by Anna Albo
With bags of groceries in hand I waved goodbye to my parents. Mom looked at me from over her reading glasses.
“Are you making dinner for the president?”
“No, but we are going out later.”
She didn’t ask any more questions.
I drove to Jason’s apartment which was less than ten minutes from my place and close to the airport. He lived in a brownstone; I couldn’t wait to see what it looked like on the inside. I found a parking spot nearby and trudged to the entrance and punched in his suite number. He lived on the fourth floor of a five-floor building.
He buzzed me up without a word. The building smelled old, a mixture of aged wood and musky air. I liked it; it smelled comforting. I climbed into the steel elevator and it lumbered up to the fourth floor. To say I was terrified about tonight was a massive understatement. My heart had been skipping a beat all day long.
Jason was coming out of his apartment as I exited the elevator. He jogged down the hall to meet me and took my bags. “Did you bring your entire fridge?” he asked.
“Just about. Hope you’re hungry.”
We stepped into his apartment and I followed him straight to the kitchen. From what little I’d seen, his place was pretty bare, but I didn’t expect him to be an interior decorator. His kitchen had the essentials and looked to have been updated in the past few years. It had modern dark wood cabinets and beige-colored linoleum. The countertops were barren with the exception of a lone blender. Off the kitchen was a small dining area complete with a wood table and four simple pine chairs. Jason had neatly set the table for the two of us.
“So what do you need?”
I took a step back to evaluate. “A mixing bowl, frying pan, small pot, and a baking sheet. I’ll also need a cutting board if you have one—and when you have a chance, point out where your utensils are.”
As he retrieved all the items, I pulled out my groceries, organizing everything neatly on the countertop closest to the stove.
“What can I do?” he asked.
“I need you to dice the zucchini, red pepper, and onion.”
“Got it.”
I took the baking sheet and lined it with parchment paper I’d brought from home. I assumed he didn’t have any. I took four portobello mushrooms and rubbed them gently in olive oil. I set them on the baking sheet and took the frying pan. I heated some coconut oil and took the vegetables he’d chopped and sautéed them along with some garlic. I threw some spinach in at the end along with a dash of salt and pepper and let that cook a minute or two before taking it off the heat.
“I need you to preheat your oven to 375 degrees and then when you’re done grate about a half a cup of mozzarella,” I said while filling the pot with water. I placed it on another burner and set it on a low boil. Next I tackled the mixing bowl. I placed the sautéed vegetables in the bowl adding a quarter cup of parmesan cheese. I threw in some red pepper flakes and a dash of oregano. I started to mix my concoction but kept getting distracted by the left side of my hair falling into my face. Twice I tried to fling my head back, but my hair would just fall back into my face. Then, out of nowhere, Jason gently grasped onto the offending locks and placed them behind my shoulder where they reluctantly remained. For a split second I was immobilized by the tenderness of his action. While his hand didn’t actually touch my skin, I still felt the wave of warmth gush through me. I wanted to stop everything and kiss him, but instead I went back to mixing. Once finished I divided the mixture in four and placed a heaping scoop in each mushroom. I topped them with mozzarella and placed them in the oven.
“Salad bowl?”
“Coming right up.”
I prepped the simple salad but didn’t dress it. My pot of water began to boil and I placed some pasta in there to cook. I then sautéed some breadcrumbs in garlic and a little olive oil.
“Everything smells amazing,” Jason said, watching me stir up pasta. I turned to face him, our bodies only a couple of feet apart. His cheeks were a little flushed from the heat of the kitchen. He looked amazing, especially the way his red graphic T-shirt hugged his body. For a split second I envisioned him shirtless and felt my own cheeks flush.
“I hope it tastes amazing.”
Within fifteen minutes we were feasting on stuffed portobello mushrooms, pasta in my secret breadcrumb and garlic sauce, and a fresh green salad. Skepticism marred Jason’s face, but he dug into his mushroom. He chewed a few times and his eyebrows raised. “It’s pretty damn good.”
“Best portobello mushroom you’ve ever had?”
“It may be the only portobello mushroom I’ve ever had.”
We enjoyed our dinner, eating everything I made. I insisted on helping him with the dishes since I’d made most of the mess. I washed and he dried.
“Just so you know, you can cook for me anytime,” he said.
“I’d like that. I love to cook.”
He put away the last of the dishes and then we stared at each other. “What do you want to do?” he asked. “We could go see a movie, or stay in and watch one.”
“Let’s stay in,” I suggested. “It’s so cold out and the thought of getting into a cold car more than once doesn’t appeal to me.” Did I have other motives? Maybe.
“Okay, that works for me.”
Like most men, he had an enormous flat screen television. It took up nearly an entire wall. “For football,” he said, reading my mind. “I like to feel like I’m part of the action.”
“It must be a boy thing.”
