Let Him Cry Pt. 03

She looked over at the street corner and nodded her head at the bar. "Over there. I want to be able to see your face."

Her finger traced circles in the condensation from the beer mug. "You wouldn't even talk to me. Twice you walked away when I tried to talk. That's not okay. If a relationship is going to work, people have to communicate."

"Like you did the other day when I first asked you what was wrong?"

She had the decency to look abashed. "Point taken. I didn't say I was perfect. But I didn't want to make a mountain out of a molehill. I wanted to wait and see."

"Well, all I wanted to do was avoid saying something stupid, which I often do, and give you some space. And now we have that mountain." Anyone looking at us at that moment would have thought us a pretty doleful pair. "But I'm here if you want to talk now."

She nodded. After a second, "Before anything else: I have never, not even for a second, worried about you attacking me. I'm sorry it sounded like that to you. I have wondered if you're looking for a friends-with-benefits relationship."

"How did I give you that impression?"

Her chin came up. "That's not a denial."

"No! Okay? No. I am not looking for a friends-with-benefits relationship. I'm looking for a real relationship. You know, romance and the whole nine yards?" Paradoxically, the rasp of extreme irritation in my voice made her relax. "Now will you answer my question? You seemed fine when I left that night."

"I was. It didn't occur to me until later, after another glass of wine or two, and I got to thinking that you'd kinda hinted more than once."

"So, some half-drunk thought is the basis of this?"

"It's not uncommon," she said defensively.

"To you?"

She nodded. "A number of times over the last few years." Her smile was tight like she was making a joke about something that wasn't that funny. "Widows, according to some self-appointed experts, are gagging for it."

"I see. Anything else?"

She went silent. I was about to call her on the whole communicating thing when she spoke. "There's been some talk that that was why you were seeing Caitlyn. That, when she pressed you to make more of a commitment, you broke it off."

"And you believed that?"

She shrugged. "I didn't know what to think. When Caitlyn pulled me aside to warn me about you, I kinda disregarded it." At my look of surprise, she shrugged. "She figured out something when you joined us for lunch that day."

What surprised me was not hearing Caitlyn had attempted a little sabotage. It was that hearing it didn't make me angrier. I felt a flare, anyone would, but it faded almost as fast as it came on. Uncertain, I tried to keep things in perspective. "Anyway ..." I waved my hand for her to continue.

"But then some of the other women made a comment or two, and few of them had become friends of mine, so maybe I listened a little. And then a couple of drinks brought it all back to mind."

"Caitlyn," I said quietly, "broke it off with me when I wouldn't fit into her mold. I probably would have gotten to that point eventually because she wouldn't stop pushing, but I didn't dump her. Nor was I seeing her just for sex."

I felt a little spurt of guilt. Was that last true? At first, it was. But, did I hang on a little longer than I would have because of sex? Thinking back, maybe. The guilt settled into place, bringing a burn of anger with it.

Bela was watching my face carefully while that flitted through my mind. "Matt?" I could hear the doubt.

I shook my head. "No. It was a real relationship to me. Maybe," I was stumbling a little talking about this with her, "maybe if we hadn't been sleeping together it would have ended a little sooner, but just a little. Days, a week maybe."

She didn't look happy to hear that and I rushed on. "Once I realized she wasn't right for me ... well, she ended it but only because I drew a line in the sand. And, if I'm honest, I knew she might not accept that line. But I didn't think twice."

Bela stared at me with a sour expression for a few seconds, then sighed. "I guess I can't blame you. I bet she's had a lot of guys thinking with their dicks before."

The word choice and the edge in her voice surprised me, and I tried to defuse things. For all that Caitlyn pissed me off, she wasn't some harpy. "Well, we guys aren't exactly—"

She waved me off. "Sorry. I'm just angry she lied to me. Well, not directly, but by implication." She pulled a rueful expression. "She's gorgeous."

I could see the hurt. "Yet you're the one I've always noticed, even when I didn't realize why." The first, tentative warm look in days turned my way. "And, as far as I'm concerned, an eyeful yourself. I told you before that you turned me on. I'm not going to take that back just because it seems to have gotten me into trouble." The warmth grew.

We finished our beers, and she gathered her purse but didn't rise. "I have to go, but ..." I waited. "There's one more thing I'd like to talk about." She looked nervous. "Are you banging a bartender?"

