A happy little glow starts inside me. “Sounds fun, I love remodeling with other people’s money.” I cut into the pancakes...wait. “What kind of pancakes are these?”
He chuckles. “It’s egg, bananas, rolled oats, and blueberries. Try it before you turn up your nose at it.”
“Hmm...these are so good.” I cut into it with glee, I had no idea how hungry I was. There’s no talking as I eat my eggs, cooked perfectly. I’m not surprised by it. There’s also an English muffin with butter and the two nice-sized pancakes. Chris has almost the same thing, except his eggs are scrambled and have spinach in them.
His phone rings. He checks the display, frowns then sends it to voice mail. “Who is it?”
He hands me his phone. “I have no idea. Google the zip code for me, would you? Whoever it is has called twice before; they didn’t leave a message though. I didn’t record the voice mail outgoing message—it’s just the robot thing. I’m not sure if it’s a wrong number or what. Every once in a while, I get a baseball groupie or a fan who gets my number and I have to change it. Usually, though, they leave some kind of message.”
“Hmm...looks like Baltimore. Do you know anyone there?”
“Nope, if I get any more hang ups I’ll look into changing my number. I’d just rather not, it’s a pain in the ass.”
I had to change my number once, almost five years ago, he’s right it’s a pain the ass. As Chris gets up to rinse off the dishes before putting them in the dishwasher, I feel useless. Getting up, I look around for something to do. “That was so good. Thank you. Now I feel guilty. Last night was supposed to be fun, and you ended up taking care of me and we didn’t even have sex. And I don’t cook.”
Chris crosses the kitchen, and his hand goes around my neck. “I like taking care of you. Don’t feel guilty. You’ll make it up to me tonight.” His words start a warm hum there. “I don’t care if you can’t cook, I can, so it doesn’t make a difference.”
“Yeah, but I don’t know how to cook the most basic stuff, and you cook all the healthy stuff, like quinoa.” He nods with a smile as I spit the word out. “And kale,” He laughs as I try to get word out. “I don’t even like the stuff you cook all the time. And I know I should, maybe if I did I wouldn’t—”
His mouth comes down hard on mine. I melt into his kiss he is the best kisser in the entire world. I may have only been with three men, but I’ve kissed a lot of really bad kissers. Chris makes up for all the bad experiences. He runs a finger down my face as he breaks the kiss. “We’re different, sugar. My body is for business, yours is for pleasure. I cook the way I do because I’m too lazy to spend any more hours in the gym than I have to. I love pizza too, I’m a fan of pasta, and I have a weakness for chocolate almost as strong as the one I have for your body. I adore your body exactly as it is, I don’t want you worried you need to eat a certain way to become something else. We’ll find a balance. I can cook regular rice and pasta, and I don’t mind at all.”
I open my mouth and suck the finger on my lips into my mouth. His eyes darken as I lick the pad of his finger. “I won’t eat quinoa, but I promise I’ll always take as much of your cock as you want to give me.”
With a growl a hand goes to the back of my neck and brings me up to his mouth. Hot, fuck, the kiss is so hot I’m sweating, trying to climb his body, desperate for him. Tearing his mouth from mine, he’s panting. “Naughty girl, getting me hard and aching when I have to send you off to work. I’ll make you pay tonight. My cock will look good in your sweet, dirty mouth.”
Yes, please. As we go into the hall to leave I spot the flowers I sent him in the vase on a silver plate on an ottoman. I touch one of the tulips opening in bloom. “I’m sorry, I sent the beautiful vase back to you. If I had it to do over, I wouldn’t have.”
His arms come around my waist, pulling me back against him. He presses a kiss to my temple. “This is the part where I say that I’m sorry I broke the vase but I’m not.”
I slide my hands over his, I understand and hear the warning loud and clear. “I know.” His arms tighten lightly before letting me go. Then I see the books. Wow, there are books filling two walls from the top to the bottom. There’s a section behind glass, and I recognize the binding. I stand in front of the glass as Chris opens the case. “You can touch them.”
A first edition of Sense and Sensibility, a first of Oliver Twist, A Christmas Carol, The Old Curiosity Shop, The Wind in the Willows, The Grapes of Wrath, Poirot Investigates, The Pothunters, Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, The Trumpet-Major, Tender is the Night, a book of poems by Yeats, I love Yeats. With a gasp I turn to him. “You cheated. You’re a bookworm too.”
He’s leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. An eyebrow lifts. “I didn’t cheat. While we are both readers, my dear Amelia, one of us escapes into books and the other lives in them. That is a huge difference. You’re going to have to decide
if you want to keep living in them or if you’re willing to come out into the real world where there aren’t always easy answers. The story doesn’t end with a kiss; it keeps going through good and bad.”
I’m being chastised, and it feels unfair. I know the real world is hard, it’s the reason why I—damn it. Can’t he ever be wrong, just once? He kisses me gently before I leave. There’s a cab waiting, because of course there is.
On the way to work I consider what he said. Did he mean he wants me to stop living in books so I could live the good and bad with him?
17
Amelia
I’m not proud of going down the hall I never use, to avoid going past Ethan’s office. It doesn’t help, Ethan is waiting for me. A cocked eyebrow at me is all it takes for me to feel like I’m five years old again.
“A strip club?”
All my regret and shame is stamped down by the need to strike first. “Karen has gone to strip clubs with clients, Roberta has as well. I went privately on my own time. I’m not going to apologize for what I do in my private life. There’s no need for it, I did nothing wrong or unethical, so it’s no one’s business.” I sit down on the sofa, while he’s leaning against the glass wall.
“Karen and Roberta both went with clients during the day. None of the partners have or would visit a club. You are a face of this firm, you know that.”
My stomach twists. He’s right. If it were anyone else, they’d be roasted slowly over an open fire. I hang my head. “Fine, yes, if I had it to do again, I wouldn’t. It’s just, Ethan, I had to.”
“What do you mean you had to? Did he pressure you to go?”
Ethan is pissed. “No, it was my idea. Five years, for over five years he’s only been with strippers. How can I compete with them? I wanted to ask for, you know, tips.”