Laugh Page 14

  “Just give me a minute, Nina.”

  She pressed harder.

  She felt him reach her side, and she opened her eyes. The first thing she saw was Sam’s white leather stool.

  Which was now white with a deep blue impression of a man’s butt.

  “Hey Sam?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Did you wash your new jeans PJ talked you into? I mean before you wore them?”

  “Hell no. I was afraid if I did, they’d shrink and I’d never get into them.”

  “Look.” She gestured toward his stool.

  “Motherfucker.”

  They were quiet for a long minute, the noise of the restaurant intense, their date battered into defeat.

  He turned to her and reached out his hand. “Come on, haul up. We’re gonna have to make a run for it.”

  He didn’t let her think; she touched his arm, then he grabbed hers and yanked her up, holding her upright until he was sure she was steady. Then he reached into his wallet and pulled out a big wad of cash and tucked it under the tray.

  She took a deep breath and forced her feet into her shoes, seeing stars.

  Then he came behind her and started walking her forward, fast. She pulled down the skirt of her dress and tentatively felt behind her. Small mercies, the rip hadn’t made it farther than maybe the top of her thigh, but Sam pressed close and nearly pushed them through the crowd, out the door, and onto the sidewalk, which was now filled with people waiting to get in.

  He pushed her along, and she hobbled, but he didn’t seem to notice. When they were a block away from the crowd he stepped back and ran his hands over her ass.

  “Not so bad, actually.”

  “I figured that out when we were doing the dine and dash.”

  “I left money.”

  She sighed. “I know.” She turned around. “You still dying of chile poisoning?”

  “It’s better. Now that we’re in the fresh air, I don’t feel so wasted, either.”

  “You ready to go home?”

  He yanked down on his hopelessly wrinkled shirt, revealing cross-hatches of sweat stains where it had been bunched against his skin. “Fuck no.”

  “No?”

  “No. You’re still decent, I’m not dead or too drunk, and anyway, we’re here. For the second half of our date. Look.”

  He was pointing at a small brick building with a smoked plate-glass window.

  Painted on the window in gold script was Two Left Feet Dance Studio.

  Baby Jesus have mercy.

  “We’re going to dance?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Right now?”

  “I made us an appointment. This guy, he’s supposed to be great. Him and his wife spend half an hour giving lessons to the couples, then they play old records for the next hour to let couples practice and dance. Also …” He put his hand on the back of his neck. “My folks, they used to go here. For dates. They even did the teaching part, after a while.”

  “Oh, Sam.”

  “Yeah.” He looked so worried, she was afraid he’d die from it.

  “I don’t know, it’s just—” She took a step in her shoes and had to breathe through her nose from the pain.

  “It’s stupid, right? I mean, it’s probably just a bunch of old people and I don’t even know what kind of music you like. Probably not old-fashioned music like this. It’s cool.”

  This time she did press her hand to her heart. “I want to.”

  He grinned at his shoes. “Yeah?”

  “Yes. Let’s do it.”

  “So, you don’t know how to dance, do you?”

  “What?”

  “I just mean, I tried to do the thing, with the new food experience, and you totally outclassed me. Not that I mind if you’re classier. Obviously, you are. In everything. It’s only that, because of my parents, I’ve taken a few lessons myself and it would be nice to, you know. Show you some things.”

  He would do so much better if he didn’t say more than half of what ran through his head.

  “I don’t dance.”

  He grinned again, but then schooled it, which made Nina want to laugh. “No? Okay. That’s not … awesome. I mean …”

  She reached up and put her fingers to his lips, traced around where they were still overwarm and rosy from the chiles. “I know what you mean.”

  “Yeah. You do. It’s what I like about you, Nina.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “I’m too heavy.”

  “Not at all.”

  She wasn’t, for the first three blocks. The last four, it was possible she was just a little heavy.

  “I’m so sorry.” She buried her face into his neck and he readjusted his arm under her ass and told himself he would never cut his count short on the triceps presses ever again.

  “You can’t help it that your feet are bloody stumps.”

  “I shouldn’t have worn these stupid shoes.”

  “They made your legs look fucking edible.”

  “I shouldn’t have gotten that stupid pedicure.”

  “That why your toenails are painted red? Sexy.”

  He dipped down and grabbed the handle of her lobby door and used his shoulder to wedge them in. The air-conditioning hit them with a blast, and they both moaned.

  “Sweet fuck, that feels good.”

  “Here, you can put me down.” She wiggled and if his arms and back weren’t screaming, and his toes weren’t pinched, and his ass crack wasn’t chafed raw from sweat in these tiny pants, he’d have appreciated it more.

  As it was, he did his best not to just dump her on the marble floor like one of her overfilled bushel baskets.

  “Oh—this floor feels good on my feet. Like ice.”

  Her dress was crooked and wrinkled, and one of the straps had slipped down, showing her bra. She was sweaty, and the hair around her face was wet and curling. He noticed, for the first time, that her sleeveless dressed showed off her farmer’s tan, and that her knees and shins were slashed with fine, white scars where she’d probably skinned and cut herself, over the years, doing physical work.

