Mister Romance

by Amelia Simone

  I plated our meals and placed them on the table. Talking for a solid twenty minutes without saying something stupid might be a personal best. Maybe this was the secret to meeting women; find a cooking class and restrict myself to talking about food.

  I refilled both of our wine glasses and added water glasses before joining Tamra at the table. We dug into our meals, and I sighed in satisfaction at my first bite. I’d done a good job balancing the flavors; there was the spicy chorizo, the butteriness of the chicken, and the tang of the tomato rice smothered in the almond and cilantro salsa verde. It was an explosion of flavors that melded perfectly. My go-to dish when I didn’t want to risk a new recipe.

  Tamra moaned softly from her seat across from me. I glanced up to make sure it was a sound of pleasure and not pain. Was the chorizo too hot? Not everyone liked a hot sausage.

  Her face was illuminated in post-orgasmic glow. Or at least a reasonable facsimile. Blissed out. Tamra’s dark eyes were relaxed and heavy lidded. She’d gone from cute and competent to sex goddess in the space of a few bites. I squirmed. I’d never been jealous of my food before.

  My blood drained south as she took another bite and moaned again. God. Food porn. The best kind. I told myself to ignore the fact that my pants were getting tighter. Her reaction made it obvious she’d forgotten I was there. She was lusting after her plate, not me. I willed my erection away. I needed to return the favor and focus on my own meal. Spicy. Delicious. A bead of sweat formed at my brow and I took a gulp of water to blunt my thirst. If I couldn’t get my mind out of the gutter soon, spilling the ice water in my lap was turning into a viable Plan B.

  Tamra groaned again as she took a bite, then seemed to realize what she’d done. I was enchanted to see the pink of her cheeks get noticeably darker. Her eyes met mine, her earlier relaxation fading away. Damn. I was sad to see it go. So sad that I’d do nearly anything to regain it.

  With more theater than was necessary, I added my own groan as I took a bite. Her gaze shifted to me, then she started to laugh. What started as a short snort quickly bloomed into something larger and louder. My mouth crept up at the corners, glad she hadn’t retreated into her shell.

  “It’s really, really good,” she acknowledged with a quick tilt of her lips.

  “Thanks. It’s one area where I can usually deliver. When writing has me down and I feel like absolute crap, I turn to the kitchen. Eating well is my self-care.”

  “Is writing that difficult? I guess I just picture you at your desk, pounding away at a keyboard in between thoughtful pauses. Maybe with a maniacal laugh every time you’re about to dash some poor reader’s hopes.” Her lips twitched again as she teased me gently.

  “Eh.” I shrugged, trying for nonchalant. “Sometimes it’s like that. Mostly writing is tedious work, reading and rereading what I’ve written, looking for continuity errors and trying to streamline my work. Make it perfect. Which is impossible.”

  “Tedious?” she probed. “What about the sex scenes? Are those tedious too?” she asked with a raised brow.

  “I know the right answer is no,” I told her. “But the reality is that damn, they are so hard.”

  “That’s what she said!”

  I couldn’t help but laugh at her blurted comment. “No, really. It’s difficult. Incredibly difficult for me. They take forever to write. I barely know what to do with a woman in reality, but I have to pretend to be one and describe everything from the feminine perspective. I’m pretty sure I suck.”

  Admitting that out loud probably ensured I’d never see Tamra’s sex goddess side again. Any illusions she had about my bedroom skills were shot to hell. I’d as much as admitted that A) I didn’t get much practice, and B) I wasn’t any good. Cue her scuttling out as quickly as possible after dinner.

  If anything, Tamra appeared more intrigued. She leaned in and caught my glance as I tried to focus on anything but the anticipated pitying look. “Well, I think your writing is fantastic. I wasn’t expecting you to be so humble about it.”

  Humble. Yeah, that’s me. Not sucky, humble. She could tell I wasn’t convinced her praise was real. She reached a hand to my shoulder. “No, really. Your love scenes are artfully done. I would have never guessed you wrote them.” She seemed to realize how that sounded too late. “You write convincingly from the female perspective,” she added quickly.

