The man knows me. He’s caught Wrigley and I having sex enough times in enough places around the building to know exactly who I am, exactly who’s on the roof and exactly how I know.

“I might give it a minute to let her cool down,” he says.

Fortunately, he also seems to understand exactly why I’m not willing to go up there and let her in, myself.

This isn’t a shining moment for me.

All things considered, it really couldn’t have gone much worse.

I’ve added to the torment I’ve already levied on this woman and no, it doesn’t matter if she was crazy when I got here, that doesn’t mean it’s magically okay for me to toy with her.

I feel bad about it, but I can’t deny my feelings either.

This is the first time in my life that I can actually say that I’m in love with someone and have no ulterior motive in mind. It’s not Wrigley.

If I’d ever told Wrigley that I loved her, she probably would have put a foot in my crotch.

Still, as I hear the woman screaming expletives as I step out onto the street, I can’t help but feel that I might have gone about this in a much healthier way.

Not much I can do about it now.

*                    *                    *

When I get back to the apartment, Leila’s already home. That’s the good news. The bad news is that that asshole who was trying to suck the lips off her face is sitting on the couch.

“Hey you,” Leila says as I close the door behind me. “How’d it go?”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

I never bothered telling her what my plans for the day were.

“I don’t know,” she says. “Isn’t that what people say when their significant other comes home?”

The phrase makes me a little uncomfortable. I glance over at the couch to make sure that the gangly idiot feels just as uncomfortable about it as I do, but he’s just sitting there without a care in the world, scrolling through pages of what looks like apartment listings on a laptop.

“What are you up to?” I ask.

“Oh nothin’,” Leila says cheerily and gives me a quick peck on the lips. “Mike and I are looking to see if there’s any place we missed. I hope you don’t mind if we do that here. Mike’s roommate is back in town, and he’s not the friendliest guy on the planet.”

“I don’t mind,” I tell her. “Sorry your roommate’s a dick,” I call to “Mike,” hoping to preempt any indication of just how little I like the ass hat.

He shrugs, but doesn’t look up from the computer screen. “Hey, Lei,” he says, “how about this one?”

Leila leaves my side and goes over to look at the page.

I’m not that jealous a guy. After all, jealousy is just the admission that someone would make your partner happier than you do and the selfishness not to allow it.

With that said, it really wasn’t that long ago that Mike and Leila were sucking the spit out of each other’s mouths on that exact couch.

I really don’t know what to do with myself right now.

I don’t like the feeling.

“You two had anything to eat?” I ask. “I could whip something up.”

“Yeah, Dane’s the chef at l’Iris,” Leila tells the fuckwad.

“I’m not hungry,” he says. “Ooh, look at this one.”

So, what is a man in my position to do?

What I want to do is kick Mike out the window and take Leila to the nearest soft surface and make love to her until neither of us can keep our eyes open anymore, but the relationship is less than a day old.

If I start by kicking her friend out, she’s either going to think I’m a dick and it’ll ruin the relationship, or she’s going to be strangely aroused by that which means she’s into weirder stuff than Wrigley is, and I really don’t know if I could handle that either right now.

I don’t have too much time to think it over, though, as Leila and Mike finish what they’re doing and, with a quick hug, Mike’s on his way.

“Sorry about that,” Leila says as soon as the door is closed, “but he’s been really great, helping me find places and all.”

“It’s fine,” I tell her.

Telling her that I don’t want her to go is another one of those things that probably isn’t the best idea in the first twenty-four of a relationship. It’s right up there, I would imagine, with telling her friend to move to a different state.

“You seem upset,” she says. “Is something wrong?”

“Nah,” I tell her. “Everything’s fine. I’m just kind of tired.”

“Well, in that case,” she says, moving close and putting her arms around me. She looks up at me with those gentle eyes. “How about we watch a movie or something? There’s plenty of room on the couch for both of us to lie down,” she adds. “That is, unless you’d rather keep your personal space.”

“I would not like to keep my personal space,” I tell her, bending down to kiss her on the lips. “Really, I’m kind of hoping for a blanket, few if any clothes and absolutely no personal space for either of us.”

“Hmm…” she says, playfully tapping her chin with her finger. “We might miss a lot of the movie if we did that.”

“Damn. I was really excited to see whatever it was we’re going to watch,” I tease. “Oh well, I think I’ll live.”

“I think you’re right,” she answers and makes her way to the couch.

She pulls the afghan from atop the ottoman and spreads it out on the couch. While I’m getting settled in—read that as undressing—she uses my preoccupation to seize full control over our movie-watching itinerary.

I really could not care less what we watch.

That’s what I honestly think, right before she turns around with When Harry Met Sally in her hands.

She’s actually suggesting a movie which is famous for, among other things, Meg Ryan demonstrating how easy it is for a woman to fake an orgasm. There are ways a person can tell if he’s not a complete idiot, but still, I’m not a fan of the pairing.

“I know you’re probably not into chick flicks, but this is my favorite movie ever,” she tells me.

Fuck.

Now I can’t possibly protest, and she’s going to be watching to see how I react to it.

“It’s been a little while since I’ve seen it,” I tell her.

It seems like my best play. We’ll still end up watching it, but if I don’t end up with some massive, life-altering epiphany which leads me to tears, it won’t be such a big deal. I’ve already seen it before, so it couldn’t possibly strike me that deeply, right?

Then again, maybe she’s expecting me to have a stronger reaction to the movie because I’m watching it with her.

This is a fucking minefield, and I’m actually dreading watching what I’ll admit to be a classic movie that I quite enjoy when not under these horrific conditions.

Don’t tell anyone I said that.

Any of it.

Thanks.

She puts the movie in, and I lie down on the couch. I lift the blanket as she comes close, and as she stops to get down to her bra and panties, I start thinking that maybe I’m thinking about this whole situation in the wrong way.

We don’t see very much of the movie.

Chapter Seventeen

It’s Complicated

Leila

The last time I looked at the screen in any meaningful way was about five minutes into the movie.

The movie’s been over for a while and we’re still enjoying the foreplay.

I don’t know whether it’s because he’s with me or whether I simply pigeonholed him that first day he came to the apartment, his tattoos suggesting a sense of unsavoriness about his character, but he is already the most thoughtful lover I’ve ever had.

We threw off the afghan a while ago, but there’s no lack of warmth between our bodies.

Right now, I’m straddling his wonderfully curious mouth and taking his hard cock into my own. I never liked the term “69,” but the performance, the experience, that’s something else entirely.

As he explores my folds with his lips and tongue, I feel that familiar shiver that so recently I’d all but forgotten. And as that shiver turns into a soft explosion, I take him ever deeper into my mouth, using the reverberations of my own response to encourage his.