There was an apparition blooming in my throat when I saw him pull up in his rental car. We hadn’t spoken in over three years. Now he lived on another planet, somewhere in the Amazon. It hurt to watch those lanky legs lurch out of the Honda and that sexy bald head, wire rims and tan beneath it lean down to kiss me. I was hungry for the sound, the taste of him again. We’d been pressed together for months before he left like the lint now staring up at me from my black skirt, more loyal than he’d ever been.
“Let’s go to your apartment,” he looked over and shot me that smirk that had made him so popular in my bed. I started picking at my skirt while my mouth clicked something back.
When we got to my place he was already opening his suitcase and stripping off his clothes like no time had passed. Before I could say, “what the hell are you doing back,” he was throwing me down on the bed wearing those polka-dot pajama bottoms he used to live in. He clutched my wrists behind my head and started working me over. This was the planet we inhabited so well together.
“Baby,” he whispered. I was lost in my so-close-to-hitting-the-jackpot delirium. I waited for clichés of life has been hell without you. He dragged his lips away, grinned. “Got a new post in Africa. I’ll be leaving tomorrow.”