Knickers

Napoleon Dynamite Dance Moves

The early morning sun trickles through the window shutters, tinting the room pale orange. The house is still cool from the hour, though I know later the thick summer heat will infiltrate the relaxed atmosphere.
My mind is still fuzzy from the wine and the early hour. My cheek is pressed to Dom's chest, the both of us clumsily wrapped in his jacket and sprawled on the living room floor with cards scattered around us. He smells exactly the way I remember him from Warped Tour, which seems so long ago now.
I want to stretch toward him and kiss him awake, as though my life were a romantic drama, but I already have the next best thing. Never mind the squealing adolescent within me geeking over the close proximity, but I can't remember a time in my life where I felt the restless part of my mind so at ease.
In his sleep he pulls me closer, pressing me into his neck and nuzzling into my hair. I know I shouldn't, but I use the adjustment to thumb the exposed skin above his collar, up around the back of his neck and into his hair. He sighs contentedly, tightening the jacket around us, and in the warmth and peace of the moment I fall back asleep.
I wake up again later in the morning, alone on the floor and draped with Dom's jacket. I sit up, dazed and happy, rubbing my eyes and slipping on the jacket properly. He appears a moment later in a T-shirt, chewing a granola bar and smiling casually at me.
"G'morning. You like tea?"
"Oh my god," I groan. "You are so British."
"Aren't I?" he says, Vogueing with his granola bar. "That's why it's so important to me that you like tea. Do you?"
I stretch, unsticking a playing card from my lower back. "Yeah, but I've only had canned sweet tea. Like, from the gas station."
"That sounds awful. I meant real tea. I'll make you a proper cup."
He disappears once more, and after several minutes he returns with two steaming mugs, one earth toned and the other baby blue. He sits cross legged before me and hands me a mug, tapping his delicately against it in cheers.
"Go on," he urges me. "Shouldn't be too hot."
I sip, not breaking eye contact as I do. It's warm and perfectly sweet, not too strong, with the right amount of milk. It warms my soul to its core, the comfort so thorough that I want to tackle him and reinitiate our tangled position from earlier. Cuddling and tea go together like cookies and milk.
He's watching me hopefully with shocking green eyes, waiting for my verdict. I'm inclined to deliver the most gratification I can. I want him to topple over in pride and kick his legs around and yank on the hem of his shirt.
"It's amazing," I tell him. "The best thing ever."
He does as I had hoped, wiggling and beaming and laughing.
I love him.
Fuck. I hate myself. Why'd I have to admit it?
I think my conflict must show on my face, because his laughter trickles off into a light cough.
"Anyway, I'm looking forward to that milkshake," he tells me, scooting over to lean against the coffee table so he can drape his legs across my lap.
"What time?" I ask, tugging on his leg hair. He flinches and curses, but his legs remain where they are.
"I dunno, seven? I've got an interview at four."
The rest of our morning is spent amidst our usual easy banter, over bowls of Cheerios and a second cup of tea that he uses as a vehicle to teach me his recipe.
It's the perfect time to admit my weakness. Breakfast is a perfectly lovely and romantic time. My confession rests on my lips but freezes there. I haven't even considered all the possibilities. I've never been in love before, not really. How do I know I'm not just full of hormones?
Maya texts me with a code blue, asking if I'm at home. I tell her I'm at Dom's, and she responds with a BOLO 15.
Dom and I finish our cereal, and of course he walks me out to Maya's car and gives me an amicable hug and kiss goodbye, and a pleasant hello to her. She seems to regard him highly now, offering a dramatic display of greetings and pleasantries. Dom takes to these well, smiley and lovable as always.
"Thanks again, Marley, for racing to my rescue last night."
I roll my eyes. "Please. I brought marshmallows and we played cards. It was a playdate, not salvation."
"See you later, yeah?"
I grin, my cheeks undeniably pink by now. "Yeah."
He pats the roof of the car in his goodbye, and Maya and I drive off toward the freeway.
"There's a girl," she says, as soon as we find the on ramp.
"A girl?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.
"Yeah. I went to this Slam Poetry thing." Maya bites her lip in clear conflict. "I know I shouldn't have been, but her poem took my breath away, and afterward I went to chat her up, and I really, really, super like her, Marley."
"But?" I press.
"But she's a virgin!" she says, gesturing so wildly that we ride the border of the lane for a moment.
"So?"
"So that's a lot of pressure. I'll have to be really good," she says, clapping her hand back on the wheel. "Plus, she asked me on a date. She wants to, like, get to know each other before we sleep together. She wants a real relationship."
"So? That sounds like a good thing, considering how much you really, really, super like her."
"I'm not girlfriend material," Maya dismisses.
"Bullshit. You're perfect girlfriend material."
"Fuck off, Marley."
"No, I'm not teasing. I mean it. You'll go on a date and blow her away with your Napoleon Dynamite dance moves."
"How do you know I agreed to the date?"
"Cause I didn't meet you yesterday, nerd," I say, clinging to my seatbelt as she abruptly takes an exit ramp.
"Fuck, I'm predictable." She gnaws her bottom lip even harder, coming to a harsh stop at a light. "What do I do?"
"Be a gentleman. I know you're not a complete horndog."
"Practice with me over coffee?" she asks.
"Of course," I say, and she whisks us immediately off to our favorite cafe.