by Claire Adams
No matter what fear plagued me, no matter what uncertainties ran through my mind, I had no choice but to take a chance and allow Ollie into my life. I had the real possibility of getting everything that I ever wanted. I couldn’t wait until he called me with the plans. I didn’t know if it would last forever, but I did know that Ollie cared about me, even so far as to be sneaky with his plans for me, something he rarely did for anyone. I had finally reached a point where I was able to reach for hope and not despair.
Chapter 21
Ollie
I looked over at Elana as we drove along, listening to music. She looked absolutely gorgeous with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, a pair of ripped jeans on, and a light sweater that dove far enough down in the front for me to see her collarbone. I turned off the main road and through the outskirts of the city. As I turned into the mini-golf course, she laughed, shaking her head. I smiled, pulling the car into a parking spot and putting us into park. I loved that she was already finding humor in our date. It was part of what made us who we were together.
“I hope you’re ready to get schooled at putt-putt,” I said, smiling.
“Are you trying to intimidate me, sir?”
“No, no,” I said. “Just don’t want you to walk out of this date feeling like you lost something. I mean, it’s only natural to feel that way when you’re put to the test.”
“Those are awfully big words,” she said, looking over at the course. “Especially since it seems you may have the same skills as that nine-year-old over there, whooping his sister's butt at the game. I mean, I’d be proud.”
“I am,” I said with dignity.
“I should warn you, though. I went mini-golfing every weekend in elementary and middle school with my cousins.”
“That was a very long time ago,” I pointed out. “Why haven’t these cousins taken you since then?”
“They are fearful of my mad skills with a putter,” she replied, shaking her head. “People tend to shy away from those with all the skills. They couldn’t handle the pressure.”
“I see,” I said, shaking my head.
She was trying hard not to laugh, which made me want to laugh even more. We sat there in contemplative silence for several moments, neither of us willing to fold and give in to the laughter. I watched as she bit her bottom lip, looking for control, closing her eyes, and taking a deep breath to relieve the pressure.
“I mean, seeing that this is a date and everything, I’m willing to let you take a handicap,” she said. “You know, just to keep up the morale. I know I can be intimidating.”
“That is so nice of you,” I said, smiling.
“It is, isn’t it?” she replied, starting to lose her composure. “Don’t say I never gave you anything.”
As she giggled to herself, trying to keep a straight face, I burst into laughter. She looked over at me, and without the ability to continue the charade, she followed suit, bending at the waist and laughing loudly. We sat like that until the laughter died down, and I had an idea. I liked her confidence. It was sexy, but what this needed was something a bit more daring.
“Though a handicap is very generous of you,” I said, folding my hands in front of me. “I was thinking maybe we do something a bit more.”
“Oh yeah? Like what?”
“A wager,” I said with glistening eyes. “Lowest score wins.”
She pursed her lips and thought about it for a second before nodding her head. We got out of the car and headed to the stand where I paid for a round of eighteen holes, and then we collected our clubs and balls. She picked the bright blue ball, since her favorite color was blue. I picked the bright orange one, just because I felt like being a little loud. We made our way to the first tee, and she looked over at me, laughing as I pretended to do some stretches. She watched me walk up to the tee and place my ball, crossing her arms and staring. Just as I began to swing, she called out.
“Wait,” she said, causing me to miss the ball.
“Yes?”
“If this is a wager,” she said, “then what exactly does the winner get?”
“That’s a very good question,” I said, walking away from the ball. “It has to be good.”
“And slightly embarrassing,” she pointed out.
“Of course,” I said, nodding my head.
I wanted to take this opportunity to make the prize not only well worth winning, but an excuse for us to spend more time together. How could I resist making a prize that would ultimately force her to want to be around me more? In my mind, win or lose, I was going to be a winner in this situation.
“I’ve got it,” I said, pointing at her. “Whoever loses has to the winner’s servant for an entire evening. So basically, when you lose, you have to wait on me hand and foot for an entire night.”
“You mean, when you lose, you’ll have to wait on me the whole night?”
“Semantics,” I said, waving my hand and ignoring her laugh. “The servant will have to cook dinner for the winner and clean up afterward. What is the point of having someone cook your dinner if you have to force yourself to be the dishwasher after? I’d personally rather just get takeout.”
“True,” she said, putting her hand to her chin. “Which house?”
“Winner’s choice, of course,” I said.
“Of course,” she replied, pacing back and forth and looking down at the ground.
She stopped and looked up at me, cocking an eyebrow and thinking. I loved when she got into this mode. I never knew what was going to pop up. She had a really good mind for these kinds of things, which was probably why I was glad that I made up the rules, especially since I wasn’t positive that I was going to win. The last thing I wanted was to be dressed like a chicken, running around the campus with no pants on. She was devious. I couldn’t let those pretty blue eyes fool me.
“I don’t know,” she said. “That seems pretty tame for a servant.”
“All right,” I said, taking a deep breath. “The lady is disappointed with the winner’s pot.”