  “It usually takes me multiple sessions to write the hotter scenes. When I get stuck, I try to get outside and do something else. Biking helps me settle my mind.”

  “Like a motorcycle?” she asked.

  “Is that a hint of judgment? No, not a motorcycle. Picture a bicycle with helmet and a really sexy, bright safety vest for visibility.”

  “Sexy, huh? Do you wear those little bike shorts? The ones with the suspenders, or the padded butt and crotch?”

  I chuckled. “Wow, and here I thought you were shy. That is a no-holds-barred question, asking a man if he pads his crotch.” I regretted taking another bite of my chicken as she continued, undaunted.

  “Well, do you? I’ve seen some of the cycling shorts online and they are frightening. A few looked like an alien mouth. It’s sci-fi worthy.” She made grabby mouth motions with her hands, and it was all I could do not to shudder.

  “No. Not my thing. I try to keep my shorts loose. I’m not that serious of a biker.”

  She nodded solemnly. “While I can appreciate the desire for extra padding, I had serious nightmares after online shopping for a cyclist friend.”

  I was amused by her directness. Tamra had started out stiff, but the more she relaxed, the more I realized that my point-blank nature had met its match in her. Our conversation skipped from topic to topic while we finished the last of our dinner. “Would you like anything else? If not, I thought we could take our wine out onto the patio while I ask you some more questions about your job?”

  She grabbed her plate and stood. “That sounds great. Dinner was delicious by the way, thank you.”

  I refilled our glasses, then gestured toward the patio door. She opened it and took a deep breath of the salty Tacoma air. It wasn’t overpowering, but the scent of saltwater carried on the wind. My apartment didn’t have a water view, but it did look down over the courtyard below. I had two slightly decrepit chairs that took up most of the floor space, and I tried not to wince as Tamra sat down in one and it squeaked. I’d had Jimmy check out the apartment, but not the patio. I’m sure he’d tell me these didn’t pass the guest test, but Tamra didn’t comment.

  Between the dinner, wine, and our teasing, Tamra had finally relaxed. She settled further in her creaky chair as I quizzed her about nursing. It was clear she was comfortable in her expertise. That confidence was sexy. Her tone was authoritative, and it sent me down a rabbit hole as I tried to envision her in a dominant role in the bedroom. My plotting was taking a more erotic turn than I’d anticipated. She’d be fiery with an alpha. Her curls brushed her cheek and neck, highlighting their curves, and it was easy to picture those same curls, damp with sweat, her breath labored after riding me to oblivion. Ha, me. My alpha abilities may be in question, but my growing desire for Tamra was not. I’d gone from picturing her with a nameless hero, to keeping her all for myself.

  I shifted in my seat, trying to get comfortable in the chair of death and hide the evidence of my erection. If this continued, I was going to have to make it a rule always to have a table between me and Tamra to hide the evidence of any impure thoughts.

  As Tamra finished telling me about how nursing rounds worked, I noticed that her glass was empty. I offered her a refill, and she stretched and asked to use the restroom. It was getting colder out, so I shut the patio door and settled onto the couch while I waited for her to return.

  She looked nervous again when she sat down. Crap. Maybe she’d misinterpreted my move inside as me trying to put the moves on her? I hadn’t meant to make her uncomfortable. “Is this okay?” I asked, gesturing to the couch.

  She shook herself. “Oh. Yeah. I w
as just thinking about asking for a favor,” she mumbled.

  My shoulders relaxed. “Lay it on me. I probably owe you ten by now.”

  “It’s a big one,” she said nervously.

  “That’s what she said!” I crowed. I could only subdue the voice of my inner twelve-year-old so long, especially when she seemed to be on my wave-length. But it had the desired result of relaxing Tamra once again.

  She grinned at me. “You goof. So. The big favor I wanted to ask you is about my brother. He’s getting married in a couple of weeks.”

  She paused and shifted on the couch cushion.

  “Okay ...” I prompted. Did she want help writing her toast? On one hand, it meant I hadn’t scared her away. Yet. On the other, I’d much rather she was proposing something more personal.

  She took a deep breath. “Will you come with me to the wedding? Be my date?” The last bit came out in a single rush of breath.

