Page 66 of Mixed Signals
“I’ve never had a partner who—” She trails off. I wait for her to continue but she doesn’t say anything. I look at her over my shoulder.
“You’ve never had a partner who, what?”
I don’t know what I’m expecting her to say. Her history with men is storied, and after the lint roller thing, she really could say anything. Her cheeks flush and she smooths her hair behind her ears. She glances at me briefly and then stares over my shoulder. She shrugs halfheartedly.
“You know.”
I don’t know. Maybe I’m still drunk off the feel of her pressed against my body or maybe I’m just tired, but I don’t have a clue as to what she’s talking about.
I frown. “I don’t know.”
Her eyes lift to the ceiling and she blows out a deep breath. “I’ve never had a partner, um, you know, bring me to completion before.”
She says the last bit of her sentence through gritted teeth, like it’s being physically pulled out of her. When I do nothing but blink at her in response, she exhales sharply and crosses her arms over her chest.
“I’ve never—no one has ever made me come, Caleb.”
The tomato in my hand goes flying halfway across the kitchen. It hits her refrigerator and then falls to the floor with a wet plop. Seeds and juice ooze out of its side.
Layla and I stare at it. A minute goes by in complete silence. Then another.
“I probably shouldn’t have told you that,” she mumbles under her breath.
“No. No, I’m just—” Reeling a bit. Having a medical event, more likely. My brain is stuck on an image of Layla spread out against crisp, white sheets, her body bare and her back arched. I’m thinking about her knees tipped open, her hand low on her stomach. My brain is record-scratching on the wordcomeslipping out of those lips.
I clear my throat. Then I clear it again. “Never?”
She shakes her head and looks down at the tile of her kitchen floor. I can’t see much of her face, but I can see her cheeks are a bright and brilliant red. I set the knife down. “Hey. Don’t be embarrassed.”
She digs her palms into her eyes. “I don’t know why I just told you that. I’ve never told anyone that.”
I hope she told me because she trusts me. That she feels comfortable enough with me now to tell me things. I close the space between us and rub my hands up and down her arms. “I’m glad you told me.”
“It’s embarrassing,” she whispers. “It’s just—for a long time, I thought something was wrong with me.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you.” My hands squeeze against her arms reassuringly.
“I really don’t know why I told you,” she whispers again, her voice splintering in the middle. Her hands twist together between us. I still them with mine.
“Layla. It doesn’t say anything about you, okay? It says everything about the people you’ve been with. Douchebags, remember?”
A small laugh slips out of her, but she keeps her face angled away from mine.
“Could you look at me? Please?”
She sighs but she does as I ask, tipping her head back and looking at me with shy, careful eyes. I can feel my heart pounding in my throat, at the base of my skull. This is either a terrible idea or a really fucking good one. I haven’t decided yet.
I guess it depends how she responds. If she smacks me across the face or not.
“Is that something you want?”
Her eyebrows slant low. “What do you mean?”
“The point of our arrangement is for us to practice, yeah? We could practice this, too. You could tell me what you want.” I swallow. “We could work together to figure out what you need and how you need it.”
Christ. My mind goes wild with the possibilities. Layla beneath me. Layla up against the wall. Layla with both of her legs curled high around my back.
Her face is still etched in confusion. “Caleb, you’re going to have to spell it out for me. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
