Chapter 11

Max wanted everything to be perfect when Paige saw his apartment for the first time. He’d barely moved in and Nick’s staff had already cleaned twice, but he wanted to give an impression of sophistication and general having-your-shit-togetherness even though he knew it would largely be artifice.

His solution to the problem of the significant delta between reality and the impression he wished to give was straightforward. He locked away everything he thought might come off as dumb or childish where it wouldn’t be seen. Most of his books came down off the shelves and went back into his suitcase along with his figurines, Legos, and maker toys with the suitcase itself tucked into the back of his bedroom closet. All of his dumbest t-shirts went to the bottom of his chest of drawers. The ones on top were nerd swag from Redgate, Red Hat, and Deep Blue, but he figured the odds of that drawer being opened while Paige was here were pretty low.

He left out his textbooks and his programming books. Most of them were old and beat up, the result of hundreds of hours combing through the technology shelves of used bookstores looking for something that wasn’t hopelessly out of date. People who wanted to learn Excel 97 in 2015 would have had easy pickings in those stores. Max didn’t have it so easy.

On the desk in his bedroom, he left an uncompleted Rubik’s Cube, hoping it was more retro cool than a sign of mental incapacity. It sat next to his old, beat-up laptop running Ubuntu. The laptop had been a hand-me-down from Nick when Max’s friend was still only a thousandaire, but it had some cool Cray stickers on it.

On the non-kitchen island in his living room sat Max’s new laptop - a state-of-the-art, high-end eight-core beast running Mint. If Paige were a computer geek, the machine would be a real panty peeler, particularly if Max rebooted into Slackware, but Paige was a performing arts major, so Max left it running Mint, which was prettier.

Other than that, Max left the living room largely as it had been staged when he moved in. He did one last sweep of the room for anything potentially embarrassing, but nothing short of a CSI team would find anything incriminating. He knew he was being neurotic, but he was about to have the prettiest girl he’d ever met in his apartment for the first time and he really wanted to make a good first impression.

Abstractly, he knew that he’d met other girls who were, by some empirical measures, more attractive than Paige. He could remember being a bit awestruck by Emily, Casey, Pilar, and Kiki at times. Even Nick’s lawyer Ainsley had burned herself onto his retinas for a while, but the more time he spent with Paige, the prettier he realized she was. The little asymmetrical bump on her faintly aquiline nose gave her a character other women lacked. Her brown eyes had a warmth and depth that cold blue couldn’t match. Her breasts, proportionally ideal for her petite frame, were small enough to stay high and firm, probably even without a bra.

He desperately hoped he might find out what Paige’s breasts looked like without a bra tonight or tomorrow or sometime soon. They’d been out on two dates already, even if you didn’t count the afterparty for Lingerie Models Play Dungeons and Dragons with a Billionaire, the first time he’d kissed her. So, this was definitely at least the third date, which Max understood was often a point of significance in a relationship.

They’d made out in Washington Square Park. That was the first time Max really noticed how pretty she was. He’d known she was pretty from the first time they met, but seeing her with her hair down, lips parted, pupils dilated, breathing like a long-distance runner all from kissing Max for a few minutes had made him realize the sublime depth of her beauty.

The models might represent an unrealistic standard of feminine beauty that few women could conform to, but that was the wrong way of looking at things. Once a girl made out with you in Washington Square Park, she didn’t have to conform to a standard of beauty. Your standards conformed to her.

Having done everything he could to secure the apartment, Max glanced at the time. He still had two hours, seven minutes until Paige was supposed to arrive. Crap! He didn’t want to touch anything in the apartment before she arrived. Looking around, he decided to sit on the couch and get some work done while he waited.

He switched over the TV input from cable to the PC secreted in the wall behind the TV. It was still running Windows. He hadn’t had time to set it up for dual boot and wasn’t quite sure how to do that with a machine where it would be a major effort to get at the DVD drive or a USB port. He sighed and brought up a browser showing the status of the ACF’s servers on the cloud. There were only two right now and they were running fine.

