Love After First Night

Chapter 4: Suspicious Activity

I stroll through the downstairs hallway upon leaving the kitchen. A small but fancy tray is in my hands, four short glasses standing on top of it. Each is filled with a mixture of limoncello, cream soda, and a sprig of fresh mint. I carefully make my way down the carpeted stairs to the finished basement, which contains nothing but a small, seldom-used workout room, and Trevor's man-cave.

As for the latter, it would most likely match the wet-dreams of an OCD poster-child. The room has shelves along every single wall, packed with stacks of video games and DVD anthologies of various anime and other TV shows, with each stack sorted by franchise. Figurines of famous fictional characters and spare controllers and gaming peripherals are laid out neatly, and the walls have been obscured by posters for so long that I've all but forgotten what color they are. At the moment, Trevor and a few of his friends (out of the ones he still has after coming clean about our relationship) are crowded together on the black leather couch, in the midst of a rather heated match of Super Smash Bros. Melee. They hardly utter a word, but still adopt tense facial expressions nonetheless, as they furiously tap the buttons on their brightly-colored GameCube controllers.

For the sake of politeness, I stand there in the doorway, patiently waiting for the match to end before I fully enter the room. I gently set the tray down on the coffee-table, and almost instantly, the guys all thrust their arms in its direction to grab a glass. I'm just barely able to stand up straight again before one of them unintentionally hits my face with their anxious hand. Once everyone grabs a glass, I pick up the empty tray and turn back towards the doorway.

"Alright, boys. That's your last round." I say as I depart, "Because I'm not driving anyone home tonight."

"No prob!" One guy with long dirty-blonde hair replies; even after all this time, I've still neglected to memorize their names.

"Yeah, whatever. Just leave already." Another guy with curly red hair jokingly chimes in.

I smile and turn around, before departing. I don't look behind me, but I can feel a few guys staring at me - most likely checking me out. I know most women don't appreciate being ogled, but for me, it's empowering. I feel that if most men find me attractive, then that must mean I'm beautiful.

"Yo, Trev! Can we like, switch girlfriends please?" A third guy asks, eliciting some chuckles from his cohorts.

"I'd love to, but I'm afraid she's not my girlfriend anymore." I hear Trevor reply, "We're engaged!"

"Ohhhh!" I hear the other guys reply in unison.

"Damn it." The third guy says.

My smile widens as I finish my ascent back to the first floor. What can I say? I love being flaunted.

I reenter the kitchen and place the tray on the counter, before opening the fridge and pulling out a plastic tub of pineapple, which I proceed to snack on. It has to be one of my most favorite fruits, despite my minor allergy to it. I've recently chosen to snack on this whenever I get hungry between meals, not only to hopefully get over my allergies, but also to improve my flavor, if you know what I mean. Just in case Trevor decides to surprise me with a night of lovemaking.

I've already stated that we don't have as much of a sex life as we used to. What used to be near-daily is now anywhere between twice and thrice a month, with the change in schedule being mostly Trevor's choice (I'd be down for it whenever, wherever, and how often he wants). However, almost every time we do it, it's completely random, and Trevor always takes me by surprise. So now the burden is on me to make sure I'm always prepared.

I'm snapped out of my thoughts as my iPhone rings. Checking the screen, I immediately recognize the number, though I realize that I haven't entered the caller as one of my contacts. I take the next few seconds - during which it rings a few more times - to examine my phone. I wouldn't be surprised if it's obsolete by a couple of models. Shortly after moving in with Trevor, I had to sneak back onto my grandmother's property after over a year to retrieve both it and my wallet. Thank God for her archaic security system, and the fact that she hadn't emptied out my room yet. I wonder if it hasn't been touched because she's expecting me to come back at some point. Or maybe she's just lazy. Or maybe she thinks I'm dead, and is thus keeping my things because she misses me.