“So,” I said.
“So,” he said.
I cleared my throat and willed myself not to blush. I failed. “Your place? Or….”
“I want to go to your house,” Vince said. I could hear the smile in his voice, but I didn’t turn to him because I knew that his dimples, even if they weren’t out in full force, would most likely cause me to do something sexually stupid. Like ask him if I could touch his penis. I didn’t think that would be polite.
I squeaked. Or grunted all manly like. I don’t know which, though if I had to place a bet on it, I’m sure I sounded like Mickey Mouse getting anal. “You do? Why?”
“You have to watch me, right?”
“Uh. That’s what the doctor said.”
“And you’re shy and shit?”
I winced. “That’s fun.”
“What?”
“That my entire being can be reduced down to ‘shy and shit’.”
He waved his hand at me. “Well, you are. So I figure we go back to your house because you’d be more comfortable there.”
I thought on this for a moment. “You’re the one who’s hurt, and you’re thinking about what would make me comfortable?”
“What can I say? I’m pretty awesome.”
I couldn’t take it anymore and turned to look at him. Vince was pale and it looked like he was grimacing slightly, as though he was in pain. But even through all of that, he smiled quietly when I looked at him, and those dimples made an appearance, smacking me across the face. Don’t ask if you can touch his penis. “Can I touch your….” Oh sweat balls.
“Touch my what?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow.
I blushed furiously. “That’s not what I meant to say. You’re going to be fine going to my house? You don’t want your own bed or anything?”
“Why? Do you want my bed?”
“Vince.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m trying to be serious here.”
“Me too.”
“You’re hitting on me.” And I have no fucking idea why.
“You’re the one who wants to touch my something.”
Christ. “My house it is, though you should be warned….”
“That sounds a little creepy. Do you have a sex dungeon in your house?” But his eyes didn’t show he thought that idea was creepy. If anything, it looked like he’d be very happy if my house had a sex dungeon. I felt slightly disappointed that I hadn’t invested in one. I didn’t think it would add to property value, and it probably would be hard to explain to potential buyers if I ever had to move. That and the fact that my elderly swinger next-door neighbors would probably ask to use it regularly, and I didn’t want old people having sex in my house. I’m kind of a prude like that.
“No,” I said, kind of regretfully.
“Do you have dead bodies buried under your house?”
“No.”
“Is your house haunted?”
“Er….”
“No fucking way!”
“Well, I don’t know for sure it’s haunted. This guy I—” I stopped abruptly.
“This guy you what?” He looked interested and weirdly jealous all at the same time. Or, rather, that’s what I wanted to see. For all I knew, he was stoned and hallucinating that I had black balls hanging from my chin.
I sighed. “This guy I… dated… once said he was psychic and that I have a ghost in my house who is always on her period.”
His nose wrinkled. “You have a ragging ghost in your house?”
I shrugged. “I’ve never seen her, but I put tampons out once just in case.”
His eyes widened. “Did she take one?” he whispered excitedly.
I felt bad that I was going to ruin his joy of my fake period ghost. “No,” I said, and his face fell. “But that doesn’t mean she’s not there!” Now all I wanted was to see the vaginal-bleeding ghost in my house just to make him happy again. What’s a little spectral menstrual blood when a hot guy is smiling at you? “That’s not what I wanted to warn you about, though.”
“Then what?”
I took a deep breath. “I have a two-legged dog named Wheels who pretty much hates everyone in the world except for me. And Sandy. Sometimes he likes my mom, but most of the time he just shits in her shoes when she comes over. I don’t know why he has anger issues. He’s just really… selective about who he does and doesn’t like. It doesn’t mean there is anything wrong with you. It just means you’re not good enough for my dog to like you.” And that came out way wrong.
He stared at me. “You have a two-legged dog?”