we meet at a winery and i ask if she’ll take a picture with me that would make another girl jealous. she licks my cheek and bites my ear and buys out a restaurant so we can be alone. she asks me when she can see me again over tacos, no, spaghetti bolognese, or, how about over champagne and caviar topped tater tots? i tell her i have work on monday which is a lie, i have work on tuesday, and so she’ll have to fly out to midwestern suburbia. i’m high maintenance, i warn her, the millionaire celebrity who surely never needs to be maintained, once we get back to her hotel room. i build myself a caution tape bra and pantie set. and i want things. she kneels between my thighs and undoes the tape as soon as i stick it to myself. she thinks, and i know she thinks it because here: i’m god, that i am trying to dirty talk but i am trying to be practical and preventative. i want a lot of things. Like a promise, she nods. she loves me. it’s been decided. time moves quick here. and i want my friends to have things. all things. Every single thing. she smirks a lot, so she is smirking now. Everything they’ve ever wanted. she nods again, kisses my belly which is flatter here, licks my hips which never ache here. she asks, how many friends are we talking? but like she’s joking. she’s still peeling off caution tape. a lot. i prop myself up on my elbows which doesn’t strain my neck and memorize the neon rivering in her blue eyes. actually. i’m mostly worried about one. she’s sad. she needs more books. billie ties her hair back into a knot at the crown of her head. she licks up the final remaining piece of yellow tape, swallows it like a snake. i can buy every book that’s ever been made. i let my head fall back onto the perfect pillow. i let her eat me until we’re both silly and dumber. the next morning we eat roomservice eggs then buy every book that has ever been made.