  I’m not sure what I expected. It was a wish come true and nightmare rolled in one. I hadn’t expected an invitation to a family gathering, let alone a wedding. Those were usually either fraught with subtext thanks to family drama or the involvement of an ex. I wasn’t sure which category Tamra’s invitation might fall into. Maybe both? Either way I owed Tamra, and accepting would give me an excuse to spend more time with her. If I didn’t screw it up. No pressure.

  I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “Um. Yeah. I can probably do that. When is it?”

  A grin split her face, making her eyes sparkle. “It’s next month. I’d appreciate it. I know it’s no one’s idea of a good time. You don’t have to pretend to be my boyfriend or anything, but it would be nice to have a date. As friends.”

  Friends. I held back my grimace. I didn’t want her to get the wrong idea. It wasn’t pretending to be her boyfriend I was concerned about. Maybe I was the only one who saw tonight’s dinner as a date. I’d spent all evening trying to ignore my attraction to her. If I were her wedding date, I wouldn’t be pretending. That part thrilled me. The potential landmines I was going to set off with my filter-less mouth were what held me back from a wholehearted “yes” and a fist-pump of victory. I wasn’t exactly known for tact in social situations. Then again, maybe Tamra wouldn’t mind. She’d set off a few explosions of her own.

  “Are you sure you want me to go? I’m not usually good with new people,” I warned.

  Tamra’s eyes got a wild look. “It doesn’t matter.”

  That wasn’t a denial.

  “I didn’t mean that I think you’re bad with people,” she rushed on, “and of course I want you to be comfortable, I just really need a plus one this time.”

  I was dubious that my attendance would be of any help. “And you’re sure? I mean, I’m honored. But also scared for you. Will you email me some details about your family, so I know any key dos and don’ts?”

  She nodded a little too eagerly. “Sure. That’s not a problem.” Her smile widened. “Thank you.”

  I smiled weakly. “I’m glad to help. We’ll have fun.”

  That didn’t sound enthusiastic. At. All. I straightened my shoulders. I’d channel Jimmy. I would psych myself up and hopefully make a great first impression. For maybe the first time ever.

  After my acceptance, Tamra seemed eager to change the subject to avoid any possibility that I might think better of my agreement and back out. We chatted more about my writing, and I gave her a tour of my desk and plotting notes. If my pulse sped up watching her drag a hand along the smooth surface of my desk, I thought I hid it well. She seemed fascinated by my process, and my chest warmed.

  We settled back on the couch, our knees just touching, and conversation moved on to the TV and movies we’d both watched. Heat burned through me as my knee brushed hers, and hope bloomed in my chest as we laughed through quotes from our favorite comedies. Watching her shoulders shake as she chuckled unraveled another knot from the ball of yarn that seemed permanently lodged in my esophagus. We’d moved beyond my scripted topics long ago, yet she’d stayed.

  Before I knew it, Tamra was yawning. She tried to hide it, but I glanced at my wall clock. I’d lost track of time. She caught my glance and noticed the clock.

  “Oh, I didn’t realize it was past midnight. I should get going. Let you get some sleep.” She pushed up off the couch and grabbed her wine glass.

  “Here, I’ll take that. You don’t need to clean up,” I admonished. “I appreciate you coming tonight. I hope you at least had some fun and didn’t feel like it was all shop talk.”

  She smiled softly, the barest hint of tilt to her lips. “Chase, don’t sell yourself short. I haven’t talked this much in forever, and I loved dinner. You’re a lifesaver, agreeing to be my date for my brother’s wedding. I’ll send you the details and look forward to seeing you then?”

  “I can’t wait.” As I said the words, I realized they weren’t empty platitudes.

  I spent most of my time alone, and frankly, I savored it. My very small, close circle of friends gave me a break when I needed one. I lived alone. I worked alone. I slept alone. There was freedom there.

  Tamra was easy to be with, and I wanted to spend more time with her. I wasn’t sure if it was her sense of humor and confidence, or that I seemed less awkward around her. My social skills seemed less flawed. She never made me feel like I’d said something awful, even though I was sure I’d made at least a handful of inappropriate comments over the course of the evening.

