Getting Down Page 7

  He grabs me by the wrist and tugs me out of the bathroom, his strides purposeful as he brings me over to the bed. He quickly shoves all the pillows to the floor and turns down the sheets. The mattress sinks as I climb up and stretch out. Pajama pants drop to the floor. His erection bobs as he follows after me.

  I keep my legs together. As intrigued as Armstrong might be by what he witnessed, he prefers demure to brazen. Warm, gentle fingers trail up my shins. When he reaches my knees he carefully pries them apart. I provide just a hint of resistance and he glances up. His tongue peeks out to wet his lip.

  Armstrong is a gentle, considerate lover. Which is nice. It’s lovely to be worshipped. But sometimes I’d like to be ravaged. Fucked. Sometimes I’d like to be pounded into the mattress, sweaty and sticky with afterglow.

  Sex with Armstrong is sweet and tender. There’s no profanity, no dirty talking, no ass slapping or hair pulling. When I whisper a quiet, accidental fuck his eyes lift with their telling disapproval. I censor my pleasure. I try to come. I really do. I get close, but it’s taking too long and I’m too preoccupied with watching my language.

  So I fake it. I try to mimic what happened in the shower, but the censored, PG version. I need to figure out how to make this better for both of us. This is what I want. Armstrong is what I want. We’ll have a beautiful life together. He just needs to relax a little. It’s just going to take time; either that, or I’ll have to bury Anarchy Amie forever. And maybe I should, because all she ever gets into is trouble.

  * * *

  “Hold this for me.” The words are garbled as Ruby hands me a pincushion. She has three pins poised between her lips. It makes me nervous. I imagine her inhaling them and accidentally swallowing one.

  She plucks one from between her lips and threads it carefully through the fabric, then does the same on the other side. “Can you do me a big favor and not lose any weight between now and the Halloween party?”

  She’s well aware that this is not a promise I can make. We have two weeks to go, that’s fourteen days of hot yoga. As the party gets closer and my soon-to-be mother-in-law’s involvement in this event escalates, I become increasingly aware of how much more involved she’s likely to become with the wedding as the date approaches. It’s causing me stress. She’s already overly involved. You’d think it was her getting married, not me. So I’ve been doubling up on hot yoga sessions and cardio. I’ve accidentally lost four pounds in the last week and a half. I’ve been adding protein to my morning smoothie to make up for it, but to no avail.

  Ruby pats my butt. “You’re going to look gorgeous.”

  I smile. “The dress is going to look gorgeous.” The dress is stunning. How she’s managed to make an old costume from the basement of a now-closed theater into something so incredible is beyond me. Ruby has a hidden talent. She can sew. I think if she hadn’t been on the stage she might’ve been behind it, designing costumes. Her personality is too big to be confined though.

  My dress is huge, blue, and puffy. It’s going to be incredibly uncomfortable. But I’m used to uncomfortable clothes. I can deal with it for an evening. I would’ve preferred to go as a more interesting couple, like Harley Quinn and the Joker, but Armstrong would never agree to color his hair green, even temporarily, so I’m stuck being Cinderella.

  “Have you decided what you want to be?”

  “I think I’ve narrowed it down. Wonder Woman is a strong contender, but I need to try on the costume and see what you think. It might be a little too . . . revealing.”

  “Well now I really need to see it.”

  “When I’m finished with you.”

  “You can take a break from stabbing me to death with pins.” I nudge her in the direction of the bed, where all the costumes are laid out.

  Ruby doesn’t seek privacy. We’ve seen each other naked probably more times than Armstrong and I have at this point. Which is a little disconcerting, but then Ruby and I have been friends for more than a decade and Armstrong and I have been together for less than a year.

  She strips down to her underwear, which happens to be a lacy little thong in hot pink zebra print with little black bows at the hips. I miss wearing fun underwear. Armstrong thinks anything that isn’t pale lace or satin is trashy. I turn back to my reflection and my high coverage dress. I can’t move much or I’ll end up with more holes in my skin.

