Groan and stretch and roll over. Flip an arm out to say hello, face still buried in the pillows. Too many white pillows, a girl lives here. The arm finds only more pillows, the girl is gone, as the sounds of a shower cut through the early morning cobwebs. Groan again, and marvel the early riser. The only girl ever known to get up before me, to get out of bed without waking me. Smile into the pillows at the smell of coffee drifting through the apartment. Love her for the little things. Like flipping the switch on the coffee maker before she gets into the shower.
The water ends with clang, as city water ceases to rattle through ancient pipes, the charm of this downtown loft is fading faster than the hot water on the weekend mornings. And yet, we cannot see ourselves in the suburbs.
I roll onto my back to enjoy the show, still lost amongst too many pillows, eyes mostly closed to feign sleep. The old white bathroom door creaks open as she enters the room with a rush of steam, a fluffy white towel tucked under her arms, and another wrapped around her head. She drips a trail from the bathroom towards the bed and stops. Peering. A soft smile plays out across her lips, quickly spreading to her freshly washed face. She leaves me to my acting and heads to the closet, dropping the towel along the way.
Fresh out of the shower like this is when she is at her most beautiful. Before she has a chance to put on her armor, before she hardens herself to face the world. When she’s fresh and alive, her skin soft and pink from hot water, that’s when I adore her beauty the most.
She can feel my gaze as she turns with a real smile this time and makes a dash for the bed, loosing the second towel en route. She laughs as she straddles me to lean forward, her dark wet hair dripping as I try to not laugh.
“Shhh, I’m sleeping.” I try to groan, in my best fake sleeping voice. She laughs and buries kisses into my neck, soaking the too many white girlie pillows. I laugh, honestly awake now, and throw my arms around her shoulders. Highly kissable shoulders. Trace love letters on those shoulders as we fall asleep. Just the hint, the suggestion of finger nails across her back sends shivers and produces the whisper of a sigh. No time for that now, sadly, as she leaves me with one last kiss and wet hair falling to her shoulders. A smack on the thigh.
“Get up, sleepy, get my coffee going.” She growls, retreating into the bathroom.
The details one learns, when taking a chance on something more than another one night stand, is without a doubt the best part.