Page 15 of Gemini
I squeeze his hand a little harder, but it probably just felt like an embrace to him. “That’s why they keep trying. They just have them tied up on the floor with shackles, and they just fuck them over and over, treating them like—” My breath grew short. “—like sex slaves.”
“Oh.” He gave me another squeeze. “If that’s your thing, I can cuff you up in bed again, stay out here, play some games, eat, and then tease you with leftovers.”
“Um, maybe—” I wasn’t asking for that at all, cuffs were as close to kinky as I was getting IRL.
“But I wouldn’t get nearly as much fun out of that as I would playing games sat beside you, eating tacos, when they arrive, and then teasing you in bed until we both pass out from exhaustion.” He leaned in and kissed me on the lips. “Delicious.” He licked his lips, smacking them together.
“So, what are we playing?” I asked.
“Mario Kart,” he said. “I’m Mario.”
“Good, because I’m like playing as Toad.”
“I thought you’d be Princess Peach.”
“Why?” I asked, swatting my hand at his chest. “Because I’m a bottom.”
“Obviously. Plus, Mario likes Peach.”
Oscar loaded the game, my heart racing fact still thinking of what he’d said, and with no follow-up from either of us. I didn’t know if he was admitting to something, or whether he was stating a fact about the characters. But his hand told me he might’ve actually meant it, or I wanted him to mean it.
“Ok, I’m which player am I?” I asked, stabbing my fingers into the controller buttons.
“Player two,” he said. “Bottom screen, I think.”
We played a couple games, and I lost them both. I hadn’t done it on purpose, but it had been so long since I’d played it. I mostly mashed all the buttons, trying to figure out which ones fired off the power-ups and which ones made me go faster. I did come third and second, which was a respectable first if I was playing alone.
Food arrived, and when tacos were mentioned, I hadn’t realized what that looked like being delivered, but it meant a large brown paper bag with every individually parceled up. A tub of small flour tortillas and tubs with fillings. A build your own taco situation. My favorite type of taco.
“Ok,” Oscar said. “I won’t judge you on what goes on your taco, but I will give you a side eye if it’s weird.”
“Weird,” I scoffed. “How weird? And by the way, I don’t like guac. I should’ve said earlier.”
“Ok, and that’s weird.”
“And my mom hates that, she’s from Argentina.”
“You told me that already,” he said.
“I did?”
“Yeah, this morning. And then you said you like to talk when you’re nervous.”
Heat rushed my face, turning me red. “Well, at least I’m consistent,” I said.
“Anyway, back to you being weird. You don’t like guac.”
“Everyone knows gauc is extra anyways.”
He smiled and tilted his head. “Eat your taco.”
It felt like he’d ordered enough food for a family of four, but we went through it all. The shredded chicken, the sliced beef, the fried red peppers, lettuce, and all the different sauces and salsas.
“Damn, Spence,” he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “You know how to put a taco away, don’t ya?”
“They’re like two bites and they’re done,” I said, pressing a hand to my full stomach. “Plus, I didn’t really finish my lunch from that vegan place.”
“There’s only so full you can get on vegan food anyway,” he joked.