[They've been through the motions enough that Carolina doesn't really feel awkward about bothering him for this. It's not like he doesn't get anything out of the situation, it's not like he hasn't made the same calls and texts to her. The awkwardness has passed and what's left is a mutually beneficial relationship in which everyone gets what they want without any extra responsibilities.
She doesn't have to bring wine to give things the semblance of romance. She doesn't have to engage in small talk to fill the silence. She doesn't have to remember birthdays, get gifts for holidays, or have awkward conversations about "where this is going."
All she has to do is show up, which she does directly after her shift. Having grabbed her overnight duffel from her car, she heads to his door and knocks briskly. It's sort of a wonder she's managed to make it through the day without breaking. It's one of those times when her clothes feel too thick, too constricting. The fabric rubs her skin in a way that perhaps doesn't stimulate but certainly doesn't go unnoticed with larger movements. Working out in the afternoon only relieved some of the pressure, and the cold shower had at most kept her from trying to help herself.
Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, she waits for him to answer door and tries not to fuss with things as she does. She doesn't reach up to fool with her long hair in its pony tail, doesn't fiddle with the buttons of her shirt, and manages to keep her fidgeting down to a mere tapping of her fingers against her opposite arm.]
no subject
[They've been through the motions enough that Carolina doesn't really feel awkward about bothering him for this. It's not like he doesn't get anything out of the situation, it's not like he hasn't made the same calls and texts to her. The awkwardness has passed and what's left is a mutually beneficial relationship in which everyone gets what they want without any extra responsibilities.
She doesn't have to bring wine to give things the semblance of romance. She doesn't have to engage in small talk to fill the silence. She doesn't have to remember birthdays, get gifts for holidays, or have awkward conversations about "where this is going."
All she has to do is show up, which she does directly after her shift. Having grabbed her overnight duffel from her car, she heads to his door and knocks briskly. It's sort of a wonder she's managed to make it through the day without breaking. It's one of those times when her clothes feel too thick, too constricting. The fabric rubs her skin in a way that perhaps doesn't stimulate but certainly doesn't go unnoticed with larger movements. Working out in the afternoon only relieved some of the pressure, and the cold shower had at most kept her from trying to help herself.
Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, she waits for him to answer door and tries not to fuss with things as she does. She doesn't reach up to fool with her long hair in its pony tail, doesn't fiddle with the buttons of her shirt, and manages to keep her fidgeting down to a mere tapping of her fingers against her opposite arm.]