Coffee Orgasms

I REMAINED OUTSIDE for hours until my eyes were fighting against gravity to stay open. I was trying to avoid the inevitable nighttime routine. It was a methodical checklist you would assume to be the easiest part of your day. No decisions to be made, because you had done it so many times you could rely on its certainty. Yet, here I was, staring at the pile of stuff on the bathroom counter that Grady had bought for me: toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, and face wash with no idea where to start. At the hospital, I had adopted brushing my teeth after washing my face. I didn’t have floss there, but what did I do before the accident? Did I wash my face first or brush my teeth? Did I floss before brushing my teeth or after? I just stared at the pile. Why the hell did it matter? Why couldn’t I just pick up the damn toothbrush and brush my teeth like every other normal person in the world? My cheeks started to flare.

Just pick up the damn toothbrush!

But I couldn’t. I couldn’t, because I didn’t know my routine. And, for that reason, I couldn’t do it, so instead, I swiped the pile off the counter and watched as the floss and toothbrush bounced across the floor, and the face wash broke open, spilling its contents.

“Dammit!” I gritted through my teeth. I wanted to punch the reflection looking back at me in the mirror. Taunting me. Pushing me to go further. Instead, I kicked the face wash across the bathroom as I walked past. If I couldn’t remember my simple little routine, I would skip it. A slightly unstable and misplaced laugh escaped me as I yanked the floral duvet off the oversized bed and crawled under the satin cream sheets. They felt cold against my hot skin, bringing instant relief from my tantrum. This should be the moment I cried. The moment I broke down and accepted my fate, but I didn’t. I didn’t feel defeated or sad. I felt angry. Someone had stolen my life and I didn’t know if I would ever get it back.

The first time I truly saw myself was a few minutes ago. I had barely glanced in a mirror at the hospital. I was too scared to look. Ashamed. What if I had scars all over my face from whatever horrific accident claimed me? I had discovered my worries were unfounded, and while I was angry, I was relieved. No scars. My blonde, naturally highlighted hair was unkempt from barely running a brush through it before I left the hospital, and my eyes were a weird combination of hazel and blue, but my skin was on the fair side and unblemished aside from the freckles sprinkling my nose haphazardly. They were the reason Grady had nicknamed me Freckles. My body wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t bad. It was frail with very little meat around my bones, and the skin was loose from lying in a bed for so long. The therapy the past week had helped build some sort of foundation for an exercise routine. The memory lapse was the one thing I needed to fix that I couldn’t, that I had no control over.

My memories.

My life before I woke up.

There was still nothing.

My mind was filing away every new moment since I woke up, but nothing else was there. Well, some things were. I knew what trees were and cars and toothpaste, and I even remembered movies, and small moments like the ocean in between my toes, but everything else was gone. Everything that made me who I was, erased, and it scared the hell out of me.

AN OBNOXIOUS POUNDING filled my head, waking me from a deep slumber. When the knocking continued, I realized I wasn’t dreaming. I rubbed my eyes until they opened to see Grady leaning on the doorframe to the bedroom.

“Creep much?” The way he wore confidence was intimidating.

“A little,” he teased.

I turned my back to him and threw the pillow over my head. I really should have brushed my teeth last night. Gross.

“Want to tell me why you beat up the bathroom last night, Freckles?”

“Not really,” I murmured under the pillow.

His shoes stomped across the wood floors and I heard the water turn on in the bathroom. I lifted my pillow slightly to see he was cleaning up the face wash that had splattered all over the wall after I kicked it. I grumbled to myself. I felt like a complete jerk. He was letting me live here, and it took me less than a day to start trashing it. I threw the pillow off, tossed the sheets onto the floor, and stumbled into the bathroom.

“Wow, Freckles, was it hard making that rat’s nest?” He pointed to my hair.

“Whatever.” I glanced in the mirror and was slightly appalled. Grady started laughing. “Shut up.”

“Why didn’t you wear the pajamas I bought you?”

“The same reason why I skipped on brushing my teeth.” I flashed a grimy fake smile. I could feel the coating of disgustingness that layered my teeth.

“Hmmm.” He looked me up and down. “You need to shower, but first,” he said, handing me the toothbrush and toothpaste before continuing, “you need to brush.”

The look on his face said it all. “That bad, huh?”

“I’m afraid so.” He laughed.

I sighed in defeat. “Fine, but you need to be going.”

“And here I thought I was going to get to watch a beautiful stranger shower.”

I couldn’t tell if he was teasing or serious. “You’re lucky you’ve seen me in a bathing suit. Now, out,” I instructed.

He laughed as he shut the bedroom door behind him. I wondered if he would stay or if I had scared him away with my rat’s nest and bad breath.

When I got out of the shower, my bed was made, and my jeans from yesterday and a fresh shirt were laid out on the bed. I’m not going to lie; it made me smile. It still screamed a bit stalker, but it was a sweet gesture, and Grady had done nothing to make me think he was a serial killer.

I gnawed on the towel wrapped around my head like a giddy teenager and walked over to the bed and picked up the shirt. It was a simple white and grey striped V-neck. I held it up to my body. Just my size. I looked at the door as if I could see him standing on the other side and smiled again. It felt nice having someone around, especially as good-looking as Grady.

I dressed quickly and dashed to the bathroom, suddenly feeling self-conscious. I tore off the towel, revealing a not-so-attractive mess, so I rifled through the drawers finding a brush, a few hair ties, bobby pins, and a hair dryer. I grabbed the brush and a tie and quickly detangled my hair and threw it into a loose bun, securing it with some bobby pins. I didn’t have any makeup, and honestly, I had no clue if I actually wore makeup, so I just shrugged at my reflection, satisfied with the result.

