Two Can Play

by K. M. Liss

  “Oh, no. You'll have to get me blasted first. Actually, no, not even then.” I see her eye fly up to the shelf behind me. I pretend not to notice. I'll have a sneaky look up there later.

  “Why's that?” I ask with a wicked grin. “Is it risqué material? Naughty, erotic stuff?”

  “Some of it, maybe,” she answers with a coy look from under her eyelashes.

  “Well, now I'm dying to see something.”

  She laughs, tips her head back, and flips up her hair with her hands.

  “Behave yourself or you and your laptop will be homeless again, on the doorstep PDQ.”

  “So, what are you doing here and how did you come to buy this place?” I change the subject.

  “It was an investment I made with some family money I came into. I worked here for a while, during my degree. I kinda fell in love with Venice. And it's where I do my best writing. Just there, where you're sitting in fact.”

  “I'm in the hot seat, am I?” I tease.

  “It's not so hot. More like a warm creative nest.” She giggles sweetly.

  As we look at each other I wonder what's going through her head.

  I'm willing her to pounce. Then I can indulge in what's going on in my head. Which is incredibly basic to say the least.

  But, of course, she won't. Kate doesn't strike me as the pouncy sort. But I live in hope.

  “So,” I break the staring silence. “As I don't have much to unpack. Let’s have some dinner? I'm starving.”

  “Why not? I'm starving too.”

  “My treat. My surprise.”

  “If you insist. I like surprises.”

  “Come on then.” I get up and hold out my hand, pulling her up. She moves past me quickly. I smell her perfume again. I'd love to bury my face in her neck and breathe in a lungful.

  “What kind of restaurant are we going to?”

  “Somewhere casual.” I remind her of my lack of clothing choice. Not that I dress up that much anyway, outside of work, but I do like to wear a shirt now and then.

  “So, will I do like this?”

  “You look great. It's doing it for me.” I widen my eyes at her appreciatively; the see-through, lacy V-neck top she's wearing is really doing it. And those jeans fit her like a glove.

  “Really? These old things?” she asks with a touch of surprise on her face.

  “Yeah, really.” And the more I look, the more I want.

  I call a cab. I'm taking her to the best pizza joint in town.

  It's low-key, and the real Italian pizzas are so tasty, my mouth is watering already at the thought of all that sauce and the cheese oozing over the top of the crispy base. Tons of strong pepperoni and steaming hot chili sauce.

  The thought of it is definitely taking my mind off my attraction to Kate for a moment. Not much, but it's dulling the severe throb in my groin.

  Fucking delicious. The pizzas…and Kate. Looking forward to this big time.

  It's the real McCoy of a traditional pizzeria, a wood-fired pizza oven, in the middle of the restaurant, and their ice cream is the shit.

  We sit at a table for two while the waitress fusses around us handing us both a menu and passing me the wine list. The lighting is low and intimate, typical Italian music playing in the background, the restaurant half full.

  Just how I like it.

  My memories are stirred. The last time I came here was with Sophie. It wasn't a pleasant evening. She'd started to become a little too demanding. I ended up dumping her after the dessert. I put that visit out of my mind. I don't want to spoil my evening.

  “What d'you want to drink?” I ask Kate, studying the wine list.

  “A Coke or Sprite will do.”

  “This is supposed to be a celebration. Let's share a bottle of Champagne,” I suggest.

  “You might have to help me up the stairs when we get back. I've already had two glasses of wine today.”

  Kate's obviously not a big drinker.

  Two glasses and she's sunk?

  “So lie in tomorrow and enjoy the hangover. I'll look after you,” I persuade her with a smile. Probably not a very friendly thing to do, but being the selfish bastard I am, I don't want to drink alone.

  “Okay. Why the hell not?” she agrees with a returning smile.

  I sigh silently to myself. I don't think I've ever seen a cuter smile.

  I put my hand over hers at the table.

  I really like the effect she has on me.

  Shivers run down my spine.

  She doesn't seem averse to me, either.

