I bite my lip and lean my left temple against the edge of the door. Halfway across my yard, a shirtless Michael turns around and waves at me, winking. I flutter my fingers and watch as he turns around and ducks into the awaiting taxi. I stay at my door until the Black and White City Cab pásses out of view. Even after it’s rounded the corner, I stare after it, half begging him to come back for round four.
It’s one in the afternoon, and Michael and I gave each other our numbers and shook on our pact. Well, more like fúcked over it, but it still sealed the deal. I carefully shut the door and step back, leaning against it. Sore happiness flows through every inch of my body, and I feel completely rejuvenated, even though I hardly slept.
Smiling, I head to my bathroom to shower and get ready. I can’t waste away the rest of the day when I’m so ready to do anything at all. And for the second time in two days, I’m happy. Albeit, I’ll probably stay on this high. I mean, if I ever get off it, I could just call him and he’d come running. Exhilaration bounces around my bones at the thought that I’ll always have someone now. Even if it’s just for sex. Hell, all the better.
I make quick work of cleansing myself of sweat, and maybe a little sticky substance. I would do it all over again, though. My heart races like I’ve just met my favorite celebrity and they’ve miraculously fallen into a deep, deep love with me. I can’t fight the smile that fills up my face, but I wouldn’t want to. It’s nice for something to be making sense. For something to be as black and white as it gets. Sex, and that’s it.
And even though I know that in every story of Fúck Buddies, they end up in love, I’m not afraid of that. I don’t actually know the kid. I don’t plan on getting to know him. Thus that leaves no room for attachments. Plus, I’m pretty good at keeping my feelings at bay. I’ve had a full year to work on it, and now I’ve got it down to a T. No one can get past my barriers unless I allow them to. And the only barrier Michael is getting past will be my pants.
I shut the water off and reach outside of the curtain for my head wrap, putting my hair up. I grab the other towel and pull it around my body, holding it in place with my arms. Dashing to my room to hurry up and get semi-dressed (because I never really do my make up and hair when I’m done getting my outfit on). I pull on regular white cotton undies and a Nirvana throw over tee.
Wasting no time, I’m back in the bathroom and readying my face. I don’t put much on, just foundation, eyeliner, and mascara. It’s daytime; I don’t need smoky eyes or bold colors. I quickly debate on lipstick or not, and decide on a deep red with a lighter tone to balance out the hues and shadows. Looking at myself in the mirror, I approve, and move onto hair.
It doesn’t take long to blow dry it and set my curls in with lightweight gel. I wait ten minutes before brushing through it to make it look even more natural. I bite my lip, spinning around in my room and wondering what I’ll wear. Another look around, and my eyes settle on the shirt Michael left. I bring it to my nose and sniff. I’d have worn it if it didn’t smell like sweat and sex. As much as I enjoy that aroma, I know other people probably don’t.
Sighing, I turn to my bureau and pull open my pant drawer. Right on top are my camouflage skinnies that I scored last minute at the thrift sale, just before it shut down. I lay them next to me. I slip a black crop top over my head, setting it into place. Pulling up my pants, I push the lip of my top into down into my bottoms. As I grab my leather jacket and through it over my shoulders, I look at my shoes and debate what I’ll wear to complete my ensemble. I know if I wore my chucks, it’d be dressed down in a casual way. But I’m feeling too gleeful to not spruce up my outfit.