When I opened the bedroom door, I was consumed with the aroma of… “Coffee,” I sang happily. It lured me out of my room, my feet drifting straight to the pot. I bent over it and inhaled deeply. The black goodness was begging me to drink it straight from the pot.

Grady cleared his throat behind me. “I’m sorry to interrupt this deeply intimate moment, but would you like for me to pour you a cup or leave you two alone?”

I wanted to laugh because that was what you did when someone made a joke, and it was a funny one, but I couldn’t get past the nagging questions. Did I drink my coffee black, or did I like it with creamer? Or maybe I liked it black with just sugar? I shrugged loudly.

“I drink mine black, personally, but I know a few girls who like it with cream and sugar. I bought vanilla-flavored creamer if you want to try it.”

He must have sensed my inner turmoil. “Yeah, that sounds good.” I scooted out of the way and took a seat at one of the bar stools at the island and watched as he poured steaming hot coffee into two mugs. The flex of his biceps was visible even with the small movement, and it held my attention as he poured a little creamer into the one I presumed was my coffee. I couldn’t take my eyes off his perfectly defined arm. I wondered when was the last time – my inappropriate thoughts made me blush.

“Here you go.” He put the mug down in front of me, breaking my train of thought, which was probably a good thing, seeing it wasn’t traveling to the safest of places. Not right now, at least. I needed time.

“Thank you.”

“It was a lot of work, so you owe me one.” He winked.

“On it,” I smiled easily and then savored the first sip of my coffee. It was simply amazing, and a gasp escaped my lips that sounded a lot like an orgasm.

Grady watched with amused curiosity. “That’s a first.”

I laughed, and unfortunately, I had a mouthful of coffee that immediately left my lips and showered him, which only caused me to laugh harder.

He stood motionless from the shock. “A towel would be great,” he said, deadpan, and then chuckled.

I fell off my chair and grabbed the kitchen towel hanging on the stove handle. Without thinking, I started to wipe the mess from his face, still stifling residual giggles. As I wiped around the bridge of his nose, we locked eyes, turning the comical situation into an oddly intimate one, which he quickly broke by taking the towel and finishing the job. Embarrassed with myself, I sat back down in front of my coffee. When Grady was finished cleaning himself, he leaned over the island across from me while sipping his coffee and studied me much like the neighbor had. I shifted uncomfortably.

“Didn’t anyone teach you it’s not polite to stare?”

“No, my parents died when I was a baby,” he said so seriously that a lump caught in my throat, and my lungs refused air. “I’m kidding. Lighten up.”

“Seriously, you can’t joke about dead parents. That’s just wrong on so many levels.” I took another sip of coffee.

“Did I make it right?” He pointed his eyes to my cup.

“I believe so.” I smiled shyly.

“And I wasn’t completely lying. My parents are dead.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.”

We coexisted in a comfortable silence for a few beats.

“Why are you helping me?”

He took a long pause. “Because I can,” he said simply.

It was a good answer, so I didn’t pry further. I just wanted to enjoy the earth’s best creation. Okay, well, maybe two of the earth’s best creations. I blushed and let out a slight giggle at my naughty thought.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” I replied coyly. He shifted, showing his slight discomfort with the situation, so I quickly changed the conversation. “How old do you think I am?”

“Is that one of those trick questions, like when a lady asks if her butt looks big in pants she should have donated twenty pounds ago?”

“No.” I giggled. “I’m serious. I have no idea how old I am. I don’t even know if me being alone in the same room with you is legal,” I teased.

“You look young, Freckles, but I hate to break it to you, you don’t look that young.”

“Okay then, how old do you think I am?”

He rubbed his chin theatrically while contemplating his answer. “My powerful rules of deduction would put you at twenty-three.”

“And what rules would that number be based on?” I challenged with an arched eyebrow.

“I have no idea,” he admitted as he slouched back down to the island.

He was funny and he had me laughing a lot.

“So, according to you, my name is Freckles, and I’m twenty-three.”

“Yep.” He took another sip of his black coffee.

I shook my head. “We should have enough information to apply for a driver’s license, then.”

“Are you in a rush to get out of here? This place is pretty awesome.”

I looked around. “Yes, it is. Why isn’t anyone living here?”

His eyes dropped, and he moved silently around the island into the sitting room that was open to the kitchen. I wasn’t sure what I said wrong, but his reaction made me cringe. I had just ruined a lovely time with one stupid question.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

He sighed deeply. “You didn’t. It’s just complicated.”

Of course, it was. What part of this wasn’t complicated? He had a stray cat with no memories living in a house that looks to have never been occupied. Complicated was an understatement.

“It was meant as a gift for someone, but she never got a chance to see it.”

His voice was barely audible as he recanted what had to have been a painful memory. I cowered as far down in my bar stool as I could get without falling off.

He stood in front of the window quietly as I finished my coffee. I didn’t know what to say after that, so I didn’t say anything. I wanted to give him the space to work through whatever memory had taken him prisoner. I got up and debated on pouring myself another cup, but instead, I rinsed my cup and just waited.

“I need to be going,” he said suddenly.

“Oh, okay.” I pushed myself off the counter. Before I could walk him out or say anything else, he was gone. I heard the click of the lock being engaged on the front door and then silence. Again.