by Linda Seed
Looking at his reaction, she wondered if she’d maybe fallen on the wrong side of the line.
“It smells good in here.” The aromas wafting from the tiny kitchen were tempting enough to surprise her. Of course she knew that some men cooked. But with most of the guys she’d dated, “cooking” meant combining a scoop of protein powder with some fruit in a blender.
“Oh, that?” Patrick waved a hand casually. “That’s nothing, really. Just a chicken. And some potatoes. And a salad. And … dessert. Well, I haven’t made the dessert yet, but it won’t be hard. When I do, I mean. I had some help, but—”
She interrupted him with a kiss. It seemed like the kind thing to do, given his obvious discomfort. She held him close as she kissed him, and she could feel his body relax, bit by bit.
“Better?” she asked after a while.
“Ah … yes. Much.”
Not all of him was relaxed—part of him was noticeably not relaxed—but it was an improvement.
Sofia was nervous, and it occurred to her that one way to deal with the nerves—both hers and his—would be to skip dinner and go straight to bed. But Patrick had worked so hard on the meal and everything that went with it, from the place settings to the garnish on the plates, that she knew she had to give it the attention it deserved.
She asked for seconds of everything, which was no hardship, as it really was delicious. Then she helped him clear the table. She would have helped him wash the dishes, too, but he shooed her away.
“I can’t let you clean,” he told her. “It would be ungentlemanly.”
“Well … maybe all of this could wait until later.”
“Later?”
“Yeah. You know … after.”
He almost dropped the plate he was holding, and she giggled at his reaction. “Come on.” She reached for his hand. “Show me your bedroom.”
Patrick simply could not believe his luck. He was a good person generally, but what had he ever done to deserve a windfall of this magnitude?
As he led her to his room, he kept thinking that she would suddenly realize her error; of course he wasn’t the man she’d intended to sleep with—she’d thought he was someone else. Someone better.
But that didn’t happen, and it kept not happening as they stood at the foot of his bed and she slipped out of her shoes.
“Can you help me with this?” She turned her back to him so he could undo the zipper on her dress.
He swallowed hard and nodded. His hands shook a little as he slid the zipper downward, slowly exposing more and more of her perfect, silky skin.
She slipped the dress off of her shoulders and let it fall to the floor with a soft whoosh. Then she stepped out of it and turned to face him.
If there had ever been a more perfect woman, he couldn’t imagine her. If there had ever been a more exquisite anticipation than this, he couldn’t fathom it. She was wearing lacy black underthings, and he was immeasurably honored by the thought that she’d chosen them just for him.
He wanted to touch her, but he didn’t want this moment—when everything was still pure and perfect—to end.
“Here. Let me.” She began undoing the buttons of his shirt slowly, one by one. When she was done, she ran her hands inside the shirt and over his shoulders, sliding it off of him. Her touch was electric, and he groaned softly.
When she finished with the shirt, she reached for his belt, and he watched as she unbuckled it so slowly that every nerve ending in his body was trembling with need by the time she was done.
She was going to kill him, surely. And he had every intention of letting her.
“Touch me,” she said.
The room was dim, with only the light from the kitchen filtering in through the open door. He cupped her cheek in his hand, then ran his palm down over her neck and shoulder, bringing it to rest on one perfect breast.
He ran his thumb over the erect nipple, through the lacy fabric, and felt her tremble at his touch. Emboldened, he moved the cup down, freeing her breast, and bent to take the sensitive peak into his mouth.
“Oh.” She threw her head back and tangled her hands in his hair.
Every part of him wanted to grab, to push, to devour. But this woman deserved so much more than that. This woman deserved to be worshipped. So he moved slowly, reverently, tasting and touching her skin so that he would remember. He wanted to remember, in case this was the only time. In case this joy—this miracle—should ever be taken from him.
“Get undressed,” she told him, her voice a rough whisper.
He did it while she watched. He knew his body didn’t look like the men she was used to. He wasn’t as strong, as sculpted; he wasn’t the masculine ideal. But the way she was looking at him with such raw desire made him forget that he wasn’t the man he wanted to be. He was the man she wanted him to be, and that was enough.
He put his arms around her, unfastened her bra, and let it fall to the floor. Then he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of her panties and drew them down so she could step out of them.
Nude, she was even more beautiful than he’d thought she would be. He hadn’t imagined such a thing was possible.
“Lie down.” She gently pushed at his chest.
“Just … hold on a second.” He went to his beside table and found a condom in the top drawer.
“Let me.” She took it from him and tore open the wrapper.
Patrick lay on his back on the bed, hard and ready for her. She rolled the condom onto him, then climbed up and straddled him, poised above him on her knees. He slid a finger into her, and she let out a low, animal moan.
The sound she made drove through him like an electric current; that sound alone was almost enough to push him over the edge.
He touched the soft wetness of her, then put his hands on her hips and guided her down onto him. Eyes closed, she rode his body slowly at first, then faster.
