Page 62 of Plus One

She watched him for a long moment. Watched him take a step toward her door, then back. Approach again, then retreat. A man at war with himself.

She could open the door. She could make it easy for him.

She could pull him inside and let momentum carry them both someplace where neither had to think too hard.

Or she could wait and let him choose.

Monique closed her eyes and counted to ten.

When she looked again, he was right there with his hand raised to knock.

She opened the door.

His hand fell, and his eyes went wide. Then they were on her face and drifted lower, flittering like the best speed reader. He blinked so slow she thought he’d forgotten the next step in the process until his eyes met hers, apologetic but hungry.

“How long have you been standing out there?” She grabbed his hand and yanked him toward her. “What in the world are you doing lurking in hallways outside women’s rooms?”

“I don’t know.” He rubbed his forehead. “You left, and then everybody else left… and I…”

She stepped back, opening the door wider. “You coming in?”

He passed her and entered the room, head down like he was approaching the greatest test of his life.

After closing and locking the door behind them, Monique turned and found him standing in the middle of the room with his hands in his pockets, eyes looking everywhere except at her.

“Sit down before you have a stroke,” she said.

He sat in the chair between the bed and the balcony doors, as far from her as he could get. Maurice’s ocher-brown skin warmed to a peachy bronze at the apples of his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

She sat on the bed near him, their knees almost touching. “You okay?”

“No.” His response was quick, automatic, truthful. “I don’t think so.”

“What’s going on?”

He took a deep breath and scrubbed a hand over his face, lingering on his beard. “Truth?”

She quirked an eyebrow. “Of course.”

“I’ve never really done any of this before. When I got out, I tried to be normal. But there were too many things to catch up on.”

“You were wildin’ for a minute, huh?”

His eyes snapped up to hers. “What? No!”

She smiled, laughed a little. “I’m messing with you. I can’t imagine you catting around and shit like that.”

His shoulders relaxed a little bit. But only a little.

“Can I ask you something?” Monique crossed her legs, letting the soft, spun terrycloth slide from her leg.

Maurice swallowed audibly. He leaned forward and replaced the fabric on her knee. She caught his hand on her knee and held it there.

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” he admitted, eyes holding hers.

The vulnerability in his eyes made her bold. “How many people have you been with?”

His skin flamed, all the way from the tips of his ears down into his shirt.