Page 28 of Pretend You're Mine
So I did.
When my stomach let out a bad-tempered growl, Naomi giggled. “Hungry?”
“Depends,” I said, “You got any of that eggs and bacon like last time?”
“Somebody ate all of it,” Naomi said, fixing me with an accusatory look.
“Bastard,” I said, with a smile.
“I do have raisin toast though,” she said. “And marmalade.”
I fixed her with a dubious look. “You do not have marmalade.”
She ripped out of my grasp and sat up, crossing her arms across her chest. “And why not?”
“Just….” I faltered, trying to find the right words. “No one under thirty has marmalade in their house.”
As she jumped to her feet. “What kind of bullshit generalization is that?”
“One that comes from a lot of true-life experience,” I said heartily.
Maybe she was figuring, as I had, the number of hookups I’d engaged in over the past few years. But it was true. Not that I’d gone through every single one of my hookups’ fridges, but still. I’d gone through my fair share.
And no one had ever had marmalade. It shouldn’t’ve mattered, except that the spread was my boyhood favorite, having grown up in a house where the only good thing there was, was marmalade.
“Okay,” Naomi said, “Sounds like it’s raisin toast and marmalade for me, and….” her gaze wandered over to me. “Nothing for you.”
As she began racing away, I jumped to my feet and grabbed her. “We’ll see about that.”
Naomi broke free of my grasp, although she was giggling.
She turned to the door and put on a blue silk robe. Unthinkingly, I put on the one beside it, which was soft, although that was where its benefits ended.
“Seriously?” Naomi said.
I caught sight of myself in her standing mirror and cracked up. Of course, Naomi looked as beautiful as sin in her Oriental style silk robe.
Me though? In her pink fluffy bathrobe, I looked like the kid in the bunny costume in A Christmas Story.
For a few seconds I looked at her and wanted to sweep her up in my arms and rain kisses all over her. But then I shook the thought away.
The rest of the morning was like last time, except even better. After we ate, we headed out to Naomi’s balcony and climbed into the hammock she had stretched out between the posts. It creaked under our combined weight, but once we settled in, it felt nice. I held her against me and stroked her hair as she lazily drew circles on my chest with the tip of one perfectly manicured finger.
My brain was a jumble of conflicting emotions. I knew that I was falling for this woman hard, no matter how hard I tried not to. I knew I wasn’t good for her, and yet I couldn’t bring myself to let her go.
Unwilling to let our time together come to an end just yet, I asked her, “Want to go to Myers Carnival?”
“Myers Carnival?” There was an odd look on her face.
“Yeah I….” Ok, so it was random, but it was also a good idea. “It’ll be fun.”
Her pause was long enough for me to reconsider, but then she said, “Yes.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah,” she said, her smile giving away nothing, “Let’s do it.”
We climbed out of the hammock and went in to get dressed. Half an hour later we were driving down the highway, chatting easily.
The rain arrived just after we bought our tickets, while the frizzy-haired woman behind the concession stand informed us, “No refunds.”
“It’s not raining hard anyway,” I said, unfurling my umbrella.
Naomi said nothing and I could tell that her wheels were spinning.
Walking further in, a collection of sights and sounds assaulted us at once; the cloying far-off merry-go-round tune, the scattered chatter of people– all of whom seem to be headed for the gates. There was the smell of popcorn, beckoning us further into the park to an unseen stand.
As I walked, already my shoes dug into the newly formed mud from the rain.
Looking around, I soon spotted a ride that was thankfully covered. I nudged Naomi. “Bumper cars?”
She gave the smile I’d been waiting for. “Let’s do it.”
In line there was a family as well; a disaffected couple with two kids who looked like they’d rather eat their own toenails than be there with their parents.
Once we all got in, the fun began. The cars were easy to steer and jerky, although the biggest jerks came when car connected with car.
“Oh, now you’re getting it!” Naomi declared as soon as my bumper car connected with hers.
“We’ll see about that,” I said.
I zoomed my car away to take refuge in a clump of other cars which had formed at the opposite end. Every time the bumper cars connected with anything, whether it was a wall, or another car, it made a satisfying zing sound, while the lights around it lit up in a congratulatory symphony of color.
