Chapters (55)
- Cover
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Dedication
- Acknowledgments
- Cast of Characters
- Part One
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Part Two
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Thirty-five
- Thirty-six
- Thirty-seven
- Thirty-eight
- Thirty-nine
- Forty
- Forty-one
- Forty-two
- Forty-three
- Forty-four
- Forty-five
- Forty-six
- A note on the Author
I didn’t tell him how many connect-the-dots men there have been over the years. I didn’t have to tell him that he had given me even less to go on than ever before. He lay on the bed and I sat in the chair by my desk. Then he sat in the rocking chair and I lay on the bed. I stretched my arms above my head, to expose white belly, flat and unscarred, a flash of clean light in a body imperfect.
He lay next to me, baby-blue hooded sweatshirt worn inside out. Then I got up and cracked open a beer. It should have been red wine, but I just wanted to pace and pretend, unscrew things, because he was making me so hot. I was starting to melt, and by the time he kissed me, I was out of my body. I looked down on us as he put his hand in my hair (dot), stroked my back (dot), took my shirt off (dot), unhooked my bra (dot), took his sweatshirt off (dot). Connect the dots, connect the dots. Play by yourself like a good girl.
I was shocked at his finely tuned body—even better than Sebastian’s. It meant something. A boy like Aslan didn’t need a body like that. It means something, broad shoulders and stomach muscles on a boy with unwashed hair. The muscles seemed like something he was looking after as a favor to a friend. They meant, I said out loud, that once he had been with a girl who needed him so much he had had to build a body so that she would have something to cling to. “No, I built a wall. I was trying to keep her out.”
“Did it work?”
“I moved to New York, didn’t I?”
“And she’s still in Colorado?”
“I don’t know.”
He cared, which is why he had not tried to find out. He cared about a girl and I scuttled back into my body like a child chastised. Suddenly I could feel his tongue, hot and wet, his Chiclet teeth, cold as tombstones. He put his fingers inside me. That was the end. He let me moan, once, twice, catch my breath as I rode his fingers. And then he stopped, turned away, put his shirt back on. I tried to kiss him, embarrassed bemused kiss. He patted my face, looking away. Then he smiled slash passion fish smile, picked up my bra from the floor and draped it over my arms. Eyes burning with shame, I scooped my breasts into the cups and he carefully hooked the back, grinning at his own deftness. Then he was asleep beside me and I was awake, staring out the window, New York Street Scene No. 2.