On Your Knees

Shoulder to shoulder.

He’s lean and wide, dressed to impress. A fitted suit. His hand is on my thigh, thumb rubbing lazy circles in the flesh. I want to scream, turn to Cassie across from me and hiss, “Isn’t he perfect?”

Oliver has straight spine posture and a perfectly crooked grin as he chats with Cassie’s current lover. A double date. I love this ritual of ours. Once a month pairing up to show off the beauty we take to bed with us.

I put in more time than usual. Hair curled and pinned. The dress is new. A shade of green so dark it tricks the eyes. Tight, flattering. Cassie and I match. Her green is flowing and whimsical. We’ve been asked twice if it was intentional since going out and I brew with pride.

I take slow bites of my meal. Braised beef that I could spoon down my throat at the speed of light. But I sip cold water between bites and pretend to have the same manners as Oliver. He wipes his mouth politely after every other mouthful, swallows before speaking.

Cassie takes lovers in a different way than I do. Soulmates appeal to her. She hunts for hers and only pauses with a heavy heart from time to time. So many of our peers have found theirs. As we wait impatiently, she fills the time with faces she’ll forget in five years while I latch deeply onto my one and only. He’s too much mine to replace.

Her current is a visitor. He’s in town with a small group. Dressed in dark jeans and a grey long sleeve, his physique is noteworthy. A man who cares how he’s viewed.

Oliver laughs at a softly spoken joke and my eyes dart to his exposed neck as he tips his head back. I grin. I missed the conversation, the punchline. Cassie smiles brightly back at me. She drops me a wink as she takes a sip of a colorful cocktail that smells fruity and sour.

I lean into Oliver’s warmth. He’s sharp angles and soft skin. The suit jacket is cool to the touch. They speak over one another, not bothered to be the only two at the table making noise. Cassie fishes for a cherry. I take a long drink of water. The urge to raise my plate to my lips and scrape mouthfuls of fall apart meat into my mouth is overwhelming. But we’re in public, and I know how to control those needs now.

Oliver shifts, draping an arm around my shoulder and pulling me into his side. Mildly intimate. I lean into him and listen to the way Cassie’s man, Pat, explains his trek into town. Family in the area, somewhere off in the countryside an hour east. I don’t stray from my suburban comforts very often. The area he describes feels as foreign to me as it is to him. His first time visiting. He’s maybe 23, with a shadow of facial hair.

Cassie’s eyes widen in response to a comment I missed. She points a manicured nail at Oliver and places the other hand lightly over Pat’s, “I told you, you’d love him. That’s the little bar you used to take us to when you were finishing college. Remember?”

Oliver frowns and she turns her sparkling eyes to me, “Remember, with the cheesy 70’s theme?”

A vague recollection of waitresses in shiny white boots and $8 drinks comes to mind, “I think so, that time frame kind of blurs together now.”

His laugh rumbles through me, “All of 22 was a blur for me.”

Cassie rolls her pretty eyes, “The two of you are useless. But that’s the bar his cousin just bought.”

Pat rubs the back of his neck and his arms flex with muscle beyond what I’m used to seeing on a man. He doesn’t seem shy but has a redness to his ears as he adds, “It’ll be opening up this week, you should come.”

Oliver agrees easily. He has no issue cancelling last minute, agreeing to most things.

When Cassie’s gaze returns to me I smile as authentically as I can, “We wouldn’t miss a grand opening.”

Pat’s eyes lock with mine for an extended moment and he nods. Tossing his arm around the back of Cassie’s chair. I like the look of them as a pair. He’s wasted time for her, but sometimes that extends.

My entire attention returns to Oliver. His hands, his voice. The way he swallows each small bite he takes. The dinner can’t end soon enough. When it finally does, he walks slightly ahead of me with my hand clasped firmly in his. Led away from the table, straight to the black pickup he bought used from his dad.

He’s not my soulmate, but I like pretending he is. I can. His died when they were seventeen. No one to claim him so I get the honor.

He tastes like mine when I lean over and place my lips firmly against his. Warm to the touch. His lips are flavored with black pepper and a dark whiskey. A flare of heat between my legs and I have to consciously stop myself from biting through his lip.

I lazily trace a finger along my bottom lip when I lean away and watch as he wipes away the rogue lipstick staining the skin around his mouth. He’s relaxed, loose. I love when he drinks. I get loud-mouthed and violent. Alcohol does the opposite for him. He’s a good drunk. Suddenly inviting.

“Did you have fun?” Looking up at him, I pray he did.

He nods, turning the truck on, “He’s a nice guy, better than her usual type.”

I agree. More handsome, more attentive, more appropriate for a public outing.

I settle into my seat. Subtly pulling at my dress, stopping when the hem passes over the top of my knee. I can see him watching from the corner of his eye as he heads to my house. We usually go to his, but Cassie will be out and I’m closer.

If he hadn’t joined Pat in a drink, he would be frowning and his knuckles would tap my knee twice to tell me without words to behave. But he finished a full drink and smiles playfully at me when I catch his eye. Both hands on the wheel, a rule he’ll never stray from. But he reaches over to squeeze my thigh at a red light and I could explode.

The drive is smooth and I don’t test my luck by toying with his patience. Sitting quietly, resting my head on the cool glass of the window. He’s so beautiful it makes me want to cry. The brief thought passes through my head, does he like me too? I know he does. He’s mine. And even if he doesn’t like me, he’s too comfortable to leave and that counts for something.

“Do you?”

“Do I…?” It’s as though my brain has shut off.

Oliver’s smile is a bit smaller when he repeats, “Do you actually want to go to that bar opening on Tuesday?”

I shrug, “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Isn’t Tuesday going to be a big day for you?” The headlights of a passing car make his skin glow as he gives me a curious glance, “I mean, with everything it could be a bit much.”

Oh. That.

“She wasn’t my mother or anything.”

“Still,” He shifts slightly, “Funerals can be rough.”

Yeah. I know that. “People die all the time.”

“Not people you know.”

My father’s second wife isn’t someone I consider family. Their son doesn’t feel like a sibling. I have siblings, too many sisters and a brother. No need for another. The loss isn’t one that stings. I am a bit excited to go. I haven’t seen my father in ages.

My growing arousal stops dead.

“Well, it’ll be even more reason to need a drink, right?”

Death terrifies him. He’s lonely because of it. No grandparents, no parents, no highschool sweetheart. Death has robbed him a few too many times in his foundational years.

He laughs. Light, forced. It’s time to change the subject, “I’ll pick you up around 6, then? We’ll head out from here.”

Nodding, I plaster an easy smile on my face. Switching gears as we turn onto a familiar neighborhood.

“Perfect. Will your project be done that day? Celebratory drinks may also be needed.”

My brain bleeds as he dives into details of a project I retain only small pieces of. I haven’t been to a funeral in at least four years. And I haven’t been to one with a corpse I recognize in double that.

It’ll be beautiful. My sister Josie, a fan of our mother in law, will ensure it. My father will be in deep mourning. He’s crude and sensitive. Crying and lashing out is his anticipated state. I wonder if I’ll have to consol him. I wonder if his heartbreak will leak into me and if I’ll cry, too.

I wonder what I’ll wear.