  Her feet really did look like stumps, her ankles a little thick with edema from reacting to the trauma of trying to dance with open sores all over her feet.

  He really hoped she would ask him up, let him spend the night.

  “Come up,” she said, and his heart jammed right in his throat. “I have iced tea and we can just sit and talk awhile.”

  “Okay” was what he said, and she must have heard the naked hope in his voice because she stepped close.

  “I don’t know. Just come up, and we’ll see.”

  “Could I give you an end-of-date kiss?” He hooked the strap of her dress back onto her shoulder. He could see down her dress, and how the tops of the lace cups of her bra magically curved around her breasts.

  He loved that, because it did seem magical, how that lace could round everything out, and then the bra unhooks and there are breasts everywhere, soft and hanging heavily, or close to the lines of the woman’s chest, or wide-spaced and rounded. Whatever. It felt like the best part of intimacy to be the one to see, to watch that transformation from rounded, lace-covered mystery to the woman’s actual body, different from any other body and real.

  He loved getting a woman’s bra off.

  “You’re staring at my boobs.”

  “I know.”

  She moved her head to under his chin, blocking his view. She still smelled mostly good, but they were both a little ripe. Then she kissed his neck, and he closed his eyes and thought about how much he liked how she smelled, even sweaty and too warm.

  “What were you thinking about?” She kissed behind his ears, and he broke out in prickles that felt so fucking good his dick got nice and heavy.

  “Boobs.” He ran his fingertips over her clavicle and then palmed both of her breasts, felt the slide of cotton over her bra. Squeezed, because she arched a little.

  Then she had him by the ears, and he let h
er tug him down to her mouth.

  Nina had full lips and they made him fucking ache. Just feeling them, parted, resting against his was so blissful and horny that he could almost resist moving, tasting her, sliding his tongue against hers, but then, he’d just have to move, have to suck in her bottom lip just to feel it inside of him, and then just as that was enough, he had to bite it, and make the kiss deeper, over and over.

  Whenever he pulled back to breathe, she made a noise that sounded greedy and he wanted to give her whatever she wanted, spoil the hell out of her.

  So he pushed the kiss deeper, made it slower.

  Maybe his lips were extra-sensitive from the spicy food, maybe his brain was a little soft from the drinks at dinner, and that’s why kissing Nina hurt so good he could hardly breathe, but he didn’t think so.

  It was Nina, soft and responsive and smart, her ass wiggling under his hand to get closer, her body real and solid, her eyes wise. He ached and he ached kissing her, like there wasn’t anything else he could possibly be doing, like he belonged to someone, someone who made him feel hot and capable and big, and the more he gripped her to him, their kisses openly tasting and without any finesse whatsoever, the more he wanted her even closer.

  He wanted his body over hers, under hers, their skin sticking, their hands everywhere. The idea of her hands on his body, on his naked body, made it hard to breathe, made him shiver.

  She pushed her hips into his, and he grabbed at her hips, sinking his fingers into them just to feel the warm truth of her give under his hands.

  She pulled back, sucking at his lip.

  “Sam,” she said.

  “Can I come up?”

  “Come up. I want to shower.”

  “I want to shower with you.”

  “I figured. I’m a little worried you’re going to pass out wearing those pants now that all your blood is below your waist.”

  “You’re going to have to cut me out of them.”

  She laughed and then took his hand and limped with him to the elevator.

  “Hey, where did your shoes go?”

  She pushed the button to go up. “I threw them away outside the dance studio.”

  She had held up through the lesson without ever giving away how much she was suffering, and then, thirty seconds into the first official dance, she had dropped his hands and limped to the side to sit down, laughing.

  He’d been horrified to find her shoes ringed with blood, but seeing them seemed to make her laugh harder, which tore her dress a little more, and then she pointed at his shirt, which was such a mess he was surprised the dancing instructors hadn’t turned them out on the street.

  Then he was laughing, too.

  She unlocked the door to her condo and as soon as it was open, he couldn’t help another kiss. She kissed him back, but quick, and then twisted and unzipped her dress at the side and wiggled out of it.

  “Holy fuck.”

  “Yeah?” She grinned at him in her lace panties and bra, which were some kind of off-white color he didn’t have the name for. He could see her legs, all the way up to the top, and her nipples through the lace, and just—skin. Lots of it.

  “Fuck, yeah.”

  “Show me what you got, Opie.” She pointed at him.

  He yanked off the shirt, and he was worried he tore it, which he hoped not, because he was going to give it to PJ, who’d be able to wear it without wrinkling. He tried to toe his shoes off, but they were too tight.

  “Hold up.”

  He sat on her couch and messed with the buckles and zippers, and when he finally got the shoes off, his feet looked almost as bad as Nina’s.

  She hissed through her teeth. “Sam.”

  “I think doing it standing up is off the table.”

  “We’re a mess.”

  He grinned at her, her dark wavy hair draped all over her almost naked body. “You’re doing okay.”

  He stood up and could barely get the button of the jeans undone, and the fly was so short, it gave him barely any ease when he unzipped it. When he peeled off the jeans, his boxers came with them, and the whole operation was like teasing off a damp surgical dressing.

  “Ay Dios mio.”

