Callie’s dozed off next to me in bed, all rumpled clothing and ruffled hair. We took our kiss from Esther’s kitchen earlier straight back home. To the front step while I grappled with the key, then into the hallway. Then through the door to my flat and half onto my sofa, before finally we made it to the bedroom. Together we fell against the mattress, mapping each other out with fevered hands. Heartbeats hammering, skin dampening. At one point I knocked the lamp from my nightstand with my foot (how were we that way up?), plunging us deliciously into darkness. I felt her pelvis twitch as she laughed, making me frenzied with desire.
It’s been a week since we first kissed and I’m falling for her, hard. But I want to do this properly. Go slow. Take our time. She means so much to me already that not rushing things just seems to make sense.
Which is how she’s ended up curled against my hip like a cat while I watch a TED Talk about human stampedes, headphones firmly on.
Maybe I feel like this because of Melissa. Because my brain’s trying to draw a line between her and Callie, somehow. Or perhaps I need to believe I won’t mess this up before we do much more than kiss.
Anyway. We’d cut a strange picture, I think, if you were looking down on us from above. Me in my own little world. Callie asleep by my side, fully clothed.