Second Chance for Romance

Chapter 15

We’d forgotten to turn on the heat after the party, so the house was cold when I woke up. I was glad to have a blanket over my bare legs. Christy lay curled beside me with her head in my lap, warm under her own blanket. She had taken off her Alice dress and draped it over the arm of the couch. A pretty blue bra lay on top of it. I tugged the blanket up to cover her bare shoulder.

I sat quietly for a moment and surveyed the room. It looked like we’d had a party, but I’d seen worse. My hangover was fairly mild too, mostly because I’d switched from Jameson to Coke after the costume contest.

Christy stirred. She stretched and added a little squeak at the end. I couldn’t help but grin.

“Morning,” I said softly.

She blinked several times. Then she looked up at me and smiled. A moment later her eyes widened in panic as she realized she wasn’t wearing a bra. She pulled the blanket tight around herself and sat up.

“You must’ve gotten up during the night,” I explained. “I guess that’s when you took off your clothes. I didn’t see a thing.”

She nodded, but her eyes still darted frantically as she tried to remember.

“We didn’t do anything, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

She still didn’t say anything.

“Seriously. I’d tell you if we had.”

She eventually nodded. “What time is it?”

“A little before nine.”

“Okay.”

“I’m not ready to start cleaning up,” I said, “and I’m a little stiff from

sleeping sitting up. Think I’ll go for a run.”

She nodded automatically.

“Relax,” I said. “Nothing happened. We just fell asleep together.”

She still wasn’t mollified.

I sighed. “Whatever. I’ll be back in a bit.”

I kicked a bunch of empty beer cans out of the street when I returned. I tried to ignore the cigarette butts that littered the yard and sidewalk, but I picked up the cardboard remains of someone’s costume. Then I pulled a trio of empty wine cooler bottles from the mailbox and tossed them into the yard with the rest.

At that point I realized that we hadn’t picked up the mail in a couple of days. We’d been so busy with party preparations that we’d simply forgotten.

I sorted through the letters and immediately recognized Gina’s handwriting on one. It felt thick, several pages at least. I resisted the urge to open and read it then and there.

The scene inside the house hadn’t changed, except that Christy’s dress and bra were gone. She’d left a note on the dining room table.

Gone to Mass. Be back later. - C

She returned as I was cleaning, by myself. I’d already picked up the porch and front yard and was working on the living room.

To her credit, she pulled out a trash bag and joined me.

“How was church?”

“Fine.”

“Did you confess your sins?” I didn’t even try to keep the contempt out of my voice. “What’s the penance for sleeping with a man who isn’t your husband?”

“I’ll start on the kitchen.”

“What are you so guilty about?” I shouted at her back. “We didn’t do anything!”

She disappeared through the dining room.

I fumed and snatched decorations from the ceiling to vent my frustration.

Wren came downstairs wearing Trip’s Han Solo shirt and little else. She winced as bottles clanked when I dropped the trash bag.

“What’s the matter with you?” she asked.

“Ask your friend,” I said with a gesture at the kitchen. “That is, if she isn’t too busy saying Our Fathers or Hail Marys.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Never mind. I know.” She glared at me.

“Why are you such a jerk about this? It makes her happy. What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. She can be as happy and guilt-ridden as she likes… just not with me.”

She huffed. “Fine. Whatever. It’s too early for this crap.”

“It’s almost eleven,” I said petulantly.

“Do you have somewhere else to be?”

“Yeah, I think I do.” I headed upstairs to change into my running clothes.

Again.

I tried to put things into perspective as I ran. Christy was simply my housemate. We were friends, nothing more. So why was I so upset? Part of the answer was simple. I’d had fun the night before, but she felt guilty about it. I reminded myself that I wasn’t the problem. Her stupid Catholic guilt was, and I couldn’t do a thing about it.

I decided that I needed to wear myself out physically, so I sprinted the last quarter-mile to the house. Then again, maybe I just needed to find someplace else to live. Christy’s flirty and shy moods would drive me crazy if I lived with her much longer. I paced back and forth on the sidewalk in front of the house. I stared at the mailbox on every pass, thinking of Gina’s letter.

“Screw it,” I said at last. “Why do I even care?”

I jogged up the walk and into the house. Upstairs, I took a shower and locked myself in my room. Then I settled on the bed and opened Gina’s letter.

Dear Paul,

I know you said you’d write first, but I couldn’t wait. I hope you don’t mind. I thought about you the whole flight home. I had the best time at the wedding, and especially after! You’ve changed so much from what I remember. I hope I’ve changed too. I know I’ve grown up a lot. Being out here in LA has made me see things differently, especially where you and I were (are?) concerned…

The first two pages were about us and the reasons we’d broken up in the first place. We’d both screwed up, she said. We were young and immature.