  Would I be milking it to try for one last interview on nursing as an excuse to see her again before the wedding? She might begin to worry that I had an unhealthy interest in the labor and delivery process. I didn’t want to freak her out, but if I could come up with some more innocent questions to help my book, I wasn’t above extra research. Four weeks until the wedding was a long time to wait to see her again.

  While I’d been woolgathering, Tamra had grabbed her purse and moved toward my front door. Moment of truth. Would we hug it out? I’d already made that mistake once. But I was drawn to her warmth, and my heart picked up speed at the thought of pressing her body to mine.

  I moved in closer and pulled the door open, and she stepped toward me and into the open doorway. Another two inches and we’d be a single silhouette cast on the ground outside. She tilted her chin slightly and bit her lip, and I could see the light reflecting in her dark eyes and a hint of moisture reflecting off her bottom lip. My body swayed toward hers. Tamra didn’t give any solid cues. I held my breath and waited for her to close the gap between us. Instead, she smiled. “It was nice to see you again tonight. Thanks for the delicious dinner.”

  She stepped out the door, and I reached out my right hand a second too late to touch anything but air. I was left beseeching empty space as she moved toward the stairs. She didn’t look back, but I couldn’t tear my gaze away. I told myself I was just watching to make sure she made it safely to her car. Sure. Her safety was important, but my inability to break away was more than that.

  Once she had safely driven away, I couldn’t resist typing out a private message to Tamra.

  VirginiaRothman: No hug? I feel cheated. I wouldn’t have even charged you to let go. Spoiler alert: I might not ever let go, no matter how much you pay me.

  Wow. Creep alert. I must not have used up my quota of ill-timed comments during dinner. I deleted that last sentence. She didn’t need to know that I was obsessed with holding her close. I tried again.

  VirginiaRothman: No hug? I feel cheated. I wouldn’t have even charged you to let go.

  It wasn’t until after I finished cleaning up the kitchen that I saw her response.

  TamraRN: Hugs not drugs. Or is it hugs are drugs? I’ll make sure you get the full dosage at the wedding.

  Chapter 14 - Tamra

  I felt oddly floaty in the car on the way home from Chase’s. My body buzzed with a cocktail of relief and achy desire. Dinner was delicious, and my full stomach and secured wedding date made everything rosier. Laughing together had helped me gather m
y courage. I’d leapt the hurdle of asking Chase to Nick and Mindy’s wedding and I hadn’t face-planted.

  He hadn’t seemed that enthusiastic about the wedding, but he hadn’t told me no either. I’d take it. Even a reluctant friend-date was better than facing the family alone. I needed backup. It was a big ask, and part of me thrilled at the thought of seeing Chase again. Even time with fifty of my favorite and least favorite relatives didn’t sound so bad with him at my side. He made me laugh, and I’d need every ounce of good humor to make it through the day.

  During our next shift, Gina pounced on me for details as soon as we were alone. When Tressa and Melanie were out of earshot, she leaned in with a glitter to her eyes that should have warned me she’d be merciless. She smelled prey. “So? How’d it go with Chase? What did you talk about? Is he coming to the wedding with you?”

  I held up my hands to try to slow her down. “Whoa. It went well, we talked mostly about nursing, and yes, he’s coming.”

  “That’s it? I want details,” she insisted.

  I shrugged. Downplaying our night together seemed safest. If I acknowledged the attraction, Gina would be relentless in prodding me to hit on him at the wedding. Friends didn’t book friends bikini waxes or buy them lube. At least, not without discussing it first. It was easier to deemphasize Chase’s magnetism and how much fun I’d had at our dinner together to avoid that argument. There was only so much “help” I could stand.

  “There’s not much else to tell. We’ve been messaging each other some, but it’s mostly about the wedding or nursing.”

  No mention of the delicious dinner he cooked. No talk of tingles on the couch or laughing until I cried. My lips twitched at the memory before I smoothed them out.

  “Well, what did his place look like? Does he have a writer’s palace?”

  “Um, no. He has a nice apartment in Tacoma. His style is best described as bachelor male, with a hint of sophistication and a large sprinkling of hot mess.”