  “Okay. Check it out.” She jumps in front of me.

  “Okay. Wow.” Ruby has an unbelievable dancer’s body. It’s almost infuriating how toned and muscular and just fit she is, especially with all the junk she’s constantly shoving in her mouth.

  “Is that a good wow, or a bad wow?”

  “Well, I suppose it depends. Your ass looks damn well fantastic, but I’m not sure Gwendolyn will survive seeing you in that. I’m also concerned that Bancroft will have zero blood flow anywhere in his body apart from his penis.”

  “It rides a little high in the back, doesn’t it?” She checks out her own rear end in the mirror, wiggling it around a little.

  “Just a wee bit.” Half of her butt is on display. While it definitely would’ve been something she’d wear to a party back when we were in college, there will be far too many influential people for either of us to attempt something quite so risqué.

  She frowns. “I guess this is more like a bathing suit than a costume.”

  “Or lingerie.” I’m sort of being sarcastic. Sort of not. I remember the way Bancroft reacted when she was in the fairy outfit. He couldn’t keep his hands off her the entire night.

  “Oh my God! That’s a fantastic idea. Bancroft will go crazy.” She repositions me, still wearing the costume, and resumes the pinning. “I could do the same with the Harley Quinn costume if you want.”

  “Don’t bother, it’s not really Armstrong’s thing.” I purse my lips at my accidental sourness.

  “Don’t be silly. All men like lingerie. Even the Armstrongs of this world.”

  “What does that mean?” I try to look at her over my shoulder and a pin digs into my side. “Ow!”

  “Stop moving and I won’t stab you.”

  I suck my teeth but turn around and remain still so I don’t bleed out before she even manages to alter the dress. “You didn’t answer the question.”

  “What question?” she says distractedly.

  “About the Armstrongs of this world.”

  “He’s just a little uptight, right? Not much of an out-of-the-box guy from what I’ve seen. Traditional.”

  “Oh. Yeah. I guess.” That was a nice way to put it. Those things are what drew me to him initially. He was just so different from the guys I normally dated.

  “It’s funny isn’t it? All these years you’ve spent dating the bad boy and here you end up with the quintessential Prince Charming.”

  There’s something in the way she says this, as if there’s more under the words, but then she twists my hair into a half-assed knot and gives me one of her genuine, mischief-filled smiles. “You really are going to be the most beautiful bride, you know that right? You could probably wear a paper bag and you’d still be the most stunning woman in the room. And look at your rack.” She squeezes my boob through the millions of layers of fabric and the built-in bra.

  I bat her hand away and wince at the prick of a pin against my ribs. “Are you flirting with me?”

  “Don’t tell Bane. He’s still not over the whole fairy-makeup you-between-my-legs scene he walked in on.”

  “They all have such dirty minds, don’t they?”

  “If we’re lucky.” I get another sly grin.

  I sincerely hope I can bring out the dirty in Armstrong eventually. “So . . .” I shift gears again. “Since Wonder Woman is going in your private lingerie collection, what other options do you have over there?”

  “I haven’t sorted through it all yet, but I’m sure there will be something.”

  There’s a princess outfit, Snow White to be exact. I spot a black mask on the bed. It reminds me of Batman. �
��Oh! I have an awesome idea!” I gesture toward the pile.

  She glances over, and then gives me the eye. “I’m not going as Snow White. No one should be that clueless. And she should’ve ended up with the Huntsman, not that d-bag prince.”

  “I wasn’t going to suggest that. What if Bane goes as a character from Batman? What if he goes as Bane?”

  “You mean the guy who wears that metal spider thing on his face?”

  “It’s not a metal spider.”

  She props a hand on her hip. “How will he even breathe? Or eat. Or talk. Or make out with me?”

  “Okay. Good point.” I tap my lip. “He could be Batman, though, couldn’t he?”

  “Who will I be? I don’t want to wear some boring evening gown.” She grimaces, realizing what I’m wearing. “Sorry. This isn’t boring, though. It’s going to be amazing once I’m done with it. Halloween is my favorite holiday. I just want to go as something fun.”