Surprisingly, I didn't feel guilty. "I did. Once. Before we started going out. Not since."

"Even after we fought? Taty said you didn't come home."

Bullshit Taty is staying out of this! I thought. I shook my head and her face relaxed a little. "Are you upset?" I asked.

"A bit, but it's just a little jealousy. We weren't seeing each other."

"And you?"

She looked surprised, then tipped her head as if to concede that fair was fair. "The last date I had was about three, maybe four, months ago. The last time I had sex was about ten months ago." She grimaced but not, as I assumed at first, because it was bad sex. "He was a smash-and-dash predator." She was mimicking my words; the ironic smile as she met my eyes confirmed it.

"That's not me," I promised her. "You'll see."

She nodded, a bit uncertainly.

"If you want to, that is. I've told you that I want to keep seeing you. You haven't said the same."

The dimple finally reemerged. "I told you I've seen Rebel Without a Cause a million times, and you look like James Dean."

"Without the pouty lips, though."

"Nobody's perfect. Not even James Dean ... he'd be almost ninety if he were alive. Talk about viejo." She stood. "You called this meeting, you pay." We smiled at each other. "I have to go deal with dinner and fill out loan applications."

She called me as I was driving home. "I forgot to invite you to a party at my house this weekend. The wrap party was kind of impersonal; I wanted to thank those who really helped out. Just ten or so people."

I didn't respond immediately, startled that I hadn't already heard about it. She picked up on that. "If you were done with me, I didn't want to make things awkward," she said. "I would have sent you a nice note thanking you. Pretty lame, I guess ... I ... It's been ... I haven't ..." she stuttered in quick succession. "Matt, I'm floundering. Please say something."

"I would like to come."

"I really want you there. It was killing—"

"I would like to come," I repeated firmly.

"Good." I could hear the relief. "Not at the new house. Still zero furniture. My apartment."

The phone rang again just as I was getting to my building. "What now, woman?" I said, trying to sound gruff but, I fear, failing miserably.

"Well, I could hang up if you're too busy."

Called on my bluff and beaten. "Please don't. Another party you forgot?"

"No." I waited out the unnaturally long pause. "When Mr. Smash dashed" — it took me a half-second to get the reference — "I was ninety percent angry and ten percent hurt. When I thought you were going to dump me, I was ten percent angry and ninety percent hurt. I ... I just wanted you to know that."

Speaking in percentages, I wasn't one hundred percent certain I understood specifically what I was supposed to know, but I had a pretty high degree of confidence I'd like whatever it was. "You're on your way home, right?"

"I just got here."

"I'd rather not end another day without a kiss."

"Matt!" she protested. "I have a lot of stuff to do tonight."

"It'll only take you a second."

There was a catch of silence, then her voice was scoffing. "That is so cheesy."

"You won't?"

"I'll watch for you. And it won't take only a second." Click.

It was a day that had started with threatening skies and turned worse by the evening. The news was full of reports of traffic snarls though not much was expected to stick. As the first flurries turned to flakes and then to wind-driven whiteness that chopped visibility, the others said their goodbyes one by one.

It had been kind of a strange party for me. The presence of the others — particularly some of Caitlyn's cronies, she having declined — made renewing intimacy about as likely as, well, Caitlyn voting me Boyfriend of the Year. On top of that, Bela was in a funny mood. Not withdrawn like the woman of a week ago; now it was warm smiles but a nervous quietness. I spent the evening drinking seltzer and trying to be helpful.

"Want me to help me straighten up?" I asked as the last couple finally headed for the door. A dozen people generated a lot of debris. She nodded and started gathering Solo cups.

When the place finally looked sane, she asked, "Would you like a glass of wine? I noticed you weren't drinking."

"I wouldn't mind one."

She pointed at the fridge. "There's a nice bottle of white still in there. Why don't you pour us each a glass while I go make sure Rafi's okay? He's in my old room in the house so that he could sleep."

I poured and sat on the couch facing out the dormer window. When she came back up, she flipped out the main light and settled on the opposite end. The single lamp on the end table cast a warm glow over the room. Outside, the streetlamps had turned on, illuminating the flakes.

"It's coming down out there," she observed.

"Yeah. Maybe after this, I better get going before it gets too bad."