  I order the fizz and we choose a pizza to share.

  It seems she likes super spicy pepperoni, too.

  Kate's my kinda girl. She likes her meat hot. I can't wait to watch her put it in that mouth of hers. I'm imagining the cheese dripping down her chin, her tongue licking it off. Her eyes closing as it all hits her taste buds.

  My mind seems to be stuck in the sex zone. I'm not usually this bad. Actually, yes I am, but I'm enjoying these thoughts way more than I normally do.

  We nibble some olives and crunch some grissini while we wait.

  Our Champagne arrives and we have the usual laugh as the cork pops out.

  Why this is so funny I really don't know.

  “So tell me...what did your father do?” she asks.

  I'm ready with my half-truth.

  “He owned some real estate, leased it out.”

  “What about yours?” I fire back.

  “Hey, hang on buddy, I haven't finished my twenty questions yet,” she says, holding her hand up.

  “Ask away then.” I sit back, crunching and sipping happily, gazing at her over the top of my glass.

  She's so pretty. I love her eyes and the way she moves.

  I can't help a long sigh escaping.

  “Where were you born?”

  “New York.”

  “And how old are you, twenty-eight, I'd guess?”

  “Hey, you're good. I'm twenty-nine.”

  “So when did your family move to Venice?”

  “About ten years ago.”

  “And why was that? Why here?”

  “Because Dad was born here. He met and married my mom in New York. They lived there a long time. I guess he wanted to return to his roots or something.”

  “I take it you didn't get on with your dad either, as he left you nothing in his will?”

  “No, we got along fine in fact. Played golf together. Went to big games, both supported the Giants. He came to New York to visit me a few times. But I guess he thought I was sorted, self-sufficient. I'm single, got a good job, own my own apartment, whereas two of my sisters have families. One's divorced and lives with my mother...they're in their thirties—all of my sisters—and my mother's sixty next year. They're needier than I am. I can understand his thinking. He was a bit of an old-fashioned guy.” I feel a lump in my throat and a mixture of feelings run through me. I'm lying about my dead father—who I loved dearly—to someone I like and am beginning to trust. Someone who has offered me somewhere to live.

  Why am I doing this? It's such an ingrained habit. Hiding who I am. Will I ever stop doing it or even want to?

  “I hope you don't mind me asking, but what did he die from, Aaron?” Her eyes probe mine.

  “He had prostate cancer, highly aggressive. For six months it was a hard time for us all. I did a lot of crying, seeing the life being sucked out of him, but it still hit me like a brick wall when he died. I really miss the old guy. He was definitely no angel but he kinda held things together...the family I mean.”

  Now I'm really choked. I try and stop the tears gathering.

  “I'm so sorry.”

  She can obviously see me struggling.

  “Yeah, well. I had some good times with him. I'll remember those.”

  She squeezes my hand and then strokes it. I'm touched.

  She's not only extremely pretty, hot and sexy, she's nice and caring, too. Such a lethal combination.

  “So, what about you?�
�� I ask, clearing my throat.

  “Mom works in Vegas in Caesars Palace Casino, as a croupier, and Dad does something in oil. I don't know exactly what, and being Russian, he lives in Russia, so I don't see him much. But both parents keep in touch.”

  “So, before L.A., you lived with your mom in Vegas?”

  “Yeah, until I went to UCLA. Then Dad helped me get a place of my own and I stayed there afterward. I've got some good friends in L.A. I really didn't like the mad heat in Vegas,” she explains.

  “I've never been. To Vegas, I mean.”

  “I don't go there very often myself. Maybe four or five times a year. My mom and I text and email mostly. Keeping contact with my dad's more of a problem. I get the odd call, but he can't speak much English.”

  “And your job, what do you do exactly?”

  “I manage a multimillionaire’s funds.”

  “Really? How did you get into that?”

  “It was through a mutual friend at Uni. She's an heiress...and it's highly confidential, so don't ask me for her name.”

  “How multimillionaire is she?”

  “Very.”