Patrick reached up and buried his fingers in her hair. “Sofia. Look at me.” He needed that connection, that knowledge that this moment was about the two of them and only them.
She opened her eyes and looked at him. He quickened his pace, drinking in the expression of pleasure on her face.
“Oh. God,” she murmured.
He pulled her close to him and rolled her onto her back. She was holding onto him tightly now, her hands on his waist, fingernails digging into him. She was so close, he could see it, feel it. He reached between them and rubbed the pad of his thumb over her engorged nub without ever slowing his pace.
“Oh.” She let go of him and grabbed the sheets, gripping fistfuls of fabric. “Oh. Oh. My God. Oh.”
Then she stiffened and he could feel the orgasm tearing through her. His own hit at nearly the same time, leaving him gasping and shuddering.
It was only his deeply ingrained sense of courtesy and gentlemanliness that kept him from collapsing with his full weight on top of her.
When her breathing slowed, she let out a throaty laugh and said, “We finally got a date right.”
All things considered, he thought it was worth a few near-death experiences to get here.
19
If Sofia had known sex could be like this, she would have ditched the muscle men and the jocks and found herself a brainy college boy a long time ago. Then again, she doubted that brainy college boys in general would have this kind of effect on her. It was probably specific to one in particular.
She was still pondering whether there was a correlation between intelligence and sexual prowess when she sneaked into her house that night after her sisters were asleep.
At least, she’d thought they were asleep.
“Well, well, well,” Benny said. “Out past curfew, were we?” She came out of her room wearing fuzzy Hello Kitty pajamas and bunny slippers, her hair askew.
“Are you planning to ground me, Mom?” Sofia asked.
“Should I? Have you been bad?” She wiggled her eyebrows.
Sofia’s goofy, lovestruck grin said it all.
&nb
sp; “Ooh.” Benny sat down on the sofa and patted the seat next to her. “Do tell.”
Sofia didn’t sit. She had no plans to dish about everything that had happened between herself and Patrick. It was too big for that. Too important. “It was a really good date, that’s all.”
Benny cocked her head and regarded her sister. “Are you in love, Sofia?”
“Shut up,” Sofia said.
Sofia might have shut down Benny’s prying questions the night before, but that didn’t stop all three of her sisters from grilling her about her date the next morning.
“Guess who came in at two a.m.!” Benny announced as they all puttered around the kitchen arranging breakfasts ranging from packaged donuts (Benny) to homemade granola (Martina).
“It wasn’t me, so that narrows it down,” Bianca quipped.
“It must have gone well, then,” Martina observed. “Unless you spent most of that time walking aimlessly in the dark and sobbing.”
“I did not,” Sofia said.
“So the bad-date curse is broken?” Bianca wanted to know.
Sofia hadn’t wanted to gloat about her evening, but right now, she couldn’t help it. “We broke the curse. Twice.” She could feel the idiot grin on her face, and she knew they would rib her for it, but she didn’t care.
“Twice!” Benny said, impressed.
“So, does this mean you two are officially a couple?” Bianca stood in her work clothes, her hip propped against the kitchen island, a coffee mug in her hand.
“Oh … I don’t know about that.” It was a question Sofia had considered more than a few times since last night, but she didn’t want to admit that she’d given it a thought. She didn’t want to seem like that woman who had good sex—okay, great sex—then fell immediately in love. She was that woman, but that didn’t mean she had to advertise it.
“He’s cute,” Martina said. “Really cute. If the chemistry is there … maybe this one will last.”
“Maybe,” Sofia said, as though she were considering it for the first time. “We don’t have a lot in common, but … maybe.”
“Dating guys you have a lot in common with hasn’t worked out all that well for you,” Bianca remarked. “I’m just saying.”
Patrick went to work the next day feeling happy. Well, happy was an inadequate word for how he felt. He felt as though God or Nature or whatever higher power might exist had shone a golden light on him for reasons unknown. While he was sure there were others more deserving of such divine largesse—doctors who saved the lives of orphans, for example—he told himself not to question it. The tides of fortune would turn eventually, as they always did, and there was nothing to do but enjoy the bounty when it came.
Though, it wasn’t entirely out of his control. If it were possible for him to deserve having Sofia in his life, he could strive for that. He could give her every reason to stay with him and no reason to leave.
He could start by letting her know he was thinking of her. Sending flowers seemed like a cliché. A box of candy? Poetry?
The last one held some appeal for him. He was an expert on the subject, after all. He considered sending her the work of one of his favorite poets, on the topic of sensuality. (He’d have opted for the topic of love, but he didn’t want to scare her away.)
But, no. What use would she have for someone else’s words, someone else’s thoughts? The words, when she read them, had to be his. There could be no shortcut, not with Sofia.
He delivered an inspired lecture, led a class discussion, and met with a student whose grades were suffering due to a persistent health problem. Then, when he had a moment of privacy and quiet in his office, he pulled out a notebook and started to write.
