What the fuck was wrong with me?
Drawing myself out of bed, I went straight for the shower, lightly resisting the urge to tend to the massive erection that had formed in the night, during the mental replay of the previous evening’s events that I’d been through during my slumber.
I knew that Julia liked it, and hoped she wanted to keep doing it. Because I knew I sure did. I decided I’d talk to her when she got up, to let her know what I wanted. And I sure hoped she was ready for that. Because I always went after what I wanted, and I always got it.
Breakfast was ready when she came down, her bare feet padding on the hardwood floor of the kitchen after stepping off the plush carpet of the stairs.
I didn’t want to turn around. Not without knowing what she was wearing. If it was something sexy, I wasn’t sure I could stop myself from taking her again right then and there.
“Jake?” she asked.
I turned; it was an automatic thing. She was dressed normally, at least normally for her. In jeans and a button-up shirt. The clothes were form-fitting, but not what could be considered “sexy” in an overt way. It was hard to get a read on what she was thinking.
“Good morning,” I told her.
The mask had slipped, and I managed to show something like emotion. She brought it out in me more than anyone ever had before, first in terms of hate, and then something that resembled warm feelings. There were very few people I could say I’d felt those for.
Silence prevailed. Every time I tried to broach the subject, to have an open and honest discussion about what had happened between us, the words never quite found form. It was at least partly due to a lack of practice. Both with words in general, as well as with discussions on such sensitive subjects.
Then, she seemed to break the silence first by mentioning once again how much she liked my food.
“Thank you,” I told her. “I always wanted to be a chef.”
“Why didn’t you become one?” she asked.
“Because my parents really wanted me to be a doctor,” I admitted. “I know that’s embarrassing. But it was either do what they wanted or be cut off financially.”
“Well, they must have somehow known you’d make a great one,” she said. “You were the best in the class.”
“Not really,” I said, shrugging.
“Oh, come on,” she groaned. “Don’t deny it now, when all during medical school you walked around with such a big head.”
“I still walk around with a big head,” I told her, grinning.
“That’s true,” she said. “I’m just surprised you admit it. And even smile about it. You never smile. That’s why you’re called the Iceman.”
I said, “hrmph,” and she told me, “there’s that upset grunt I’m used to. It’s more your style.”
“Very funny,” I told her. “Not everyone can be great with people and communication like you are. And you just had to always lord it over my head.”
“What?” She looked indignant but also incredulous now. “How did I do that?”
“Well, you got all the best scores in practicum,” I told her.
“That’s hardly my fault! And you got all the best scores on the exams and just had to lord that over my head.”
“Is that what you thought of me?” I asked her.
“Yes!” Her exasperation was palpable.
“Crazy,” I said. “Because that’s what I thought of you.”
She shook her head in amazement.
“So we really just thought each other was pompous, out of insecurity?” she asked me. “Just because each of us was better in the area in which the other was weakest?”
“I guess so!” I told her, feeling very enlightened about the whole thing.
“Well, I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. I was just trying to be confident at the one thing I was good at.”
“And I was just trying to make up for years of insecurity because I felt pushed into being a doctor when I felt I was only ever good at cooking,” I told her. “But I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have gone about things that way. I’m learning that you’re not as awful as I thought.”
“Ha!” she snorted. “Thanks, I guess? You’re not as awful as I thought, either. Especially because you were so nice to my grandmother. Apparently, you had a very good bedside manner with her.”
“Yeah, I can do alright when I want to,” I told her. “And I think that was a big part of all of this. My insecurity. I thought that my heart wasn’t in the right place because I was only becoming a doctor since my parents were making me, and that I was terrible with patients. But helping out during the pandemic has humbled me. I enjoy what I do now.”