He glanced at my hand then reverently cradled it between his. He began massaging my fingers. “I’d like to talk to you.”

“Can it wait? Think how nice it would be to just be together and relax.”

“We’d probably have an audience.”

“So?” I shrugged. “We’re not going to be doing anything but watching a movie.”

He was teetering on the edge of making a decision; I could tell because his mouth was open like he was ready to speak, but he hadn’t decided what to say.

I gave him another push. “I have hot chocolate, and I have a T-shirt that I wear when I drink hot chocolate.”

“Really? What does it say?”

“It says Hot or not, I love chocolate.”

He smiled at me, but his expression didn’t convey the appreciation I’d been expecting or that I usually received for my hot or not pun. Then I remembered that he didn’t know much about pop culture or Internet memes.

I rolled my eyes and sighed, stood, and pulled him with me. “Come on. Let’s go. On the way to my place I’ll tell you all about an awful website called hotornot.com, and why our society is on the verge of moral collapse.”

***

Upon entering my apartment, I began to strip.

This was not atypical for me. I liked to change into my sleeping clothes as soon as was feasible. Anything that placed me closer to sleepy time made me happy.

First, my jacket came off along with my scarf, hat, gloves, and boots. Alex trailed me into the apartment; I could feel his hesitation.

Tonight, I didn’t care if they were watching or listening. Alex wasn’t going to be giving me any sweet lovin’ anyway, so no concerns about leaked sex tapes…yet.

Also, if they were watching us tonight, it was going to be a boring show: microwave dinners, popcorn, hot chocolate, and Star Wars in the Blu-ray player.

Next came my socks. I ventured a bit further and pulled off my sweater and shirt, then my pants. I draped them over the back of my comfy chair and heard a stifled choke from behind me.

Alex stood at the precipice to the room, his gaze on my bare legs and back. I glanced at my plain purple cotton bra and underwear. They were just as modest, if not more so, as a bathing suit. I turned toward him with a question on the tip of my tongue and he flinched. He then averted his eyes and looked everywhere but at me.

I frowned, not prepared for his overreaction, and tried to think of something to make the moment less uncomfortable. “Um…do you want something to drink?”

“I was promised hot chocolate.” His voice was strained.

“Okay, I’ll start the water.”

He studied my bulletin board. “You’re not going to get dressed first?”

I shrugged. “I guess I could.”

His gaze abruptly met mine. “You should.”

The heat in his eyes surprised me, and then I laughed. If old cotton underwear could get him this worked up, I should have tried it two weeks ago.

“What’s the matter, Mr. Bond?” I posed against the chair, made my voice husky, raised an eyebrow. “Are you afraid for my health and safety? Concerned I’ll catch a cold?”

Holding my gaze, Alex peeled off his jacket and boots. His long-sleeved shirt followed, leaving him bare chested. I dug my nails into the palms of my hands to keep my eyes from straying.

“Keeping your pants on?”

“I have on nothing under these pants.”

Oh…ideenentgleisung!

My eyes widened. I couldn’t help it. What had I been thinking about? I had no idea. I’d completely lost my thought.

“Ah.” I nodded, took a tentative step toward him, trying to remember what happened right before he told me he was going commando. “I see.”

“What now?” he asked.

I wanted to say Now the pants!

But I knew that approach would never work, because it seemed, more than anything, that he didn’t want us to have an audience. I sighed and glanced around the room, taking in my coffee table, chairs, small kitchen table, couch….

Then I had an idea.

I turned to him. “Quick, help me move the coffee table to the side of the room. Then grab two of my dining room chairs. Put them here….” I gestured to the space at one side of the room in front of the couch; then to the other. “…And here.”

“What are we doing?”

“You’ll see.” I grinned as we hefted the coffee table out of the way. “Next, put the couch cushions on the floor directly in front of the sofa.”

Alex obeyed, which gave me a few free moments to peruse his chest, back, and stomach, and my mouth went dry. He had a nice chest—a really nice chest. So far, it was tied for first place with his stomach, face, neck, arms, back, shoulders, and hands for the most lickable part of his body.