That reminded him that earlier in the day, he’d been reading an article about bridge networks and containerization that seemed germane to how non-profits might distribute applications meant to serve poorer communities in a cost-effective way. He found the article and started to read. He’d gotten three paragraphs further than before and just opened a command-line to run some Docker commands when there was a knock on the door, almost certainly one of the twins.

“It’s not locked,” he called out and went back to his reading. A minute later, Paige said, “Hey. I hope you don’t mind that I came over early.”

Max was up off the couch like a shot. He hugged Paige and felt her go crooked as the heavy duffel bag she was carrying unbalanced her. Max backed off and helped her lower it to the ground. “Sorry. I was expecting someone else. I didn’t think you were coming until six. Can I get you a beer or something?”

“You were expecting someone else who you planned to ignore once they came in?” Paige smirked. “I guess it wasn’t anyone important.”

“Sorry.” Max gestured at the TV. “I was in the middle of a long paragraph. I handle distractions badly when my brain is on tech.” He winced. “Not that you’re a distraction. You’re the main attraction tonight.”

His brain sent an abrupt SIGKILL to his mouth, which snapped shut before he could say anything else abysmally stupid. Paige looked at the TV. “You know you left all your porn tabs up. Right?”

Inconceivable! Max had restarted the machine and cleared the browser history at the beginning of cleaning up his apartment. Plus, he used Firefox exclusively for porn and Chrome for everything else. His eyes shot to the browser’s tab bar, but he had only the two tabs he expected to see open. Down in the taskbar, Firefox was flat. It wasn’t even running. What had she seen?

Paige laughed. “Oh my God! The look of sheer terror on your face...”

Max had just enough time to wonder if he should laugh or be angry and then she had her hands on either side of his face and she was kissing him. The kiss was good. He kissed her back and the kiss got better. She fit in his arms like they’d been cut on a lathe to go around her.

“So, we’ve got like three hours before the party,” she said when they broke the kiss. Her beautiful, liquid-brown eyes found his. “Would you like to show me your bedroom?”

“Yeah.” Max didn’t trust himself to say more. His heart was thudding in his chest, but he forced himself to remember that she might just really want to see his bedroom. But then they were in his bedroom and she was kissing him again. When he kissed her back, she drew him forward until she could sit on the edge of the bed.

His hands went to her waist and she pulled back, raising her arms over her head. Underneath her purple NYU sweatshirt, he felt hot, bare skin and, when he raised the sweatshirt over her head, all she was wearing underneath was a black, lace bra.

They kissed some more and Max was able to undo her bra without visual contact. When he pulled it free from her arms, he saw that her breasts were indeed high and firm, magically perfect even without support.

“Too many people went home for the long weekend, so they cancelled the pitch meeting. I was already climbing the walls as it was, so I thought I’d come over early,” said Paige.

Max kissed her, keeping it soft and light. “I’m glad you did. This day has already gotten way better than I expected.”

Paige laughed. “Way to keep those expectations low, Max. I was sort of expecting that, after the party, we’d come back here and do more than just kiss. But, then I was free all afternoon and thought we could maybe reverse the order of things.” She drew him down into another kiss. “If that’s all right by you.”

“That’s ... uh...” Max said incoherently. “That would be amazing.”

Paige undid her jeans, lifted her hips, and slid them down so that she was wearing only a little, black thong. “Great. Why don’t you conform with the new dress code and get in bed, then?”

Max unbuttoned his shirt and stripped it off. As he was getting out of his pants, he said, “You know I’ve never gotten this far before. Right?”

Paige looked surprise. “Oh, I ... assumed you had. Did you want to wait until the right time? We could still fool around.”

“Fuck no.” Max stripped his pants off and climbed onto the bed. He took Paige’s nipple into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue.