Sofia might have expected to feel tired and groggy after staying up so late the night before. Surprisingly, she felt fresh and perky, if a little distracted. She put a patient with the wrong chart, and she accidentally hung up on someone who’d called to book an appointment. Other than that, though, she was holding up improbably well.
Last night’s orgasms must have infused her with energy, she thought with a smirk. The concept had the makings of a blockbuster self-help book.
“You seem chirpy,” said Madison, the local authority on annoying and unreasonable perk. “Did something happen?”
Sofia considered denying it, but she felt too damned good for deception. “I met someone.”
“Ooh.” Madison’s eyes widened and she rubbed her hands together in glee. “Have you thought about wedding venues? Because I have a whole folder of ideas …”
The word wedding hit Sofia like a slap. “Wedding? But …”
“It’s never too soon to plan. That’s all I’m saying.”
Inevitably—because it was what women did—Sofia wondered if Patrick would call her that day and worried about how she would feel if he didn’t. Fortunately, she didn’t have to wait long.
Just after two p.m., while Madison and Sofia were reopening the office after its daily closure for lunch, she got a text.
I can’t stop thinking about you.
It was simple, short—and everything she needed to hear.
“Is that him?” Madison asked. “Jeez, look at your face. You’re already in love.”
“I am not.”
“Yes, you are. Now, about those wedding venues …”
20
Patrick talked to his parents every week, at least. His mother had been unhappy about him moving all the way out here from Michigan, and he’d promised frequent phone calls—and visits, whenever he could manage them—to put her at ease.
He hadn’t told either his mother or his father about Sofia yet, though. Still, some instinct on his mother’s part—some sixth sense that came through the parent-child bond—had alerted her to a seismic shift in her middle child’s life.
“What’s going on? You sound different,” she said when he called her a couple of days after the very good date.
“Different how?” The non-answer was disingenuous; he knew how he was different, he just wanted to know how she thought he was different. With any luck, it would be something unrelated, and he could avoid admitting to his mother that he did, in fact, have a love life.
“I’m not sure, honey. That’s why I asked.”
The edge in her voice said she knew he was being intentionally evasive. And that—the edge—activated his devoted-son guilt response. It was embarrassingly easy to make him come clean.
“Well … ah … there is something. I suppose. I … I’ve started seeing someone.” And could his delivery have been any more transparent? The stammering clearly said, I’ve met The One, and I’m nervous about telling you. Standing in his tiny kitchen as the early evening sun slanted through the windows, he closed his eyes, tipped his head back, and waited for the onslaught.
“Oh. That’s lovely. Good for you.”
Slowly, and with not a small amount of suspicion, he opened his eyes, peered at the phone in his hand, then put the device back to his ear. “That’s it?”
“Should there be more?” Her voice was all innocence.
“It’s just that I expected a certain amount of … curiosity.”
“Well, I hate to be predictable, Patrick. Besides, you’ll tell me about her when you’re ready.”
In the background, he could hear a football game on TV and his father’s running commentary on the one side of the phone call he could hear from his easy chair: “What’s lovely?” and “Predictable about what?” and “Tell you about who?”
His mother ignored his father and began chatting about other matters: Patrick’s siblings, his aunt, the high price of deli meats at the Family Fare Supermarket.
Just listening to her voice comforted him, the same as it had when he was a child. It didn’t matter what she was talking about. He was soothed by the mere fact of her and her steady presence in the world.
Once she’d exhausted all of her agenda items, she brought the conversation around to what she’d wanted to talk about since the phone call s
tarted: “So, are you coming home for Christmas?”
“Mom, it’s barely October.”
“Yes, but you have to book your flight early. Everything gets so busy around the holidays.”
“Can I get back to you on that?”
“Of course, but, Patrick, Fiona and the kids are going to be there. And Sean is bringing his friend.” By friend, she meant the man Patrick’s brother had been seeing for the past few months. Aileen had no problem with her youngest son’s homosexuality, but she still didn’t seem to know what to call his boyfriend.
“I’ll let you know soon, okay?”
“All right, but the flights—”
“Mom? Can I chat with Dad a little bit?” The deflection worked. He knew he was safe talking to his dad; Hugh Connelly had never, to Patrick’s knowledge, had any particular opinion about anyone’s plans for the holidays.
Patrick was looking forward to Christmas at his parents’ house, and he had every intention of going. He just didn’t know whether he’d be going alone, and that made things problematic.
He was in murky territory, as he’d begun seeing Sofia at the least convenient time possible. They hadn’t been together nearly long enough for him to invite her to come with him for the holidays. But by the time the actual holidays rolled around, they would, God willing, be a solid couple. If he asked her now, he’d seem like he was rushing things to an egregious degree. But if he didn’t ask her now, he would A) end up going without her, possibly hurting her feelings and ruining his own chance to spend that time with her, or B) have to ask her at the last minute, when it might be too late to buy plane tickets.
What was the best course of action? Tell his mother he wasn’t coming? Buy two plane tickets now, in the hope that Sofia would agree to come with him when he finally asked her two months from now?
Ramon wasn’t much help when Patrick asked his advice.