The Art of The Affair

16

He doesn't drive to my neighborhood after all.  We go to his.  After parking his bike, he carries the helmet for me and leads me into a dimly lit building.  The lift looks and rides like it hasn't been inspected in a couple of decades, but we arrive safely up to his floor.  The hallway smells like stale air and there's a single fluorescent light overhead that's casting an unhealthy yellow glow.  The neighborhood is dodgy and the building is old and run down, but it's home for him.  And he's invited me here.

He unlocks his door, number 1017, and stands aside as I enter.  He closes the door behind me with a quiet click.  I hear the sound of three different locks being secured but it's too dark to see my surroundings yet.  When he finally does turn on a light, I can see that he wasn't joking about the 400 square feet.

He takes off his boots and I remove my shoes.  I watch from near the door as he sets his helmet down and walks a few paces to the small bathroom.  He switches on the light and glances at me finally.

"You first?  Me?"

The thought of him hearing me pee was nearly enough to convince myself to try and hold it, but I did have to go.  I decide to just get over it and go first.  The toilet is a bit wonky, and I throw my arms out in momentary fear as the thing feels like it's going to dump me off.  Once I recover and think about him being able to hear me, I cringe the entire time.  After washing up, it's his turn.  I go and stand by our shoes to give him as much privacy as I can, but I can hear everything.  It sounds as if someone's dumping water from a bucket over their head.  I smile to myself and stifle a giggle.  By the time he opens the door, my poker face is back into place.

"First time using a toilet that isn't bolted to the floor too well?"

"It was a bit wobbly," I reply with indifference in my tone.  

He smirks so widely that it almost looks like a smile.  It makes me smile in return.

"Want something to drink?"

I shake my head no, but when he extracts a can of soda from his small fridge, I cave and ask for one.  "I thought you meant a beer or something," I explain as he hands me one.  "Since you have to drive me home..."

"Who says I'm taking you home tonight?"

He glances at me for a moment with a hint of another smirk and I know that he's joking.  Deep down, however, I know there's an alternate ending to tonight where I wouldn't have left.

"Nothing's happening tonight.  Come and sit down."  

He flops down onto a small weathered loveseat and I ease into a creaky old wooden rocking chair.  It reminds me of the one in my parents' living room, the one I was rocked in, and that my parents are keeping for their future grandchild.  The thought is a sore spot.  I push their future out of my present and watch as he picks up a guitar and softly starts strumming.

"You play?"

He snorts quietly and doesn't look up.  "Don't sound so surprised."

"Stop that," I scold lightly.  "Stop twisting everything I say into something it isn't.  I'm not insulting you. I just don't know anything about you."

This time he looks up, fixing me with a gaze that makes me want to climb onto his lap and grind myself against him until I-

"You want to know about me?" he asks, interrupting my Rated-M-For-Mature thoughts.

"I do, but play something while you talk.  Please," I add.

His stare feels more than flirty.  He's thinking the same thoughts as I am.