Paige laughed at his words, but the laugh cut off with a sharp gasp. “Oh, Max. I like that.”

Max moved to the other breast and gave it the same attention. Paige let out a shuddering sigh. Max raised his head. “Clear and concise feedback is good. I understand words. Anything less subtle, I might not know if I’m rocking your world or leaning on your hair.”

Paige laughed again and sat up, pushing Max on his back. She kissed him and straddled his ribs, then slid down his body until her sex rubbed against his, separated by only two thin layers of cloth. She rocked back and forth, touching the length of him. Max laid back and groaned.

“You have pretty short hair,” said Paige. “I’m going to assume that was a good sound.”

Max ran his hands up her sides to cup her breasts. “A very good sound. Yes. Thank you for asking.”

Paige continued to rock against him. “All right. This feels really good. If you feel like you’re going to come, let me know.”

“I feel like I’m going to come,” said Max.

“Oh.” Paige slid back and tugged off his shorts, kneeling between his legs.

Max realized that he’d answered the wrong question. He’d meant he thought he was going to come at some point if Paige kept doing what she was doing - not that he was going to come immediately. But, since the net effect of the misunderstanding was that Paige was lowering her head and taking his cock in her mouth, he decided not to clarify.

As it stood, he came faster than he wanted to, but considering how good it felt to have Paige licking and sucking his cock, he didn’t really ever want to come and end it. After he came, Paige laid down next to him, hip to hip and whispered in his ear. “So ... what can you do for me?”

Max was still waiting for his heart to stop racing, but he got up on his knees and, after figuring out how to move his body into position by going under Paige’s leg, he slid off her thong.

He’d done enough independent research on the subject to know that pussies came in a wide variety of configurations. Paige’s was mostly bare with a little paint swatch-like tuft of hair to indicate that blonde was not her original color. Max was surprised, but it made sense. Emilia Clarke didn’t rock that white blonde look naturally either.

He kissed and licked experimentally. Paige made appreciative, little sounds and was soon panting hard. When he experimentally inserted a finger, she gripped his wrist firmly and guided it until he found the magic raspberry texture at which point her volume increased.

“Max! Oh, Max! That ... right there!” she cried out. Max obliged, continuing what he was doing until she let out a high-pitched squeal and her whole body shuddered with pleasure. Then, she was pulling his hair, forcing his head up. She drew him forward until she could look in his eyes. “Fuck me.”

“Do you want to be on top?” Max asked.

Paige shook her head. “I want you on top of me, fucking me.”

Max nodded and maneuvered until he could kiss her mouth. Paige took his cock in her hand and guided the head until it was inside of her. He thrust and her hips rose to meet him. Soon, he found a rhythm and she matched it, impaling herself on him with each thrust. She wrapped her legs around his waist, locking her ankles in the small of his back.

When he came, Max still thought it was too soon. He’d shifted his weight and found a new angle that elicited a higher-pitched pleasure sound from Paige and just gotten a good head of steam at the new approach when his pleasure peaked and he spent himself inside her. He groaned and rolled on his back.

Paige curled up against his side, panting hard. “That ... wasn’t really ... your first time ... Was it?”

“First time anybody else showed up for it,” said Max, feeling a tiny bit smug.

Paige moved her head to his shoulder and his smugness went through the roof when she said, “Pretty spectacular first time, Max.”

Emily sat comfortably nestled against Dennis’s shoulder, holding his acoustic guitar in her lap as his hands placed hers on the correct strings for a chord and guided her to strum. They’d been going over the basics of acoustic guitar for a little over an hour and she was just starting to force the correct sounds out of the instrument.

For the last twenty minutes, they’d been successfully pretending they couldn’t hear the sounds coming from one of the other apartments. Nick Coyle’s College Dorm Fantasy Camp (as Simon called it) was a little too realistic in one detail: sounds carried through thin walls.