  “Right...and you don't like the job? Doesn't it pay well?”

  “It pays well enough, but it's not very creative, moving money around, checking interest rates and investments. Besides, I like my song and poem writing. That's what I really want to do.”

  “Have you published or sold anything yet?”

  “I've self published some stuff on the Internet. And short stories. That kind of thing. I've had a few sales. But I haven't been able to get a publisher interested in me yet. Still, it's early days.”

  Our huge pizza arrives and interrupts our chat.

  “Aaron, this is way too massive,” she says with wide eyes.

  She's absolutely right. I should have ordered the medium.

  I forgot the large covered more than half the table.

  I tear a slice off and dab a little hot sauce on it and shove it in my mouth, manly style, while she cuts hers nicely with her knife and fork.

  “Oh pick it up and dive in, girl.” I laugh.

  I slide the chili sauce over to her and watch in amusement as she loads her slice with it.

  Spoonful after spoonful.

  Oh fuck... I should stop her. But this could be entertaining...

  I hide my smirking face behind my hand.

  She picks it up daintily and takes a big smothered-in-sauce bite.

  I watch with bated breath for the choking, spluttering explosion.

  The sauce here is killer hot.

  But not a flicker of pain crosses her face.

  “That's unreal!” I exclaim in admiration.

  “What is?” she asks.

  “You, eating that and surviving the experience.”

  “Mmm, kinda spicy, isn't it?”

  “Spicy? Volcanic you mean?”

  “Nah, not to me. I'm immune.”

  “How can you be immune to chili?”

  “I can eat them raw, got a high chili threshold. The scovilles don't bite me much.”

  “No way.”

  “Seems so.”

  “Well I never...hot writing, hot looks, hot taste buds. Got anything else on the hot list?” I joke pointedly.

  “Sadly not. I'm an ice queen in other ways.”

  That's gotta be a joke. She's hotter than the sun in my opinion.

  “Your waiter friend must like ice then,” I joke back. “I take it those roses were from him?”

  “Marco is a very sweet guy...but they were an apology.”

  “For what?” I pry with my best coaxing smile.

  “Never you mind,” she says with a grin.

  “When are you seeing him again?” I ask.

  I'm planning to monopolize her, so she doesn't have much time to “see” him at all. I'm going saturate her brain and everything else with me instead.

  “Tomorrow at the cafe.”

  “Maybe I'll come along and meet him, if you don't mind?”

  “Well, yeah. I do.”

  “Oh. And why's that?”

  “Aaron, we're just getting together. I don't think bringing you to meet him is gonna go down so well, is it?”

  “I'll behave myself. Promise.”

  “It's not just your behavior, it's the whole drop-dead-sexy you.”

  “Drop-dead-sexy, eh?” I'm really pleased with that description. Not that I haven't been called it before. But it sounds even better coming from her.

  “Oh come on, you know you are.”

  “And...?” I prompt.

  “And what?”

  I take her hand across the table. Oddly, her eyes flicker with alarm. I rub my thumb across the back of it and look at her seriously.

  “Look, Kate, I really like you.” I stare into her eyes with a flutter of hope in my chest, noticing she's breathing heavily. “I came to find you today, to ask you out on a date. Obviously being invited to live with you was a much better alternative.”

  She pulls her hand away from mine sharply.

  “You're my guest. Don't make things complicated.”

  “I'd kinda like the idea of getting complicated with you.”

  “Aaron, please...it's not that I don't like you that way. But I've just started seeing Marco,” she says quietly, pleading.

  “I'll have to knock the competition off the field then, won't I?” I stare into her eyes, deadly serious.

  She gives me a dark look; she's definitely not happy right now. I've confused her plans. I need to tone it down. Be more subtle.

  I try a humorous approach to lighten the atmosphere.

  “Let's see how it goes. Co-habit for a week and see if the attraction survives.” I smile in what I hope is an appealing manner.

  The humor and my winning smile seem to work as she laughs out loud.

  “Now then, hot stuff, let's eat some more of this monster, shall we?” I say, diving in.

