“So, what needs fixing?” she asked.
My shoulders deflated at the reminder of my shortcoming. I took another generous drink of my beer, then pointed at my mouth and made a few circular motions.
This. All of this.
She nodded, no judgment in her expression. “Okay.” She wasn’t surprised. “You’re finally ready to work?”
Even without makeup, she was gorgeous. No jewelry. Hell, practically no clothes. I couldn’t get over how relaxed and open she looked. It was nice to see her not fretting over her appearance.
“Lucky for you,” she said with a sigh as she dug hot pads from a drawer, “I read a few books on speech therapy over the last week.” She canceled the timer that was ten seconds from beeping, opened the oven door, and jolted when I sidled up next to her and put my palm on her hip.
I loved hearing her surprised gasp, mostly because it made me wonder if that intake of breath was only out of surprise, or if she would sound that way if I kissed her neck. What sound would she make if I licked a trail from her neck to her earlobe, then suckled?
I slid my hand from her hip to her arm and took the hot pads from her.
She backed away and I pulled out the pizza stone, holding a giant pizza, cheese browned and bubbled to perfection. The spicy scent of sausage, onions, and green peppers hit my nostrils and my stomach growled.
I slid the pizza onto the stovetop as Tasha retrieved a round slicer from one of two million drawers in the kitchen. I didn’t know how the hell she found anything in here. As she went to work gliding the cutter over the pizza in even triangles, she asked, “When did you want to start? After dinner?”
“N-no.” My eyelids sank closed in frustration. I was exhausted as it was. And being forced to communicate when it was already taxing was futile. The pizza and beer and hanging with Tasha sounded better than tripping over my tongue for the next hour.
The thought made me think of her tongue. Hers was a tongue I’d like to trip over, repeatedly. Earn a few more of those gasps or a moan or two. I wondered what she liked and if I could deliver. That was a challenge I was up for.
She didn’t acknowledge my stutter or press me about what had happened at the restaurant tonight. I was glad. A moment later she handed me a plate and a cloth napkin and offered a fork that I waved off.
I thought of my own kitchenette, my elf-sized sink and the one cabinet, and my fridge that looked like a mini-me of hers. I didn’t think I had more than one fork, and that one I’d stolen out of the main kitchen.
Tasha corralled me in the living room. We ate and drank and didn’t talk. She flipped through a magazine while chatting about the test she thought she’d failed, as the music on her iPod alternated between slow rock and bouncy pop.
I finished my pizza and went back for a third slice, listening and liking the sound of her voice.
The anger saturating me on the way here evaporated by the time I uncapped my second beer. I knew it wasn’t courtesy of the alcohol that I had come down about seventy notches.
It was Tasha.