He said he’d always remembered. The street lights blurred through the windshield. I turned in the passenger’s seat to orient my body towards him, traveling sideways in delirium.
“In the water, your boobs were so soft. You told me you’d put lotion on them. I always think about that.”
I blushed for the feminine mystery my sixteen year old self was unable to cultivate and the primal simplicity of this man’s thoughts. Turns out, he really hadn’t evolved as much as I’d thought. Six years later, and he celebrated me by disclosing his memory of caressing my breasts in his parent’s pool.
“When I texted you, I knew we’d either have gross sex or never talk again. I didn’t expect to be perusing museums with you and your friends.”
That damn ornery smile, fake-offended guffaw, “Gross sex? Ouch, okay.”
“I mean – ” I began.
“I get it. I get it. It’s me. Hell, everyone thought I’d be sleeping in a van down by the river by now. I thought I’d be sleeping in a van down by the river.”
“Your mom’s van?”
He peeled his eyes of the road to match mine, both twinkling in thinly-veiled desire. I initially shrunk away from mentioning his parents. Now well into adulthood and living on our own, harkening back to days of sneaking around and the wholly unsexy angst of high school felt bizarre. Nostalgia entranced us. The reference had too much power to ignore, and he knew precisely my intent.
“I didn’t want to make a scene in front of your friends, but I was shocked when you said you’d only had one person in that minivan.” I drug out my words, asserting my control of the conversation’s tempo and letting him remember our bodies sprawled across the gutted interior of that Honda Odyssey.
“You were the only,” He leveled.
Hmmmm… I cooed contently, returning to my forward-facing position in the car. I stared out the window. One beat, two beats, three beats.
“So,” he began, faking hesitancy, “is that gross sex still on the table?”
My instincts never fail me.
“Darling, you have a girlfriend. A point you brought up with me almost immediately last time we met. Truthfully, I’d only texted you for a quick fuck.”
He expelled some strange, exasperated protests, but I continued.
“Then, immediately, girlfriend. And I thought – well, it is him. Girlfriends clearly never mattered before. But you kept talking about her, so I backed off.”
More strange, gurgling half-words before he began vocalizing his plans to bed me. I’m turning around. Are your parents home? What if we pull down that old back road? Where we dented your car’s roof – you remember how to get there?
And I beamed proudly. I always win the long game.