Everything I’d seen so far was.

With reluctance, I tore my eyes from my lusty examination and jogged into my bedroom. Once inside I changed my underwear into comfy yellow-and-blue Star Wars-printed boy shorts and pulled off my bra. I was spared from having to decide which occasion shirt to wear because my hot chocolate shirt was dirty. Therefore, I selected my Episode I, A New Hope shirt and shimmied into it.

I yanked on my favorite pair of knee-high wool socks, grabbed several blankets and sheets, and sprinted back into the living room.

Alex was standing apart from the mattress he’d made on the floor with the couch cushions, surveying his work. My heart did a little flip-flop at the sight of him, his black jeans riding low on his waist. He had that man V thing beneath his abdominal muscles, outlining his hips.

I loved that man V thing. I’d never been with a guy who had it. It was a sign of lean muscle and working out. I couldn’t wait to touch it.

Alex looked up, and his eyes swept over me. “What are you wearing?” The words came out breathless.

“My pajamas.” I glanced at myself and ascertained that I looked normal. “Why? What’s wrong?”

He licked his lips, his eyes darkened. “Your pajamas make the bra and underwear look like a nun habit.”

I chuckled, wickedly. Good to know.

“Come on, sexy pants, help me drape this blanket over the chairs.”

Alex tore his eyes from my chest and, with several mind-clearing blinks, he reached for the blanket I held out. As my plan came together, I could see the understanding in his eyes, and his entire demeanor changed. He became looser, more relaxed, and gave me a knowing smile.

I started the movie, and the Star Wars theme came on, giving me little chills like it always did.

When, at last, we climbed into our blanket fort—completely sheltered and hidden from any cameras that might be loitering about—Alex snuggled behind me and brazenly placed his hand on my bottom. He caressed it, rubbed it, squeezed it, and breathed hotly in my ear, “Let’s make out.”

Gah! This was not part of my plan. I turned just my head over my shoulder to look at him. “But what about the movie?”

He chuckled quietly. “Fine, you can watch the movie. But I’m going to do this….”

His hand slipped under my shirt and palmed my breast. He moaned and bit my neck. I had no choice but to arch my back and press myself into his capable hand.

My underwear and his pants stayed on as reminders of no-go zones. But all other territories were breached, explored, tasted, touched, caressed, licked, bit, and pinched. And we didn’t stop until Han Solo got his medal from Princess Leia.

I made out with Alex for two hours, while Star Wars played in the background, under a blanket fort, on the floor of my living room.

And life was good.

***

We fell asleep in each other’s arms shortly after the movie ended. But when I awoke in the middle of the night, Alex was gone. I laid under the blanket fort for a few minutes, stretching and thinking about getting up and going to bed.

I thought about our make-out sessions. I compared them to the best sex I’d had thus far, and Alex won, probably because, with Alex, everything took hours. He was a savorer, a relisher. He took his time, used my body to experiment, determined that every inch must be tasted—every inch but the very center.

You know, the best inch.

I squeezed my eyes shut, pressed the base of my palms in my sockets, and shook my head.

The desire for a real mattress became too alluring. I stood and took my comforter with me back to my room. The digital clock by the bed read 2:41. I wondered what time he’d left.

My movements were sluggish as I meandered to the bathroom, intent on brushing my teeth—better late than never. I stood at the sink for several minutes reliving Alex’s hot kisses before remembering why I was there.

I was about to leave and hide under my covers when a thought occurred to me. Tentatively, I pushed back the shower curtain and scanned the tile. Sure enough, a white rectangle of paper was taped just under the showerhead.

I snatched it and flicked on the light in the bathroom, blinking against the sudden brightness.

Remembering that cameras might be everywhere, I curved my hands around it so that only I could see it, and read what he had written:

Dear Sandra,

I can’t make our date tomorrow. Meet me at our place in the sky Saturday at six.

Love, Alex

I stared at the words he’d written. Reread the note maybe one hundred times. Each time I got to the Love, Alex part, my heart skipped a few beats, then galloped.