Emily didn’t know who they were hearing or who was causing her to make the sounds that were coming out of her, but it was making her situation with Dennis awkward. She’d started thinking she might want to seduce him. Emily had never seduced anyone, but she thought seduction was probably just flirting with intent. And she’d been flirting with Dennis for days now.

Ever since she’d told Kiki she didn’t want to have sex with anyone, she’d been thinking about why she didn’t particularly feel like doing something everyone around her seemingly couldn’t get enough of.

Sex with Clive had been pretty good sometimes, but any time he made her come, he acted like he’d done her a favor. Most of the time, sex had been a chore where she felt like she was doing him a favor to thank him for paying the rent.

The last time she’d seen him, it had genuinely been awful. He’d been upset with her. She’d been trying to win him back when she really didn’t understand why he was mad. Each act had been tinged with aggression and tension. That had felt like the longest week of her life.

But that had been eight months ago, the week before Thanksgiving. A winter, a spring, and a lifetime had passed. She felt like a different person than she’d been with Clive. She still wasn’t sure if she wanted sex. Sex was messy and awkward and required clean up and laundry when you were done. But, the things that led up to sex ... those she could probably enjoy.

She considered going to Nick. After she’d told him she didn’t want to have sex with him, he’d been so sweet about it, she almost wanted to have sex with him after all. She briefly considered Kiki. Emily had only been with one more man than her zero women and Kiki was clearly, shamelessly into her. But, Emily got the sense that Kiki needed sex the way firefighters needed oxygen. She might asphyxiate without it. It seemed unfair to ask her to fool around, then stop.

And then there was Dennis. He looked like a rock star, flirted on request, and seemed genuinely concerned for her well-being. Even when she showed interest, he didn’t try to force the issue - not even the little bit that would save her from having to learn the fine art of seduction while on crutches and in withdrawal from some very, very good pain pills.

She’d hobbled over from her room and knocked on Dennis’s door. She could hear him playing through the door and asked if she could come hang out. When he asked how she was doing, she admitted she was trying to distract herself from the desire to take a pill. Dennis had said playing music helped distract him, then agreed to show her the basics.

The last hour had been a glacially slow dance of their bodies moving together while he showed her how to extract music from a guitar. Emily had just experimented with letting her hair brush the side of his face the way he let his hair fall when he leaned forward to help her play when the mystery couple started making their presence known.

As long as they couldn’t hear words, Dennis seemed content to ignore it and focus on playing. Maybe he was right about music being a good distraction. The desire for a pill had faded into a dull need that could be contained. It wasn’t until the woman distinctly said “Max” that he raised his head to listen more closely.

He had just bent down to guide Emily’s hands again when the woman cried out, “Oh, Max!”

Dennis muttered, “Max, you have got to be fucking kidding me.”

Emily leaned back, “Sorry?”

Dennis shook his head. “I just can not believe Max is doing better than I am this week. He’s...” He glanced at Emily and looked away. “Sorry. I didn’t mean...”

Deciding she might never get a better chance, Emily leaned back and kissed the crook of his neck. “Maybe you’re too much of a gentleman.”

The next thing she knew, she was in his lap and he was kissing her while taking the guitar out of her hands to place it on the floor. Emily made a low, guttural noise in her throat and kissed him back. As the kiss went on, she started to slide backwards until her legs were across his lap, but her back was resting on the arm of the couch.

When she felt the electric pleasure of Dennis’s thumb tracing over her nipple through her t-shirt and bra, Emily realized she hadn’t communicated her limitations. She broke the kiss and said hoarsely, “Dennis...”

He raised his head and looked down at her. “What’s wrong?”

Emily hadn’t meant to sound alarmed, but she had. She shook her head. “Nothing. I just ... I don’t know how far I want this to go. I don’t want to lead you on...”

Dennis cupped her face and ran his thumb along her cheekbone. “Emily, you’re like a goddess. Anything you share with me is a benediction. I’d be a philistine to complain because you didn’t offer more.”

