Touch(22)
“No. Just…whoa.”
Her place looked like something out of that Hoarders show. Or probably not that bad, but holy CHRIST. Luca wasn’t so great with clutter. It didn’t rise to the level of an actual phobia with him, but he liked things spare and clean. Bare surfaces. Nice order.
Apparently, Manny did not share his taste.
Every surface, vertical or horizontal, was covered. On seemingly every wall, the colors—what he could see of them—were different, and not a damn one of them was a neutral. Sunshine yellow, grass green, vivid orange. One long wall was black and covered floor to ceiling with what looked like plastic, glow-in-the-dark stars and planets.
There were posters and photographs and weird, unframed canvases hanging on the walls. Also clothes—antique dresses and scarves and shit, just nailed to the wall, like two-dimensional ghosts were dancing across the room.
Trashy knickknacks and glass baubles covered the horizontal surfaces. A full-size female mannequin, naked and bald except for a pink boa around its neck and tie-dye swirls of paint all over its surface, stood in a corner near what he assumed was Manny’s kitchen. On a table, a wicker torso mannequin leaned awkwardly, covered in souvenir buttons. Weird lamps made of seashells or colored paper or swirly glass gave a wacked-out kind of glow to the space.
The furniture was just as bizarre. A low, mid-century sofa draped with a flowered sheet and laden with mismatched throw pillows. Two papasan chairs, one with a multicolored striped pad, and the other with an orange pad. A rickety old rocker with a wicker seat, and about a dozen huge, square pillows in wildly embroidered patterns. And assorted tables and bookcases scattered around the room. The bookcases seemed to hold albums, CDs, and DVDs more than books. He looked around the room and found an old tube TV and DVD player on a low, cheap stand. A little Buddha sat on a little white lace doily on top of the TV, smack in the middle.
Luca found that hilarious—a Buddha, amidst ten kinds of chaos—and he laughed.
“What’s funny? You’re always laughing. I don’t get the joke. Am I the joke?” She was squinting at him suspiciously.
“No, little bit. You’re not the joke. But you’re widening my world a little, I think. You are one of a kind.”
She smiled at that, a beautiful, unguarded brightness. “That’s a good thing. Any more of me would probably bring on the apocalypse. You want a drink? I have juice. And milk. I could make coffee.”
Luca wanted to reach out and take her little hands, pull her close and kiss her. Pick her up and wrap her around his body. Unable to do that, he was at a loss. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “No, I’m good.”
“Okay. Well, I don’t like people in my bed, so are you okay with the sofa?”
Again, he laughed. Something they had in common, at last.
“Dork! What?! Stop it!” She stomped her foot, which he found adorable, and he laughed harder. But she was getting pissed, and he reined himself in.
“Sorry, sorry. I don’t like to fuck in bed, either. That’s usually a problem.”
“Oh. Well, that’s good then. It’s not a problem with me.” She went over to the sofa and starting pulling little pillows away and tossing them to the floor.
“You do like a lot of shit around, don’t you?”
“Yeah. I guess it’s because…you know. The orphanage or whatever, but bare spaces make me twitchy. I like things close and busy. And texture. I like a lot of different feelings.” She cast the last of the pillows aside and stood straight, hands on her hips again. “I’m not dirty. I’m not a slob. Everything’s clean. It’s just stuff, and it all has a place.” She punctuated that statement by taking her jacket off and tossing it into the striped papasan. Then she pulled the sheer black top off, leaving only the red satin bra above her jeans. Her breasts were a little bit bigger than he’d suspected. Still small, but they looked like they might be a nice handful.
He wondered if he’d ever know for sure.
With her hands behind her back, in the act of unfastening that bra, she stopped and gave him an impatient scowl. “Do you fuck with your clothes on? Because that’s a no.”
Frankly, usually he stayed partially dressed. Not for any particular reason, except that he was usually busy as soon as he had his shirt off. But now, he bent down and loosened the laces on his boots. By the time he had them and his socks off and had stood up again, she was down to nothing but a little pair of red satin panties, the kind that were almost like tiny little shorts, the sweet curves of her cheeks peeking out the bottom.