I paced back and forth, twirling my gold club around, nearly hitting her and smiling sheepishly. She lifted one eyebrow at me and watched me as I walked back and forth. I wanted to come up with something that would satisfy her, but still not result in me in some crazy getup, committing public acts of indecency. I took a deep breath and put out my hands as she sighed with annoyance.
“Okay, okay,” I said. “Sheesh, woman. You are a hard one to please. How about this? The orders given to the loser, a.k.a., the servant, will be at the winner’s discretion.”
“Better,” she said. “All right, you start.”
I nodded my head and walked over to the ball, lining it up and wiggling my hips back and forth, glancing up as she giggled. With the first stroke of my club, we were off, competing for the ultimate prize, control over the other person for at least one evening. It turned out that Elana wasn’t lying. She was actually really good at mini-golf. I was starting to realize that the possibility of me losing was really high up there. She got ahead of me from the start, knocking pretty much every ball in after only her second putt. My palms were starting to get sweaty at the thought of being under control for an entire evening. It could turn out really good, or it could turn out really bad. It just depended on the mood she was in. I tried valiantly to come back from where I was trailing, but she was too damn good. I couldn’t even win one hole against her. It didn’t really matter to me; the time we were spending together was what was important.
“Your butt looks good when you wiggle it like that,” she said, laughing. “You better be careful. There are a lot of lovely, older ladies around here.”
“By older, you mean had lunch with Jesus?” I replied, looking around. “I do have to say, though, yours doesn’t look too shabby, either.”
“Maybe I’ll pick up one of these rich old men,” she whispered, elbowing me and raising her eyebrows.
“You would make a ravishing gold digger,” I replied with laughter.
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br /> We flirted pretty much the entire time we were playing, which was exactly what I was going for in the first place. When we reached the last hole, the tensions were high. I had to get a hole in one, and I still would only win if she royally screwed it up. I got up to the tee and took a whack, landing the ball only inches from the hole. I pumped my fist and smiled at her, watching her walk up and take aim. I walked ahead on the sidewalk and bent over, clearing my throat and pretending to tie my shoe. She stifled her laugh and took in a deep breath, pulling the putter back and hitting the ball. We stood frozen, watching as it bounced over the fake putting green, hitting the corner, rolling quickly across, bouncing off the backside, and then finally, inching closer and closer to the hole.
“No way.” I grimaced as it reached the lip of the hole.
“Yes,” she said, putting her hands in the air as she watched the ball plummet into the bottomless eighteenth hole.
“All right,” I said, putting my head down. “I admit defeat.”
Elana laughed as she ran around me in circles, chanting her own name and holding her putter high above her head. I watched as she danced to the sound of the terrible instrumental playing over the loudspeaker, making fake screaming crowd noises and bowing to everyone around her. Finally, out of breath, she walked back over and slapped me on the shoulder.
“You gave it your best, servant,” she said, smiling.
“Please, just have mercy on me,” I said, walking toward the shack to turn in my club. “I’m not much of a cook.”
“I’m sure that isn’t true.” She chuckled. “You’re probably a regular Martha Stewart.”
“If Martha Stewart enjoys warm pop tarts and anything that doesn’t have to be cooked outside of the microwave,” I said, “then, yes.”
“Why would you suggest it as the winning pot then?” She shook her head, laughing as she handed over the putter to the guy behind the desk and took the scorecard from me. “I do have to say, I may frame this.”
“I dunno,” I said, shrugging. “I just thought I would win.”
She walked slowly over to me with a pouty face, tapping me gently on the arm before pulling a large smirk across her lips. We walked back to the car and hopped in, leaning back in the seats. I let out a deep breath. That had been really fun. We drove off toward her house, the date being over, but me desperately not wanting to take her home. When we arrived, I walked her to the door and leaned in, giving her a restrained kiss.
Though I was incredibly attracted to Elana in every way possible, I was dedicated to taking things slowly, just as I had told her. It wasn’t just for her, though. It was for me, too. I figured if we took our time and really enjoyed each other, we had a better chance at working through our own personal issues while keeping the relationship intact. I had to admit, though, it was hard letting her go without kissing her senseless. I jumped in the car with electricity moving swiftly through my chest, watching her hips sway as she moved through the door and inside. I sighed as I pulled off, looking down and realizing that, yet again, I had an erection from just thinking about Elana. I knew then that it was going to be a really long couple of days until I got to see her again, and I didn’t know how much longer I could hold out.
Chapter 22
Elana
I was glad that the day after we had our golfing date, Ollie decided to give me a call and plan dinner for the next night. It was Friday, which made it that much easier to relax on my way over to his place. He was providing his payment for losing our friendly little wager, and I was nervous to know what he was cooking. I pulled up in front of his house, slightly in awe at the size of his place. I kept forgetting that he wasn’t a college student anymore and actually had a really lucrative job. He answered the door and kissed me on the cheek, heading quickly back to the kitchen.