She looked away. Her response took a long time to arrive and was oblique. "If you think I don't want you, you're an idiot. I am so turned on right now, it's ridiculous. At the same time, I'm scared I'm going to get hurt again." I was curious to pursue that "again", but it wasn't the time.

"You're not going to lose me if you don't sleep with me tonight." After a moment of silence, I added, "Or the next time, or the one after that, or et cetera."

Again, a long pause, time for a sip of wine, a pause, another sip. "Then stay."

She shifted, moving over beside me to lean into my shoulder. We sat and enjoyed the snowfall, my arm wrapped around her and, I confess, my hand snuggled across her chest with no objection from her.

"If I took away the easy answer of, 'Duh!' given where your hand is ..." She stopped, but her hand pinned mine in case I took that as a complaint.

"Go on," I said after a few seconds.

"Why do you want to be with me?"

It wasn't fishing or a light-hearted joke. I took my time. She let me, sitting there quietly while I thought.

"Because, when I'm with you, I feel comfortable again. Not comfortable like some old shirt that you take for granted. Comfortable like my mind stops struggling to make sense of the world because it thinks there's a piece missing."

She didn't say anything. Her arm over my arm kept me in place. Did she expect something more?

"There're all kinds of other things about how you make me laugh, and how I look forward to talking with you about even stupid stuff and, well, all kinds of things. And, even though I know it concerns you, how I get excited when I look at you. But the bottom line is that ..." I hunted for a way to say it. "... the world makes sense again when I'm with you."

The arm over mine tightened. The swell of breast under my forearm heaved as she took a deep breath and exhaled.

After a long while, she asked, "Can you reach up and turn out the lamp?"

There's something incredibly peaceful about watching snow fall. It muffles the ordinary sounds of everyday life, turning the world soft.

"If I took away the easy answer of, 'James Dean,' and asked you the same question?"

Her answer wasn't immediate, but she didn't take as long as I had. "Partly it was because you helped build my house." She shook her head, hurrying on. "I'm not talking about gratitude. I'm talking about that we could all see you weren't okay, even before that one day." It swam up in my memory. I took a sip to quell the memory. "And yet, you kept helping. And I asked Ruth one day why. Do you know what she said?"

"For distraction."

She nodded against my shoulder. "And I remember thinking that you could have picked a lot of ways to distract yourself. Sex, drugs, rock 'n roll." She huffed silently in my shoulder and my snort echoed along with her. "But what you chose was helping."

She fell silent.

"Partly?" I prompted.

This time she took longer. "Taty ratted on you. She told me why you helped her." It caught me by surprise. She half-turned and glanced up at me to see how I took that. Reassured by my expression, she turned back and snuggled again. "The thing is, osito, I don't believe in ghosts." She paused, her hand tightened against mine, cupping me cupping her in a tight embrace. "You helped her and Terrell and Nia because something inside you had to help, even if you needed it yourself."

She sighed. "And—" She broke off.

"And?"

After a moment, I felt her head shake. "Some things I'm not ready to talk about. All good, I promise."

I heard the silent little huff again. "And because ... James Dean." I knew she was teasing to perk things up. She didn't want to be with me because she had the hots for a long-dead actor.

She sat up and turned to face me, leaning up for a kiss. "Do you want to ...?" Her head gestured toward the other side of the room where the bed was.

I nodded.

She didn't rise immediately. "Matt? Please don't be offended. Would you be willing to leave early in the morning?" She rushed on quickly, words practically tripping over themselves. "I'm not embarrassed about you. I want this. But I'm not certain how Rafi will take a man at breakfast. I mean, I know he's only six, but I need to ease him—"

I cut her off, smiling at the babble I figured was a symptom of her excitement and nerves. "I understand. Yes." Part of me was pleased with the implication that men at breakfast were rare, perhaps unknown.

She got up and stepped toward the bathroom. "Two minutes. And don't worry about ... things ... I'm on the Pill." She met my eyes and smiled, still a little restrained, but warm nonetheless. "You could lose some of those clothes if you wanted."

Two minutes was actually more like ten, but the Bela who emerged was a subtly different woman. The slacks and sweater were gone, traded for a thin robe that I suspected had nothing underneath it, up top at least, judging by the outline. The ponytail had been shaken out into a mane of long, dark hair. The biggest change was in her eyes: the affection and reserve I'd seen most of the evening replaced by a smoldering hunger as she surveyed me stretched out, sheet up to my waist.