Jason flipped through the pay-per-view movies, but I didn’t pay much attention. I didn’t care what we watched. I just wanted to get close to him, as close as I possibly could, but I was worried I was coming off too strong. I still didn’t know what Jason wanted. Maybe he just wanted to be friends. That would kill me. Since Eric I hadn’t even looked at another guy. In fact, I didn’t remember a time I found a guy attractive. I wanted nothing to do with the opposite sex, but with Jason, the magnetism had become unbearable.
“How about Don’t Rush it?” Jason asked. “It’s a mixture of action and comedy,” he said, scanning over the description.
He had no idea the thoughts going through my head. And the irony of the movie title? That didn’t escape me. “Works for me.”
We settled in and watched. I was absolutely frustrated. Maybe I wasn’t expecting to get laid, but some cuddling, kissing, and heavy petting would have been nice. Was he not attracted to me? But there were times he would stare at me and I was sure his eyes were seeing into me, wanting me. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t tell him and risk the rejection, but I so badly wanted to touch him, have him touch me back.
“Are you cold?”
I didn’t realize I had my arms folded and my knees pressed up to my chest. I did look like I was hunkering down and trying to conserve heat, but in reality, I was sulking. And then a thought popped into my mind. “Yeah, I’m a little cold.”
“I could turn up the heat, or get you a blanket.”
And epically shot down. “Sure, whatever.”
To my disappointment he turned up the heat a few degrees and settled back on the sofa with me. He sat closer to me this time and extended his arms out to me. Bingo! I scooted closer and he enveloped me in his arms. This was the moment I’d been waiting for. I snuggled in, my head resting against his shoulder with his arm resting around my waist. He smelled amazing, like pine, citrus, and whatever secret ingredient that lured me in.
While he watched the movie, I stared at his hand resting casually around my waist. It was thick with veins, and if a hand could be muscular, his would be. His fingers were long and his nails trimmed and flawless. Before I could stop myself, I locked my hand through his. Jason’s body tensed for a moment before he squeezed my hand. With his other hand, he swept the hair from my neck and lightly kissed it. My body quivered at his touch and I squeezed his hand even tighter. I couldn’t bear it anymore. In a flash we were kissing, his lips searching. His tongue passed over mine as his ha
nds explored my body. The rush of blood through my veins ignited every part of me. I felt like I’d come alive for the first time in years.
“Take your shirt off,” I whispered.
“What?”
“Your shirt. Off.”
I sat back as he obliged. I watched him, desire consuming me as he pulled off his shirt and cast it aside. His chest was bare and chiseled, each muscle thoughtfully defined. My fingers traced every muscle indentation, and he took in a deep breath as his gaze followed my every move.
“Take your shirt off,” he said.
I wiggled out of my blue knit sweater and let it drop on the floor. His arms snaked around me and he kissed me more urgently, our bodies pressed up against each other. With one swift motion he had me lying back on his sofa, his body on top of me. He slipped a hand behind my back and expertly unhooked my bra. Once off, he caressed one breast then the other. My breath quickened some more as his lips and tongue passed over each nipple. I bit down on my lower lip, savoring every moment, wishing it would last forever.
Suddenly it ended.
“Why are you stopping?” I asked, my voice hoarse and yearning for more.
“Grace, I don’t have a condom, and before you say it, I’m not risking it.”
“What! I don’t want to stop. Just go out and buy some. I’ll wait here.”
He let out a small laugh. “It’s nearly midnight. I’m not going out on a condom run. Besides, it’s getting late and you’ve got your parents’ car.”
I was confused and my feelings were a little hurt. “What’s going on? Men never turn away an opportunity to get some.”
“Nothing’s going on, I just think we’re moving really fast. I don’t want to pressure you into anything. I think you’re a nice girl—”
“Oh, God, not the nice-girl thing.” I sat up and grabbed my bra, suddenly feeling very naked. “Are you trying to let me down easy?”
Confusion marred his face. “Let you down easy? No, I just don’t want you to rush into anything. Gracie, you’re the kind of girl any guy would be lucky to have, and I want to be sure I’m the guy you want.”
“You are!”
“I don’t want to be a regret of yours.”
“Why would you be?” I didn’t understand where he was going with this.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I guess I don’t know what it’s like to be with a nice girl.”
“There’s a story there.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not telling you tonight.”
“So it’s not about me?”
He touched my lips with his index finger and then kissed me. “No, it’s not about you.”
Resigned that we were going no further, I let out a deep sigh. “I want a raincheck.”
“You got it. I promise.”
“And one day I want an explanation.”
“You’ll get that too.”
CHAPTER 10
It had been ages since I’d had a good chat with Ellen. Before my shift at Greta’s House, she met me for lunch. There was a great little burger joint less than a block away, and we met there for our quick lunch. Ellen only had thirty minutes so we had to eat fast.
“You’re beaming again. I hate that men can do that to us.”
I rolled my eyes. “I like him, Ellen.”
“I can tell. So why’s he the best thing since sliced bread?”
“We haven’t talked in a while, so here’s the short version.” Eating her cheeseburger and fries, she listened intently as I spoke. She laughed when I told her about Erica and then came the moment of truth, that second any good opinion of him would change in a nanosecond. “So, you know he’s a Customs officer, but there’s more.”