  “You could be Catwoman?”

  Her eyes light up. “Oooh! That would totally work. And it wouldn’t be hard to make it happen at all. I’m sure I have all the pieces here. I just have to put them together.”

  She finally finishes pinning me. “Let’s get this off and then we can try on some of the other fun costumes.”

  As soon as I’m out of the dress—and no longer at risk of being pricked to death, which Ruby finds hysterical—she tosses a costume at me to try on. I’ve just finished squeezing myself into what I think is supposed to be some kind of sexy witch costume when Bancroft’s voice booms down the hall, calling for my best friend.

  He must’ve finished work early. I didn’t expect to be here when he got home.

  “In here!” She bites her lip, looking down at her costume and the mess on the bed.

  “I have a ferret that needs to be played with!” Bane comes barging through the door.

  I expect him to be holding Francesca, their pet ferret, who has been penned up in her cage because it’s not safe for her with all the pins and stuff. But apparently Bane isn’t referring to his pet. It’s the one in his pants he’d like Ruby to play with. And I’m looking at it right now.

  “Holy mother!” I bring my hand up to cover my eyes because I’m unable to look away. I think I might be having a hot flash. All I managed to get a glimpse of was the head, because Bancroft’s enormous fist is covering the entire shaft. But that alone tells me an incredible amount about the size of that thing.

  I feel bad that I immediately compare Armstrong’s penis to what I’ve seen of Bancroft’s.

  Chapter 8: Costume Design Flaws

  Ruby

  “Bane, put that away! You’re scaring Amie!” I’m actually not sure if he’s scaring her at all. She has her hand up in front of her face, but she’s clearly peeking through her fingers.

  I’ve shared the size of Bane’s cock with her. I’ve mentioned my new religion: the Church of Bane Cock. I’ve written sonnets about how beautiful it is. Not really, but I’ve made up a couple of limericks. In my head. That I’ve shared with no one but the bathroom mirror.

  Amie has also mentioned the averageness of her fiancé’s penis. I wonder if it’s possible that she’s even exaggerated the averageness for the sake of his ego. And if so, I’m so very, very sad for her. Bane’s cock is the kind of thing that inspires shrines. And lockjaw. Although at this point I’m fairly good at the unlocking part.

  Bancroft’s irritation is fused with disappointment and lust. “For fuck’s sake.” He turns around and tucks himself away, much to my dismay.

  While he’s doing this, Amie frantically searches through the costumes for her clothes, rambling about how she should be going. She practically slams into the wall trying to give Bane a wide berth as she exits the room.

  “I’ll just see myself out.” She fumbles for the door handle and pulls it closed behind her.

  Bane, red-faced, motions to the bedroom. “Why didn’t you tell me Amie was still going to be here? What the hell is going on?”

  “We lost track of time, I guess. We were trying on costumes.” I think it’s pretty clear what we’ve been up to.

  Bane runs a hand through his hair, which messes it up. He has curls. Gorgeous, thick curls. The kind I fuck up when I grab his hair.

  “We need to talk about this shit.”

  “I’ll clean up the mess.”

  “Not the mess, Ruby.” His gaze rakes over me.

  It’s then I realize I’m still wearing the Wonder Woman costume.

  The knock at our bedroom door startles us both. “Okay. I’m leaving. Talk to you later, Ruby. Sorry about surprising you, Bane!”

  We stare each other down as we listen to the patter of her heels grow fainter, followed by the beep when the door closes, signaling her departure. “If it’s not the mess then what’s the problem?” I climb onto the bed and sweep the costumes into a pile.

  Bane is a very neat and tidy man. He dislikes disorder. I imagine this pile of costumes is stressing him out. “I’m going to ask you a question and I need you to answer it honestly.”

  I sit back on my heels. “Ookaaay.” Man, he looks very serious.

  “How many hours did you just spend in here getting naked with Amie?”

  “What?”

  “You said you were trying on costumes. I assume that means you were both without clothes on multiple occasions.”

