Free Boston by Alexis Alvarez

not so weird that he kissed me and then backed off. Like a tease.” Except that it felt nothing like a tease. It felt like something deep and powerful, something so special I can’t even describe it to myself.
    “What did you do to tease him?”
    I frown, then giggle a little at the memory. “Well, I sort of got down on my knees in front of him and asked him if he likes blow jobs. Maybe I said a few other things to get him really worked up. But then I didn’t give him, you know, one.” My voice is apologetic. “So.”
    “Jesus, Abby!” Liesl’s eyes bug out. “You did what? You little slut!” But her voice is fond. “I didn’t know you had that in you.”
    I laugh. “He was acting all big shot hot stuff, like he could get me to combust with just one wink, so I wanted to tease him right back and give him a taste of his own medicine. I guess maybe he upped the ante with the kiss.”
    Liesl rolls her eyes. “You do realize you’re playing with fire. Right? I mean, you keep that shit up, you’ll be having sex with him in about an hour regardless of whether it’s a good idea or not. And I will have zero sympathy when you come crying to me. Jealousy, maybe. The man is hot.”
    “He is hot,” I agree.
    Liesl narrows her eyes. “And here’s another theory. Maybe he thinks he’s not good enough for you , Abby. Did you ever consider that? You have a degree from Harvard. You have a nice house and car. You’re a bestselling author. You’re pretty and smart and fun. Maybe he’s the one who thinks he doesn’t bring enough to the table.” She raises her eyebrows. “Give it some thought, Abby. ‘Kay?”
    I don’t even know how to process this. “Really?” I cock my head. It’s a strange, enticing idea. Me!—as the unattainable goal. I let my mind drift, imagining myself on a stage, glowing golden, maybe flying around, because I’m a super hero and all the hot guys want me.
    Liesl pats my hand, breaking into my reverie. “Look. Part of the reason I think you’re beautiful is because we’re BFFs. That’s the whole point. You see the beauty in the people you love and care about. If he’s getting to know you, the real you, maybe he sees you inside and out and likes you—and he understands how fucking amazing you really are. Is that so hard to believe?”

Chapter Five
     
    I like the quiet afternoons with Boston. After our work is done, before we clean up, the sun comes in through the window in thick, golden beams that accentuate each swirling dust mote in the air. It’s like the very atmosphere is alive, where little sparks twist and whirl in a random pattern, millions of sparkling gems in the air between us. It’s a snowstorm of particles, a rain shower. The sun reveals things that were hidden, makes visible the countless little motes that are all around us, unseen, unmentioned.
    It’s in these moments that I feel my desire for him so strongly that I almost can’t stand it. I imagine just going up to him like it’s expected and slinging a leg over his lap, straddling him, taking his face between my hands and burying my tongue in his mouth. I imagine standing in front of him, rubbing my palms up his chest, taking the time I want to feel each ripple and indentation of each muscle. I dream of kissing the side of his jaw where his neck just starts, licking his pulse. I envision myself licking along his upper lip with a flick of my tongue, taking his hands and placing one on each breast. I want to rub his cock through his jeans until he gets so hard that he groans his need to me, moans it into my neck with a sharp bite, hard enough to leave marks.
    These thoughts make me quiver with desire and make my panties wet. And then the words come, too, they pour from my fingers and I write almost like I’m being chased, I write frantically, desperately, urgently. I write until the thoughts get too complex and the pattern too hard to follow and only then do I come up for air.
    Today he’s watching me when I