She reached over and dimmed the lights down, leaving just enough that we could see each other. She untied the belt and slid the robe down, letting me feast my eyes on her as she stepped forward and climbed onto the bed. Without asking, she drew the sheet down and let her gaze do the same to me. I felt a twitch as blood rushed downward. She noted it also and, with a look of satisfaction, raised her eyes to mine. "I hope you don't plan on sleeping for a while."

She moved up against me for a long, hot kiss, her breasts pressed up against me, one leg laid between mine. My hand slid down to knead her rear as hers slid down to grasp me. Breaking the kiss, she arched back. "Because boys need to recover, you get to go first." With a grin, she slid down. The hand grasping me drew my rapidly hardening length away from my body so that her mouth could wrap around it. Heaven.

"I'm close," I warned her minutes later. She didn't stop. "Bela?"

Her right hand, which had been stroking my hip, reached up and patted my chest ... once, twice ... to say, "I heard."

With a spasm that racked my entire body, I felt myself let go. The sensitivity skyrocketed as she kept the steady stroke of her mouth up and down until it became too much, and I touched the back of her head to still the movement. She froze, holding me warm in her mouth until it completed. Then she slid up to lie against me, one hand gently running up and down my ribs, mouth nuzzling soft kisses into the hollow of my neck.

My breathing slowed back to normal. "Your turn?" I said softly.

"Yes, please," she answered with another giggle.

I started at her breasts, feathering touches along the sides and bottoms, thumbs circling, never quite reaching the tips, and I watched and listened. In my not-vast experience, some women considered them a mandatory stop in this game we were playing; others viewed them ... indulgently ... as nothing more than amusements provided for the male of the species until they became snacks for infants.

Bela was the first type. Her breath quickened. Her nipples, erect from the beginning, were now straining as she shifted to try to make contact. I let my thumbs graze them, then backed away, taking my time. Repeat. A faint purr. It changed to a whimper as I took my hands away entirely, then returned to a moan as I leaned forward and let my tongue trace a soft circle.

"Ohmygod, just do it!" she half-laughed, half-cried.

"Patience."

"You bastard!" But she wasn't serious. I drew a nipple into my mouth and sucked gently. Then slightly harder, increasing the suction until I heard her draw in a breath and felt her stop moving. Before she could murmur a complaint, I backed off, having learned a limit. I played with first one side, then the other, sometimes softly, sometimes not, occasionally pulling away entirely to let my warm breath tickle them until she protested. A glance upward showed her eyes closed, her mouth hanging open as she breathed heavily.

I took my time, ignoring the squirming and push of her hips upward against my body, until a pair of hands wrapped themselves in my hair, pulling me off. "I swear to God, if you don't go down on me right now, I will murder you!"

I kissed my way down, skipping the juncture of the compliantly spread legs — eliciting another murmur of protest — to lay soft kisses on the inside of first one thigh, then the other, working my way up slowly. Finally, I let my tongue trace the outline of her folds before laying it as softly as I could against her nub for a single gentle stroke. Then I did it again. Letting go of her hip with one hand, I slid a finger in to caress the knot of nerves inside as I lapped at her to a timed, slow cadence.

I dragged it out. There was no hurry for this to end, and her responses made me feel warm inside. She stopped protesting and just let herself savor the sensations. Her hips kept time, lifting minutely to meet me with each anticipated stroke of my tongue, pausing suspended if it didn't arrive immediately.

Gradually, her breathing grew more shallow and rapid. I felt the large muscles in her thighs and butt begin to tremble, just as she had felt mine do before. The breathing turned to panting. Finally, she seized my hair in a grip that was almost painful and uttered a loud moan. Her mound drove up against me hard as she froze in a paroxysm of pleasure. A long sigh heralded her limp fall back to the bed.

She gave a little half-laugh and urged me upward to lie beside her. Turning her back to me, she pulled my arms around her and we lay there in contentment for a while. For me, at least, it was a sensation I hadn't felt in a long while. Content physically, yes, that had happened. But here was the peacefulness of just cradling someone against my shoulder, content to let that be for however long.