We’d been too busy with school and other people to pay attention to each other. She was as guilty as I was, she said. She didn’t know where things would go from here, but she liked the idea of getting to know me again, the new me (according to her). She hoped I wanted to get to know the new her too.

Boy, do I, I thought sourly. The alternative was a girl with more religious hang-ups than the cloakroom at the Vatican. Once again I asked myself why I even cared.

I returned to Gina’s letter. Page three was written later, that evening.

Oh my God! You’re not going to believe who I saw today. Heather Wellesley! I was eating lunch near the clinic where I volunteer when I heard a familiar voice. Well, I really heard her accent. Most people around here sound so Val it isn’t funny. And they tease me about my accent? Ha! But anyway, I heard her voice and knew she wasn’t from California, even though she looks like a typical surfer girl. You remember her, right?

How could I forget? I pictured her in my mind: a blue-eyed blonde, curvy and busty. I had some very fond memories of her. My dick stirred, and I unfastened the towel around my waist. I stroked my thickening penis as I returned to the letter.

Gina and Heather had met up later that afternoon. Heather was working for “someone in the Valley, she wouldn’t say who,” according to Gina. She’d left college in Georgia and gone back to Kansas for a while. Then she’d moved to California to take up acting.

You know what that means. Porn. I mean, seriously, she can’t act. But she has a fantastic body, and that’s all the porn people really care about. I guess I shouldn’t judge her. I mean, is being a swinger any different? I say it is, but you know what I mean. Still, I guess I thought she was smarter than that. She likes to party, though, and we hear all the time about parties in the Valley, how wild they are. I’ve been to a couple. Lots of half-naked girls. I don’t mind that—you know me!—

but the guys are mostly jerks.

She talked more about the parties and then returned to Heather.

It was kind of weird seeing her again right after I saw you. Almost like I was back in high school. I thought those days were over, but I felt the same rush of familiarity, not to mention heat and moisture, if you know what I mean! She looks as good as ever, maybe better.

She’s lost some of the baby fat she had in high school. A lot like you, as a matter of fact. (Oh, you looked great, by the way. I know I told you that—on my knees, on my back, on top of you, ha ha!—but you still make my heart go pitter-pat.) Hmm. I need to take a break from writing. My hand is getting cramped and a certain other area needs some attention. Be right back!

I set the letter aside and imagined Gina playing with herself. Was she using her fingers or her vibrator? What did she call it? Pinky? I pictured her dark, swollen pussy lips, slick with moisture as she masturbated.

My thoughts turned to Heather and my seventeenth birthday. I remembered how her breasts had bounced as I’d fucked her. Then I pictured her on her knees, sucking my dick with Gina. I had to reach for a handful of Kleenex in a hurry. I stifled a groan and blew a huge load into the wad of tissues.

My breathing slowly returned to normal as I cleaned up and reached for the letter.

Much better! I was thinking of that time on your birthday, with Heather and me. Remember how many times we did it? God! I’d almost forgotten those days, how much fun we had in high school. We

were so lucky. You were, especially. So many girls wanted to screw you. But you were mine! They were so jealous. I was happy to share, but Hands off, girls! He’s taken. Ha ha! God, we were so young then.

I mean, not like we’re old now, but you know what I mean. There’s a big difference between 17 and 20. Like, huge.

Anyway, now that I can think straight again… Did you take care of a certain problem too? I hate that you probably had to use your hand. I would’ve taken care of things for you if I’d been there. I’ve never been so jealous of Kleenex in my life. I probably shouldn’t get started again, or I’ll never finish this letter!

She went on to talk about Heather and how they planned to get together again. She wrote about her life too, about classes and friends. She knew I didn’t really like the sorority—I partly blamed them for our breakup—but she slipped in a few details. Regan was dating a new guy who wasn’t a Greek.

Things were going well so far. The sorority itself was planning a fall formal with a “brother fraternity” (wasn’t that redundant?). They had a bikini car wash fundraiser planned. She thought it was stupid, but she’d do it, she said.

I finished the letter and jerked off again, thinking about her and Heather together in Los Angeles. I could fly out and join them, I thought. That’d be fun. And neither of them would feel guilty in the morning.

The message was clear, and the little head agreed: I should forget about Christy and get back together with Gina. I picked up her letter and read it again from start to finish.

Afterward I sat at my desk and pulled out some stationery. I filled three pages front and back. I didn’t pour out my heart and confess eternal love, but I didn’t write about my daily routine either. Mostly I talked about the good times Gina and I had had together, from camp to high school to our trip to Europe. I also apologized for my first letter. I felt guilty for not taking more time and making it more personal. When I was done, I folded the pages and stuffed them into an envelope.