more WIP

…So it happened, after the rain, as things of that sort often do. I like to think that we both had a good time, but, as these things go, I’ll probably never know for sure. I gave it my best effort. I walked her home in the morning, as it was only a couple of blocks away, and got my first look at her living space. I suppose that is one of those things that a guy should consider before he goes and spends the night with a girl that he actually seems to like, but, as we walked up to her door, I shrugged mentally, and probably physically, and acted as if the thought had never crossed my mind. Because it hadn’t.

And then I realized what had been bothering me all along. It wasn’t that she wasn’t quirky, or intelligent, or pretty, it was that she was all of those, and it had been driving my crazy, although, in my estimation, a fairly happy kind of crazy. She was the kind of girl who didn’t mind that her underwear was all over when you saw her “place” as she called it, for the first time. She was also the sort that had her cds everywhere. And while I’m no vinyl bigot, I do abide by the “keep your cds in their cases” rule. I’m also not saying that I hated the underthingies all over, but it does make a guy wonder about certain issues.

You can tell a lot about a woman, or person, for that matter, by their underwear and music collection. From a quick scan around, there were several matching sets, which, according to the myths that I subscribe to, was a good sign. Also, she did have her burned copies, labeled “Dido” and “Son Volt” right next to each other. This brought High Fidelity to mind, and I wanted to ask her how she was categorizing and hope for some either asinine or ridiculously cute answer, but couldn’t bring myself to bite that proverbial bullet. Instead, I stood there, mute, while she skittered about the main room, clearly not sure what we were supposed to do here, but not telling me to leave…

“I need to get to work, soon, so, I should probably run.” I’d never been a fan of awkward pauses.

“Ah, ok,” she returned, smiling up from the rumpled bed where she had finally seated herself. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to take that as “ok come over here” or “ok get the fuck out”, so I did a quick dance, a two step of sorts, 1, 2 and back. She was clearly nonplussed. I backed out the still open door, and into the hall of the strangely communal place she was living in. At my quizzical look, she replied, “it used to be a hotel”. I mentally translated “hotel” to “brothel”, and reminded myself that I had work to get to.

She bit her lip, which actually may have torn open my chest and held my throbbing heart in front of me, had I not already been committed to the walk towards the front door, and then smiled and said, “come by any time” to my retreating form.

“Sure.” I managed, as I turned the corner to the main stairs, and got out of earshot. Home. That was what I needed, now. Work could wait, at least for the few minutes it would take to get me under the influence of some coffee. The morning was still flush with last night’s rainstorm. I was still pretty flushed as well…