Emily relaxed against the arm of the couch. God, Dennis was smooth. How had he gone a whole week in New York without getting laid? She looked up at him. “All right, then. Uh ... continue.”

Dennis held a hand out, then paused. “Did you not want me to touch your chest.”

Emily wriggled upright. “No. The chest-touching was good.” She reached for the bottom of her t-shirt. “I liked that a lot.”

She had the shirt half off when someone knocked on the apartment door. Dennis sat back. “Fu-uck!”

“Dude, why is your fucking door locked?” Simon called from the hallway.

“Could you possibly fuck off and come back later?” Dennis called back. Emily tried to lever herself back over his lap, but with her injured ankle, she had no traction.

“Don’t be like that. I’m here with your date for the party tonight,” said Simon. “Unlock the fucking door.”

Dennis looked at Emily and said quietly. “I did not ask him to get me a date for the party tonight. I need to find out what the hell he’s doing.”

Emily raised her legs wordlessly so that Dennis could duck under them and get out. He lifted them a little further to avoid her wounded ankle and she gracelessly kicked one foot, flashing him the panties under her skirt.

“Sorry.” He winced.

“No worries,” said Emily.

Dennis went and unlocked the door, opening it only far enough to see into the hall. He said, “Shel, what are you doing here?”

“She’s my date,” said Simon. “You remember Alexis, right?”

“Hi,” said Dennis. “Simon, could you step in here a minute?”

Simon started to say something, but Dennis pulled him into the room by his shirt front, then turned to whoever was in the hall, said “one minute please,” and closed the door.

“I really don’t need a date for the party tonight. When you said you were getting me one, I just thought you meant you wanted to use my plus-one,” said Dennis.

“You don’t have to marry her. She just...” Simon started to say, then finally seemed to register the situation. He turned to look at Emily who gave him a little wave. “Oh, shit. I had no idea. When did this happen?”

“Don’t worry about when or what happened or didn’t happen,” said Dennis irritably. “Can you find a graceful way of dealing with Alexis being here?”

Simon shrugged. “I could set her up with Max.”

“Max doesn’t need a date either,” said Dennis. “He was just getting laid like five minutes ago.”

“Max was getting laid? By who?” Simon sounded doubtful.

“I don’t know - probably that Taylor Swift girl,” said Dennis. “Listen, Alexis can be my plus one, but she’s not my date. Do you think she’ll be cool with that?”

“Probably. It’s not like you’re any great prize,” said Simon. Then, he looked past his brother to Emily and gave her the thumbs up. “Ignore that. My brother is a prince among men.” Before either of them could say anything, he was out the door again, saying, “Ladies, change of plans.”

Dennis leaned against the door. “I am unbelievably sorry about that. I really didn’t ask him to find me a date.”

Emily laughed. “I thought twins were supposed to be super in tune with each other and like share secret languages.”

Dennis shook his head. “We never got that memo. Simon speaks a secret language all right, but I never learned to understand it.”

At 6:45, Nick set himself up in a patio chair directly across from the roof access door and got comfortable with a cheap Android pad so he could catch up on a little reading if his guests were all fashionably late. He could have used his iPad, but he didn’t want to have to worry about putting it down somewhere as the party started to move. The cost of either pad was irrelevant. The trust generated a phenomenal amount of income through methods that Nick still only dimly understood. He just didn’t like the idea of rewarding someone who might walk off with someone else’s property by giving them a free iPad.

The whole way of thinking about money necessary to manage great, steaming piles of the stuff was alien and faintly repulsive to Nick, but Simon was helping him get into the right mindset. To Nick, six hundred dollars sounded like a respectable amount of money earned and saved over a summer of mowing lawns or a month at the marina. The trust generated that much every minute of every day. He could buy sixty iPads an hour if he wanted to. It wasn’t hard to imagine losing his mind and just filling the loft with sleek, tastefully-packaged Apple products.