As I’m clicking through folders on my laptop, I come across a folder of old photos from back in the day. A smooth, soulful beat starts pouring through the speakers and Iris doesn’t complain so I let the music flow. I nudge her in the shoulder. “Take a look at these.”
She scoots closer. I ignore how good she smells as I click through pictures from our old college days. Most of them are from random parties, and people I can’t remember, but we laugh and point out all the famous stomping grounds in the photo backgrounds.
“Isn’t that Dr. Melvern?” she asks, pointing to a man walking by in the background of one of the photos.
“Yeah, he was my Intro to Medieval Philosophy professor. I had to take that class twice. I failed both times.”
“Oh my gosh. I had that one, too. That was the most useless class ever.”
“Absolutely useless,” I vehemently agree. “ I don't understand why it was even on the curriculum. They could have easily replaced it with something useful. Like How to Do Your Laundry So You Don't Accidentally End Up Turning All your Clothes Pink 101 or How to Clean Your Dorm So It Doesn't Smell Like Sour Milk and Moldy Feet 101.
Iris giggles next to me, throwing her head back and exposing her gorgeous neck. “Yes! Or, how about How To Survive A Night In The Wilderness When Your Car Breaks Down 101. Or even better, How Not To Be A Selfish Jerk And Make Sure Your Girlfriend Gets Off Now and Then 101.”
My body stills. What the heck? Did she just say what I think she said? My words are slow, “Would Kirk need to take that class?”
“Kirk would need to be in the front row in that class,” she says firmly, but then buries her face against my shoulder. “Why did I say that? I shouldn't have said that. Forget you heard it.” She tries to laugh it off, but it’s a strained sound.
“Wait. Are you saying that Kirk never made you...come?”
Iris doesn’t look up at me. Her head moves from side to side once more. “It’s okay though. We're all built differently. Not all women were wired for orgasms. It doesn’t mean that sex doesn’t still feel...nice.”
My mind is absolutely blown. Despite what she says, this is not normal.
Was Kirk really that selfish? And how the hell do you marry someone who can’t get you off?
“First off, that's bullshit that incompetent men say to justify their incompetence. A man who knows what he's doing will make sure you get there.” I tilt her face up because I need her to see me when I say this next part. “And secondly, we're not talking about all women. We're talking about you,” I emphasize, while my eyes shamelessly scan down her figure. “And there's no way that beautiful body of yours wasn't wired for orgasms, Iris Merlini. You just need the right man to show you.”
Iris leans a little closer to me, and I don’t even think she’s aware that it’s happening. She’s breathless, and just inches away, when she innocently asks, “Do you know anybody for the job?”
My cock is the first part of my body that hears the question, perking right the hell up with the shot of blood that arrows through it. But I can’t find the right words to say, so I sit there, dumbfounded.
Iris buries her face in her hands when I leave her question hanging in the air. “Sorry. Pretend I didn’t say that. Oh god. I’m so embarrassed.”
Her soft laughter and her sweet scent mix with the music, filling my head. Iris’s beauty runs even deeper beneath the surface. There's no way to convince me a woman like her doesn't deserve a good man. I want her to know that she deserves a man who cherishes her like the moon and the stars. I want her to know that one day some lucky bastard will walk into her life. Hell, I want to volunteer for the position but I know I'm not the right man for the job of loving Iris Merlini.
Last night, she said it herself. My stay here with her is only temporary. What’s the point in getting her attached to me when in the long run, I’ll be gone? She’s already been through enough. Despite my insane attraction to her, I don’t want to be the next man to hurt her. That would be selfish.
Sunlight filters through the leaves, playing on her pretty face. She squints up at me. “You’re staring…” she whispers.
A peachy flush courses up her neck and explodes across her freckled cheeks. She plucks a rose from the nearby bush and twirls it between her fingers.
I take the flower from her and pull off a single petal. I brush it back and forth along her rosy bottom lip. “I’m just wrapping my head around the fact that you’re just as beautiful after your workout as you are when you get home from the salon.” My tone is serious, not at all like the carefree, playful footballer I usually portray to the world.
Her shy expression tells me she can’t handle serious right now. The compliment is too much for her. “I guess they didn’t do a very good job at the hair salon then,” she jokes.
“No. It’s because you don’t need a beauty salon to make you gorgeous.” I brush loose strands of hair from her eyes to fully appreciate her perfect face. “I want you to tell me a secret." My demand comes out as a hoarse whisper. “Tell me something nobody knows about you."
Her eyes dart away, and she licks her lips nervously. It’s too late. I know that I've lost her. I know she's retreated back into her shell, and I've ruined the
