put my three index fingers to work.

  “So, are you nervous about it? About people’s reactions to what you said?”

  We are lying side by side on my now much-messier bed, and my leg is draped over Rand’s. He is just on the cusp of sleep, but I want to make sure of something. Though we moved off the topic of his ‘take a knee’ protest comment pretty quickly, I know it must be a worry somewhere in the back of his mind. No one wants to be the person who brings drama to the job.

  “Nah. Just … cautious, I guess.”

  “What did people on set say after it happened?”

  Rand shrugs. “Not much. I think they were probably where I was, trying to figure out how it would go over. I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

  “What I said before? About it being cool, what you said?”

  “You want to take it back?” Rand asks. He is tracing circles on the thigh that is draped over his. It’s distracting, so I put my hand over his to make him stop for a moment.

  “No. But I said that from a place of complete safety. I mean, it’s not my job on the line. It’s not my livelihood. So, you should do what you think makes the most sense for you.”

  “So, all that ‘never stupid to stand up for what you believe in’ stuff … you’re taking it back?”

  “No. Of course not. Just saying that I’m not going to judge you if it becomes a … thing, and you decide to toe the line. I’ll support whatever you do.”

  Rand is quiet for a long time.

  “I’m not toeing anyone’s line except my own,” he says finally.

  I smile.

  He turns his head and looks at me. “Why’re you smiling?”

  I turn as well, so our noses are almost touching. His eyelids are heavy, sleepy. “Because that was what I was hoping you’d say.”

  “One of my co-workers thinks that I should ease up on all that.”

  “What’d he say?”

  “She. You know Alexa Chang?”

  “No. Is she famous?”

  Rand shrugs. “Only if you watch ESPN. Anyway, she says she thinks it’s important for me not to get associated with a side.”

  “A side?” I ask. I already dislike this Alexa person.

  “Politically.”

  “Hmm.” I purse my lips to avoid saying what I want to say, which will negate everything I just said moments ago about it being his call.

  “And she’s been in this business a while so I may as well hear her out. I’m not tryna be no sellout, but maybe she has some pointers about how not to make myself the story, y’know?”

  I give him some approximation of a nod.

  “She’s going to what? Coach you on …?”

  “Nah. Just … she asked me to lunch to celebrate the first show so I’ll just pick her brains a little, I figure, and …”

  She asked him to lunch? She asked him to lunch, and he’s lying naked in bed with me, basically saying that he accepted. Like it’s nothing.

  Suddenly, I hear Trudie’s voice in my head.

  ‘Virgins can get used, Danielle,’ she said to me once. ‘Men know that when they’re your first, they basically own you. And if they’re assholes, they use you.’

  But Rand is not an asshole, and this isn’t that kind of lunch. It’s one colleague asking another out for a bite to talk about work. I mean, that’s what he said it was about, right? And if the colleague were male, would I care?

  And if he was attracted to her, would he even have mentioned it? If he meant to get involved with this person, would he even have brought her up?

  But I can’t let those kinds of thoughts to take hold. And why should I? Lying next to him, even now, still
feels dreamlike and unreal. Especially because it’s been so easy and mellow between us. After a little bit of early drama, we’ve calmed to a place that’s just … good. I sometimes catch myself wondering whether this is normal, this sense of peace between us.

  Everything I’ve ever heard my friends say about their relationships makes it sound like there’s always something, some fly in the ointment of their happiness. But that’s not what it’s been like with me and Rand. I just feel the happiness, the overwhelming giddiness. Like, all the time.

  “Where are you?”

  Rand’s voice, and his thumb sweeping across my lower lip bring me back to the present and I smile, refocusing on him.

  “Right here,” I say. “I’m right here. Sleepy, but still here.”

  “Will you be here when I wake up, too?”

  I nod. “Yes,” I say, speaking with the pretense of the studious patience that you would use on a two-year old. “Because we’re in my apartment.”

  “Would you be here when I wake up, even if we weren’t in your apartment?” he asks. I can hear the smile, but my eyes are shut so I don’t see it. “You wouldn’t sneak out at dawn, treat me like a booty-call?”

  “Hmm.” I pretend to think about it. “Nah … I don’t think I would. Even though you are a booty call. Jus’ sayin’.”

  “Word?” he says. His voice is quieter now. “Because I thought we had something real goin’ on.”

  At that, I open my eyes.

  He’s looking at me with such earnestness, that I’m not even sure we’re still joking around. It’s times like this when I remember, with a clarity that startles me, what he was like at seventeen. And I think I can see that boy now, in the eyes of the man next to me.

  Seeing that boy helps me banish Trudie’s voice, and all the other naysayers in my head that tell me that this can’t last, this can’t be real; and that sooner or later, he will move on.

  Maybe he will. I don’t know. But I’m not going to ruin right now, by thinking about what might be.

  Right now, he is with me.

  His hand is on my thigh.

  His thumb caresses my lip.

  He leans in to kiss me.

  And as for Alexa whatever-her-name-is? It’s just lunch.