Free Melt by Selene Castrovilla

okay?”
    Â Â Â Â Â Â It’s the same thing, every time. No matter where we are. “Okay,” I say.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â He strokes me some more, so gentle. His leg’s wrapped around mine, so warm. “Thanks.”
    Â Â Â Â Â Â We’re surrounded by workout equipment here in Jason’s makeshift gym. Some is Jason’s, but more belongs to guys who have no place of their own to set it up. Three bench presses, leg machines, arm machines, and lots of barbells in different sizes. The radio propped on a bench in the corner is playing an eighties tune, “I Melt With You.” The singer declares he’ll stop the world. It feels like that here—now and whenever we’re here—it feels like the world’s stopped. He touches me so slow, so tranquilly. Hard to believe hands roughed up like that could feel so soothing. Harder even to reconcile those tame hands with the devastation they’ve caused.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â They’re so respectful to me.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â They’re practically reverent.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â He kisses like that too. With this sweet serenity, like there’s only us. Like there’s no such thing as time.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â He does that now, he kisses me. He pulls me closer against him, presses tight against me, and that tingling rises again, from somewhere way inside me. It’s always there, always going, always generating when I’m with him, but when he kisses me like that, that’s when it escalates. That’s when it demands attention.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â He feels it, I know. It’s what hit us when we first met, times a thousand.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â He feels it, but he never acts on it. I keep waiting for him to move further, to act. But he doesn’t.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â And I ….
    Â Â Â Â Â Â I don’t know how to.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Only this time, I can’t take it.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â I slide my hand under his T-shirt, glide across ribs and ripped muscle. His body jerks from the sensation. Heat surfaces, melts into my touch. Slow, slow, I smooth my fingertips up the middle line of his chest, tracing the indentation. He pulls back. “Stop, you’re making me crazy.”
    Â Â Â Â Â Â â€œIs that a bad thing?” I ask.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â He regards me, looks at me like I’m some new creature he’s discovered. I stare back into those wide eyes, waiting for an answer, acutely aware of the blood push, push, pushing through my veins, and wanting only to brush his skin again.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Still, he doesn’t answer.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â I say, “It’s been three months. Do you not want to make love with me?”
    Â Â Â Â Â Â He jolts at the question. After a few seconds he finds his voice. It’s rocky. “You kidding?”
    Â Â Â Â Â Â â€œThen why ….”
    Â Â Â Â Â Â I leave the words dangling, reach for him. I pull his shirt up, up, over his head, then slip it from his arms.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â He doesn’t resist.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â I lean against him, press my fingers into snug chest fuzz.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â I don’t know much, but I know I want him.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â â€œWhy …,” I say again, and again that’s all I say.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â I push my chest into his, reach my hand behind, drift down, down, down the small of his back, until I’m tucked inside his jeans.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â His heart rate quickens, drums its beat into me.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  Thump thump thump thump thump thump  ….
    Â Â Â Â Â Â I rest my lips against his ear, share the shiver they provoke.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â â€œWhy don’t you?” I ask.
    Joey
    Â Â Â Â Â Â The question zaps through me like ten thousand