Ellen frowned. “I knew there had to be a catch.”
“He’s former military.”
“Ugh! Really?”
This was the part of Ellen I had problems with. Her rigidness. When she didn’t like something, there was no way to change her mind, and when something got into her head, it was branded there for life, like her hatred for men. She found any excuse to lump them into a hostile category, and I knew Jason’s military past would fall into that hostility and it wasn’t fair. She couldn’t paint every man with the same brush.
“Two tours in Afghanistan.”
She pushed away her mostly empty plate. “I respect the men and women who serve in our armed forces, but you know the statistics. I’m sure he’s a wonderful guy, and I know I sound like a broken record, but be aware of everything. If he served two tours, he’s seen a lot; hopefully that doesn’t affect the rest of his life.”
“I sense only good vibes with him.”
“Then that’s a good thing. Just don’t let your guard down. Ever.”
BOTH JASON AND I WORKED Christmas Day. He spent my dinner break with me, and after his shift ended he went back home to Chicago for five days before returning for a New Year’s Eve shift. I planned it so I was working too, and instead of going out with my friends to party and ring in the New Year, I was spending the night with Jason. He’d invited me and I jumped at the offer. I’d brought a change of clothes to work and told my mother I was staying over at Anita’s. I knew the time was coming when I’d have to come clean, but I liked that he was my little secret for just a few more days.
“Are you guys dating?” Jessica asked. She and I were shutting down Anthony’s early tonight as per Cathy’s joyous instructions. The airport was quiet with the exception of a flight here and there. When Cathy suggested we close at eight instead of ten, who was I to argue with her?
“I’d say so,” I said, unable to wipe the smile from my face.
“He’s hot,” she admitted.
Both our gazes drifted over to him sitting in a far booth, reading the newspaper and sipping his coffee while he waited. Jessica didn’t have the good fortune to see him shirtless. That vision was etched in my memory forever.
“Yes, he’s pretty hot.”
“Look, I can finish up here. I won’t screw up anything. He’s waiting and I know you want to leave. Besides, the party I’m going to doesn’t start until after ten.”
“Are you sure?”
“Totally. Get out of here.”
I took her up on her offer. I grabbed my winter jacket and my backpack full of clothes, toiletries, and anything else a girl needed for an overnight stay, including a box of condoms—just in case. I waved goodbye to Jessica and to Roger, my most favorite security guard. He tipped his hat at me and gave Jason a slight nod. Pretty much everyone around the airport knew about us, and if they didn’t, they would certainly know after today.
We stepped into the bitter winter evening. It had snowed the night before and now a biting wind had settled in. We walked the long distance to Jason’s SUV, my face freezing from the cold. I wrapped my pink wool scarf tighter around my face and quickened my pace.
“Do we need to stop for anything?” Jason asked. He rubbed his hands vigorously together trying to warm them. I’d already told him that his wool-lined black leather gloves weren’t going to hack a Minnesota winter, but apparently it fell on deaf ears.
“I don’t think so, as long as you have some food in your fridge.”
“It’s well stocked, I promise.”
Nervousness bubbled up in my stomach like a bad antacid. The stage was set; I was spending the night and there was no going back.
“What did you do last year for New Year’s?” I asked.
“My buddies and I went out. I got to be the designated driver. I don’t drink.”
“At all?”
“I’ll have the occasional beer here and there, but it’s usually just one. When you’ve got a roaring drunk as a father, you know what damage alcohol can do. What did you do last year?”
“Since it was only a month after Eric and I broke up, I didn’t do anything. I may have even gone to sleep before ten o’clock. I don’t really remember.”
“Eric?”
It occurred to me at that moment that I’d never mentioned Eric b
efore. “We dated for two years, but it didn’t work out. Obviously.”
He glanced over at me, attempting to read my face and see what I was hiding. “Why didn’t it work out?”
“He was a jerk.”
“What did he do?”
“Jerky things.”
“Well, that’s not an answer.”
“Should we really be talking about our exes?” I asked.
“We were only talking about yours.”
Although he wasn’t pressing me too hard, I knew he wanted to know, but discussing Eric on the eve of a new year and a new budding relationship wasn’t what I had in mind. “I’ll tell you about him another time, but I don’t really want to talk about him today.”
“Fair enough.”
“And you’ll have to tell me all about your exes.”
“Yes, all five hundred of them.”
I chuckled. “I have to say, you do have a sarcastic sense of humor that I quite like.”
“I’m glad to hear that. I think most people view me as an unfeeling, detached robot.”
“But that’s a good image for your job. Outside of that, you can and should be whoever you want.”
“Thank you, Oprah.”
I playfully punched him in the arm.
“Hey, that’s assault.”
“Make a citizen’s arrest.”
“I might later,” he said with a wink.
Oh my! What did that mean? I couldn’t help but smile.
When we reached his apartment and walked through the door, I was met with a heat wave. “Why so warm?” I asked.
“You were cold last time. Too warm?”
“A little,” I said, but couldn’t help but think how sweet the gesture was.