  “What exactly are you asking?”

  There’s silence. His and mine. His chest rises and falls. It’s distracting. So is the very obvious lump jacking up the front of his pants. “Should I be concerned?”

  I gesture to his crotch. “Your dick doesn’t look very concerned.”

  He glances down.

  “In fact, your dick looks very excited. So maybe the question is, should I be concerned?”

  He frowns, as if he’s uncertain as to what I’m asking.

  “Our potential mutual nakedness seems to be something you’re rather fascinated by,” I prompt.

  His lips purse. Eyes narrow. Fingers flex. He stalks over to the bed, lifts me easily from the mattress and sets me on my feet. Then he circles me. Predatory. “What is this outfit?”

  “I’m Wonder Woman.” This is not an answer to my question.

  He comes to a stop in front of me. Then he winds an arm around my waist, pulling me against him. His nose brushes along my jaw line and then sweeps down my throat. “The last two times I’ve come home when you and Amie have been hanging out you’ve been mostly naked in provocative situations.”

  “Do you think she’s sexy?” It comes out sounding insecure instead of confrontational.

  Bane picks up on that. He’s smart. “Do I think Amie’s sexy?”

  At my lack of response he pulls me in closer. “Do you know where my attention went when I walked into this bedroom?”

  I shake my head, not trusting my voice.

  “You. In this fucking outfit. On our bed. That’s what I saw. And do you know what I was worried about?”

  I give my head another small shake as his hand slides down my back.

  “I worried about all the Anarchy Amie stories you’ve told me.”

  “I don’t get what that has to do with us playing dress-up.”

  “I guess my head went to all the worst possible places. You two are close. You’re always together. Lately you’ve been together and naked. Or semi-naked.”

  Well this conversation is going very differently than it did in my head. Sometimes my worst-case-scenario radar messes with reality. Or is as far from reality as I can get. “Amie and I have been friends for ten years. We’ve been seeing each other naked since before either of us had boobs.”

  “Do you understand that it drives me insane that she sees you naked at all?”

  “It’s just Amie.”

  “But it’s not just Amie, is it?”

  “What?” Now I’m confused.

  “Every night before you get up on stage you’re in a dressing room with all these other people, in various stages of und
ress. And then you get up there and kiss another man, five nights a week.”

  “I’m acting and Michael is gay. And he has a boyfriend. He’s about as interested in getting it on with me as Amie is. Also, if he wasn’t in a relationship, he’d be picturing you while he’s kissing me. He probably still does, actually.”

  “I highly doubt I’m his type.”

  “You’re exactly his type. His boyfriend looks a little bit like you.” The only resemblance is that they’re both tall, built men, but that’s not really the point. Bancroft is typically a very confident man, but recently I’ve noticed these brief moments of insecurity. They’re fleeting, but they exist. As if he needs reminding that I love only him. That the attention I get from everyone else when I’m on the stage is only related to my ability to depict a character, and that beyond that, his is the only attention I want.

  “That’s . . . interesting.”

  “He’s not the only man to lust after you, I’m sure.”

  “The only person I’m concerned about lusting after me is you.” His hand glides down to cup my ass. He’s grabbing a solid handful of cheek since half of it is hanging out of the bottom of these tiny shorts.

  “I thought that was a given.”

  He pulls me against him and drops his mouth to my ear. “Do you know what I’d like to do now?”

  “Fuck Wonder Woman?”

  “Exactly.”

  * * *

  “You need to try this on so we can make sure it fits.” I thrust the costume at Bancroft. He does not look impressed.

  He takes it with a skeptical expression. “I thought I was going to be Bruce Wayne.”

  I may have been a little vague about my plan. “You are Bruce Wayne, as Batman.”

  His plush lips flatten into a thin line and his eyes narrow. It’s too late to come up with something different. We only have three hours before we have to be at the event and my makeup still needs to be done. Gwendolyn has called Amie four thousand times according to my messages. Murder is a real possibility. Amie will be here in twenty minutes to make my face pretty, and I’m hoping the murder isn’t mine.