I was impressed when a really good smell came wafting from the back of the house. It smelled like real food, and as I walked through the doors, I couldn’t see any takeout boxes anywhere. Maybe he had been joking about sucking at cooking. It would actually be impressive if he knew how to make a good meal. Most men weren’t up to that task, especially these days where they were in a constant battle for promotions at work and always being reminded that they were responsible for the family not the dinner.
I watched him move through the kitchen, looking surprisingly at home. I did notice, though, that his pots and pans looked pretty much new, like they had never been used. Maybe he bought new ones when he moved here. Or maybe he was like me, hating to cook for just one person. Either way, I was relieved that nothing was on fire or smelled bad, both red flags at how the dinner was actually going to turn out. He smiled at me as I took a seat at the breakfast bar and watched him walk over to the stove and stir a pot of something that was boiling. It looked like some sort of noodles, which made me happy, since I pretty much lived off of Italian food and never complained when someone actually wanted to do the cooking instead of me for a change.
He put the lid on the pot and turned toward me, leaning against the counter. I smiled and looked around his place, realizing he hadn’t quite had a chance to do much decorating. His kitchen was pretty bare, but then again, most kitchens were. I looked to my left, down into the large living room where the furniture was set up, but there weren’t really any pictures or trinkets anywhere. No wonder he was having a hard time feeling at home. He hadn’t made his house into one yet. Maybe over time, I could convince him to let me decorate the place, especially since I loved doing that kind of thing.
I looked back at him as the alarm on the microwave’s timer chimed. He stood back and opened the oven, smiling at his creation as he donned oven mitts and pulled the dish out of the oven. He set it on the stove and took the foil off of the top, the delicious smell filling the house. Although from there, I couldn’t really tell what it was. He then drained the pasta into a colander and let it sit while he finished seasoning the sauce heating on the stove. It did look like a strange pairing, but I wasn’t going to complain. He was making an effort, and that alone was pretty amazing. I didn’t think I had ever had a guy make an effort like that for me before, especially not after losing a bet. Most guys that I had dated wouldn’t have ever accepted me beating them at anything. After all, I was just a “cute little librarian from Madison.”
I shook the thought from my mind, it already irritating the hell out of me. How could I have ever thought that having higher standards than what I was being shown was a bad thing? I couldn’t believe that I had actually thought about dating some of these guys. Ollie walked over in front of me and bowed, making me giggle.
“Would my illustrious mistress like a glass of wine?”
“Oh,” I said, sitting up straight. “Of course, servant. How could you be so stupid to think not?”
“My apologies,” he chuckled.
I smiled as he walked over to the wine cabinet installed in his kitchen like a fridge. The top was stocked full of white wines and the bottom full of red. It was obvious that both sections ran separately and that one cooled the whites while the other was a humidifier of sorts. He carefully chose one from the top and one from the bottom, walking over and presenting them to me.
“Your humble servant has both red and white,” he said, bowing his head.
“I would like the white please,” I said.
He nodded and picked the bottles back up, walking them over to the back counter. I watched as he pulled out a corkscrew and opened up the bottle, breathing in the aroma as he pulled out the cork. He grabbed a wine glass and poured the wine, swirling it around in the glass as he approached.
“Madam,” he said, setting it in front of me. “That was a good choice.”
He then leaned in and gently kissed me on the neck, taking his hand towel and throwing it over his shoulder as he walked back over to the stove. I couldn’t help but smile, seeing the happiness and life rolling through him. It was both flattering and relatable that being in his life made that much of a difference in how he felt on a mental and pers
onal level. However, knowing that he did the same for me, I could completely understand.
Just from watching him walk around the kitchen, I could tell he put a lot of thought into dinner. I didn’t know if he made this from scratch or a can, but it didn’t matter. What mattered to me was the fact that he had put his heart into it and wanted to make it a fun and happy evening. I leaned my head against my hand as I sat sipping my wine and waiting for dinner to be done.
“I have to say, I commend you for slaving so hard in the kitchen,” I said, smiling. “And you said you couldn’t cook.”
From the way he moved around and the comfortable nature of his body, he looked like a regular in the kitchen. Not to mention that him walking around with a towel thrown over his shoulder and his sleeves rolled up was incredibly sexy for some reason. Maybe it was the feeling of domestication, having a man in the house, cooking dinner, completely content. Or maybe it was just the fact that I was incredibly attracted to Ollie, almost as if we hadn’t had sex yet. Either way, I was definitely enjoying being there in that moment, and his house immediately felt comfortable. Now, all I needed to do was make it homier for him.
“Yeah, well, it may just be a Christmas miracle,” he joked.
“More like an ‘I can’t fail at this’ miracle.” I laughed. “I don’t know. I think it was a fib. I think you’re actually a crazy good chef. You just don’t want me to find out because you don’t want to be the person that is forced to cook all of the time.”
“If by chef, you mean Chef Boyardee.” He laughed, shaking his head. “No, I just discovered suddenly that I had a natural talent for cooking.”