  I might have to pull out all the stops with this one. She's got right under my skin, down to the bones, in just about every way that appeals to me. And, it seems, a few new ones as well. But I've got a week. Tons of time to work my way in there.

  HER

  We arrive back in the cab. I'm not feeling the effects of the champagne much at all as I'm stuffed to the brim with pizza and swimming in chocolate ice cream. It's absorbing the alcohol nicely. We go inside and drag our overfed selves upstairs, flopping on the sofas.

  “I won't need to eat a thing tomorrow,” I say patting my rounded stomach.

  “Or the next day, either,” he agrees, patting his.

  “I really can't go to bed feeling like this. I'll never get to sleep. Shall we put some music on?”

  “That'll be cool...what've you got?”

  “My iPod's there. Choose something you like,” I suggest.

  I open my laptop and play around on Facebook, looking him up. I find him fairly quickly and send him a friend request.

  “You've got a lot of really funny stuff in here,” he says, smirking at me, scrolling through my huge music library.

  “I know. Anything in particular you like, though?”

  “Crusaders...Sly...James Brown...classic soul stuff. I kinda like all that, I guess, but it's not my favorite. Oh ha ha...no way...not the Osmonds? You're kidding me.”

  “Blame my mother, because she was their number one fan and still is. I completely love the Osmonds. Especially Jay, and Love Me For a Reason makes me go all shivery, the lyrics are so sweet.” I grin at him.

  “Right, well I don't think I've heard that one. I'll take your word for it....” He hums to himself as he browses, his face breaking into a broad grin. “Oh Kate, you're so cute...Barry White and Stevie Wonder?” I tut at him. “Now what's this I see...amazing, it's actually 21st century, just about, Bon Jovi and Aerosmith. Like a bit of oldie rock, do you?”

  “More than like, it's damn hot.”

  “Each to their own, not my kinda thing...I think I need to re-educate your musical taste at
some stage.”

  “I'm happy with what I like already, thank you very much,” I object.

  “But most of it is fucking dreadful,” he says, “but despite that, I've managed to find one.”

  “Plug it in the speakers on the shelf up there.”

  Bruno Mars, “Just The Way You Are” starts up.

  I look up as he smiles at me.

  “Oh funny, ha ha. Find something else, mister.”

  “I like it. It's catchy.”

  “I can tell you're definitely not a Bruno Mars fan. Pick something you like.”

  “Okay, I admit it. It's not really me. He's a great laugh though.”

  “You know Bruno?” I ask in awe. I'm easily starstruck. Kinda sad, I know.

  “Yep, we've hung out a few times...ahh, here we go. Definitely more me.” He sniggers to himself, dirtily.

  I laugh as it begins. Jason Derulo, “Talk Dirty To Me.”

  Typical... But a great song, anyway.

  “...I'm that flight that you get on, international. First class seat on my lap girl, riding comfortable...”

  I can't stop myself singing this one.

  “Nothing like a song with dirty lyrics, is there?” I mutter, “I wish I'd written that one.” I admit with a long sigh.

  “It's tame compared to some I've heard. And for all I know you've written something far dirtier yourself. I don't know, do I, because you won't show me.”

  I give him a dark and dirty look to go with the dirty song.

  He leaves the room and returns a moment later with his laptop.

  He faffs around setting the password for a minute, getting connected into my Wi-Fi. Then he finally sits down opposite me.

  “How sweet. Katrina Denton has requested I become her friend on Facebook. What d'you think, Kate? Shall I accept?”

  “She's a very nice girl. I think you should,” I say, smiling into my laptop.

  “Okay, we're friends.”

  His chat box appears with the words.“Hiya, hot stuff.” and a row of pink hearts.

  Cute...so we're flirting online are we? I suppose it's harmless enough.

  I send him a love cat.

  He sends me the love eyes.

  “I love your tattoos. Can I see the rest? I'm heavily into body art,” I type, sniggering quietly to myself and adding a ton more pink hearts. I send and watch for his reaction.