Fluffy(64)

He breathes into me, and I take him in with deep, delicious inhales that slowly surrender. The bolt that has held the gate closed for so long slides open, foot by rusty foot, until one final, coordinated effort removes the barrier and our parallel selves finally meet.

And touch.

With our lips.

No audience this time. No dance floor, no public display. This is about us and us alone. If Will's trying to make a statement to the crowd, he's found an awfully private place to do it. As he kisses me, our breath mingling, words earnest and real, it hits me, full throated and revelatory, the heady feeling of being in Will's arms righting the world.

Because he's showing me our truth.

I am the crowd.





18





Three weeks later

You ready? Perky texts me as I chop the last red pepper to put in the stir fry. Onions are caramelizing on the stove already, the house filled with the scent.

Will's coming over for dinner. He's ten minutes late and while I'm not worried about being stood up, I have to keep myself busy in order not to spontaneously combust. Chopping vegetables seems like a good outlet for my nervousness.

As long as I don't cut off a fingertip.

The text stands out on the glass screen of my phone, more metaphysical than Perky could ever imagine.

Am I ready?

Am I?

Wiping my right hand on a kitchen towel that hangs on the oven handle, I text back, Ready for what?

Sex, she replies instantly. Third date. It's a requirement.

What?

You really don't know a person until you're naked and in bed with them, she replies. Third date's a sure thing.

Is not! I reply.

Is so. You know he expects it, she answers, adding a donut and an eggplant emoji.

Great. Now I'm imagining Will's penis as a big purple nightshade. She's not helpful.

You need to quit reading those erotic sci-fi romance novels where the aliens are blue and purple and have three tongues on their penises, I answer.

Quit deflecting. You have protection? she replies.

From you? I have a sage stick and decaf coffee, I type back.

I get a meme about condoms in return.

You want memes? I threaten. Because I'm pretty sure you don't want to go there.

You said you deleted all memes you have about me! You swore! she replies.

Damn. Caught.

I hope he's good in bed, she says. Did you WD-40 your labia so they don't creak when they open?

My phone starts to slip and I grab at it desperately, fumbling in my panic to prevent it from cracking on the floor. It falls anyhow.

And... whew. No spider screen.

I resume our texting with, My cooch is just fine and freshly detailed and I'm sure Will has a huge eggplant cock and knows how to use it!

I hit Send.

And realize the text window is open to... my mother's phone number.

Three dots appear.

Oh.

My.

God.

Was something wrong with your gynecological parts, Mallory? Mom asks.

No, but there sure is now.

That text was meant for someone else, Mom. Sorry! I reply.

What is an eggplant... you know? Mom asks. Does Will have some sort of disease that made you sick?

MOM STOP, I reply, hating Perky, whose texts keep coming through, ever more insistent and graphic about all the ways I need to make sure I have sex tonight.

You initiated the conversation, Mom replies. You can tell me anything, you know.

Can I untell you this? I beg.

I'm not sure I understand what THIS is, she answers.

It's hell, Mom. It's hell. We're in hell, this conversation is hell, and my BFF is turning my night into– Ding dong!

The doorbell.

Will and his purple eggplant cock are here, I text Perky.

Gotta go, I text Mom.

And then I turn off my phone. Power down. Buh-bye.

Will is standing outside my door, head bent as he reads something on his phone.

“Hi!” I say, breathless, thrilled to see him as I shove aside the last minute of painful texting.

Gorgeous but very alarmed eyes meet mine. Phone in hand, he turns it around so I can see.

The words Will and his purple eggplant cock are here are on the screen.

Oh, no. I texted him by accident.

And, of course, his phone is charged to 93 percent. Show off.

“I can explain,” I choke out, beyond horrified.

He clears his throat. “Before I come in, I think we need to work on some expectations management for this evening, Mallory.”

“It's all Perky's fault.”

“Perky thinks I have a purple eggplant in my pants?”

“No!”

“Because we've never dated. I don't think we've even hugged. No way she knows about the purple tuber in my boxer briefs.”

“You wear boxer briefs?”

“You'd rather talk about my underwear than my grotesquely huge, extremely thick –”

I kiss him. His arms wrap around me, the crinkle of a paper bag crushed against my back stealing a tiny sliver of my attention away from the taste of Will. My nose picks up the scent of chocolate, his cologne overriding it as my cheek rubs against his.

“If you think kissing me to get me to stop talking about your eggplant fantasies is going to work, you're right.” He snuggles in, forehead to forehead.