“So, here’s your old room,” I told him as we walked into the bedroom which my father had turned into a second office that he hardly used. It had an old oak desk and envelopes and manilla folders stacked sky high. I opened the window a little to let the fresh air in and hoped it would sweep away some of the dust that filled the air. I wished I’d known he was coming or I’d had the new maid clean it out. I felt embarrassed that I couldn’t offer him something better and thought for a second of offering him my bedroom. But then again, maybe that would be too forward, too much, too soon.
I watched him checking the office out looking at all the old photos, there were watermarks and still nails hanging where photos of his mom and him once hung.
“We can take on of the desks out and bring in an air mattress for now until we get a real one,” I said, clearing out some of the space where I thought he could put a mattress.
“An air mattress is fine,” he said sitting down in a chair, parting his legs open slowly, “Whatever gets the job done.”
I could his bulge even clearer. Goddamn, it was big. His eyes floated to mine and there was an uncomfortable silence between us for a moment. It was obvious, there was still a strong connection between us and it hadn’t fizzled, nor was it just a childhood crush like I tried to poo-poo it to be, all these years.
“You look good,” he told me, leaning back and licking his lips.
“You too,” I answered, nervously dusting off imaginary lint off my pants.
“No,” he said, leaning forward this time, the chair creaking as he did, “I mean, you really look good.”
I blushed, I knew exactly what he meant but I pretended not to hear it though part of me wanted to jump his bones and ride him right then and there. I couldn’t breathe for a second. Was I imagining things? I tossed my head back to get the hair out of my face as I bit my lip and rocked back and forth slightly, not knowing what to say or how to respond.
“A lot has changed since we were kids,” he told me. “I’ve grown up a lot, matured. I know what I want, what I don’t and I know how to get it.”
There was an edge, almost an authoritative masculinity that turned me.
“Come here,” he told me, reaching out for me. His hand was much larger than I remembered, weathered but still handsome as if he worked with his hands now, like a real man should.
I stepped closer as he rose, his body so close, I could feel the heat emanating off of it and smell the sweet smell of Old Spice mixed with his musty manly smell that I remembered. He rested his strong hands on my shoulders and looked me deep into my eyes.
“I’ve missed you,” he said with a slight smile.