  “I know, not too fuckin’ bad, huh?”

  But Nina was covering her mouth, her eyes dancing, which wasn’t exactly what he was hoping for. Then he looked down.

  His legs were blue.

  He had a blue ring around his hips. Where his shorts had protected them, his jumblies were lily white and baby pink. From the thighs down, he was cyanosis blue.

  He looked at Nina, who was now holding her stomach in silent laughter.

  “Sexy, huh?” He swiveled his hips. “You want some of this, baby?” He did a little flexing and posturing, since he was pretty much in for it.

  “I don’t know where to look.”

  “Don’t worry about where to look, just think about what you’re going to lick first.”

  “I could get dye poisoning.”

  He grabbed his dick and gave it a couple of long strokes, looking at her. “This right here is dye free.”

  “Do you have no shame, Sam Burnside?”

  He closed his eyes and focused on how it felt to touch himself with her. “Not about this. I have plenty of shame, though, about other stuff.”

  He felt her step close, then felt her body along his. Warm, soft, but not enough warm softness. He opened his eyes, and she was looking at him, her hands on his chest. He reached around and unhooked her bra, loving how he could feel the slack loosen.

  Her breasts were warm and heavy, and touching her tight nipples made him feel almost instantly hard. He loved how her body answered his, made him feel like he was right, like everything he was doing was just right.

  He held her breasts in his hands, stroking over her, and he felt her palm him.

  “Can I?” she whispered.

  “Yeah, yeah, touch me, Nina. Slow, just a little.”

  She jerked him with a light touch, kissing his shoulder with an open mouth and he let his head fall back and the pleasure wave through him. She played with him, soft, stroked over him without purpose but without stopping. It made his whole lower back buzz, his ass get tight; even worse were the slow kisses that were roaming to his throat, behind his ear.

  He shaped her breasts as softly as she was touching him, and for what seemed like a long time, they were gentle with each other.

  It was good.

  It felt like how they talked to each other, how she listened to him.

  “Let’s get in the shower.” She took his hand and pulled him through the condo and he took a minute to look around. It was tidy, and he liked her big corduroy sofa, the heavy wood of her kitchen table, but there wasn’t the art on the walls he would have expected. Something more was missing. That thing that made a place home. His apartment didn’t look like a home either, but it wasn’t tidy like this.

  He wondered why two people who seemed to want nothing more than to make a home hadn’t.

  Her shower was small, en suite in her dark bedroom.

  He got in first, because she wanted to put her hair up. There was a huge bar of creamy-looking soap, and he filled his hands with suds that smelled lemony, scrubbed them over his legs, relieved when the blue dye rinsed away. He had little scrapes and bruises on his shins and knees from volunteering for Paz Farms. He wondered if he would be able to keep helping her, forever, and if he’d get the same little scars she had.

  When she stepped in, he slipped his hands all over her, using the slick foam of the soap to dig into the muscles of her shoulders and back, to slide between the cheeks of her ass. He watched her back muscles stiffen and then relax when he stroked her there softly.

  She watched him soap her breasts. The warm water kept her nipples soft until he focused the tips of his fingers on them, and she braced a hand against the shower wall and one behind her neck.

  “Feel good?”

  “Yeah,” she said.

  Her belly was amazing,
the skin paler than her arms and legs, and right under her belly button there was the thinnest sweet line of dusky, silky hair that curved into her hair below. Her body was lush and strong.

  He pushed his dick against her belly, letting it slip around in the soap. It wasn’t enough friction to push him in any direction but the same low frequency of constant arousal he’d been in since they started kissing in the lobby.

  He rubbed and slipped and bucked against her just to feel her skin, let his fingers rake over her, separating the lips and learning her, how her clit was deep, tucked into her mons, hard, and a little too sensitive when he brushed over it.

  “Better?” he asked, pressing it like he had in his office in the hospital. She nodded into his neck.

  Her hips, and how they moved—it was going to kill him.

  “Let’s go to bed,” she said.

  They stepped out, dried the other off. He made her sit on the toilet to dry her feet and look at the broken blisters.

  His chest was started to feel tight. She looked so good. He reached up and found the clip in her hair and carefully undid it, tried to untangle the ropes of her hair, but it was too thick, with curling places in every section.

  She watched him try. Smiled at him. She put her hands through his hair as he bent over her feet.

  He kissed her.

  Under the quilt on her bed, he put his arms and legs around her, rocking against her and kissing her neck, her hair everywhere, tangling.

  She pushed back a little. “You’re such a pretty man, Sam.”

  “I know.”

  Her eyes looked bigger in the dark room, and she grinned, her lashes winging into her smile lines. “You’re other things, too, you know. You work hard. You want to do good.”

  He wanted to tell her not to say things like that, because no one else did, and he so wanted them to be true that her words made him want her, want to keep her.

  “You’re amazing” was what he said. “I can’t believe what you’ve accomplished. Every time I filled up one of those CSA boxes I kept thinking that you made this huge thing, starting with nothing.”

  “With people,” she said.

  In the low light of the room, she was all curves and eyes. He shaped his hand over her waist, over her hip, over her ass. Over and over.