Twisted Desire

by M. Mabie

  She bit at her cheek, then asked. “And you think you could get a handle on me?” She was mocking, but her tone was polite. So again, I answered carefully.

  “I don’t know.”

  She approved of my answer. It made her grin and her gray eyes shine.

  “You don’t know? That’s interesting.” She relaxed against the cushion on the back of the stool. “So you’re attracted to me,” she contended.

  There was nothing skeptical about my dick when it was pressed into her hip. We both knew that. Her point was moot.

  Skeptically, she continued with one brow cocked. “But you’re not sure yet if you like me because I don’t fall in line. Because I’m not falling at your feet.”

  I hated and enjoyed the way she pushed me. When I finished my drink, I answered, “You’re not falling at my feet because I carried you here, and I never said I was attracted to you.”

  I leaned over the counter onto my forearms.

  It had been quite a workout moving all those boxes, and it was Friday. I was worn out, too.

  I could see it in her eye, she was about to argue. So I added, “Although I am.”

  She smiled ever so slightly, and then it was gone before she asked, “Then why didn’t you kiss me?” She was being so candid, and, for the first time, she was asking me questions. Opening the lines of communication. It was an improvement.

  I took another drink because I still wasn’t sure about what had happened.

  Did she want me to?

  “That’s one of the things that’s bothering me, actually,” I admitted.

  This had her attention and she sat quietly waiting. When she wasn’t being defensive or on point, she was so much prettier. I watched her over the rim of my glass and took my time.

  Finally, she accused, “You probably only kiss women who are monogamous.”

  “That and...” I stopped. I still didn’t fully understand all of it yet myself. “And I wanted you to kiss me.”

  For the first time in my life, I wanted Nora to come to me in a way I’d never wanted from a woman before. It was a very different kind of want with her. Typically, I craved the anticipation in a woman’s eyes as she waited for me. For my mouth. My hands. Or otherwise.

  We sat there in the silence of my apartment. No music. No television. No sound. Only the clink of the crystal against the counter after we took turns drinking.

  “Well, I don’t want to lead you on, and I’m certain we want different things.”

  That was a loaded statement, but it sounded more like an excuse.

  She didn’t want to lead me on?

  Did that mean she wanted to kiss me, too?

  Or did it mean that she really wasn’t interested in me, and she was only saying she was attracted to me because I’d surprised her and she wasn’t sure what to say?

  I hated confusion.

  I resorted back to what I knew: collect information.

  I stood and leaned my hip into the island. “Did I frighten you when I picked you up?”

  She held my gaze. “No. I liked it.”

  Fuck. She’s sexy when she’s sweet.

  There was one thing I couldn’t get past. I couldn’t tolerate not knowing if I would be enough for her. “Will you ever be satisfied with one man?”

  Her face fell, and she replied, “I don’t think so. Will you ever be satisfied with sharing your lover?”

  God, no. My stomach constricted from the thought. I didn’t want anyone else to fucking touch her.

  Ten.

  We were at a mutual end pass.

  I’d never be able to handle the thought of her with anyone but me, if we were together.

  And pursuing her in that way, it seemed, I was only setting myself up for failure—something I never did—if I ever even got the chance to be with her.

  I ran my hands over my face.

  She’d said she wouldn’t be satisfied with only one person. I wouldn’t want someone I couldn’t please completely.

  My jaw ticked, and I answered, “No.”

  I probably only saw what I wanted, but she looked just as crestfallen as I felt. “So what then?” she asked.

  Even though I knew I wasn’t going to get what I wanted, I surprisingly felt like the best move was to settle. Settle for what? I didn’t know.

  There was more to her though. More layers to investigate.

  I wasn’t ready for it to end.

  I wasn’t ready to write her off.

  Nora was interesting and quite refreshing. She grated on my damn nerves, but despite the panic, I liked the feeling that came with being outside of my tidy box. She was sure about herself, and I respected that. She’d never actually teased me like she’d mentioned and was honest as far as I knew. I wasn’t ready to be finished getting to know her.

  “Friends?” I offered.

  She smiled, it wasn’t that perfect small one I liked the most, but it was half there.

  “Do you think you can handle that?” She still challenged me, even though I’d all but agreed to step back.

  She never quit, but neither did I.

  “What? Being friends? I think so,” I said confidently, maybe more than I actually felt.

  As she looked up to the ceiling of my condo, I fought down the urge to climb across the granite and change her mind. Fix it. Get what I wanted. Show her what she was turning down. It was a cocky thing to think, but my instincts were rarely wrong.

  I could please her.

  There was something about her that made me want to touch her all the time. I wanted to take care of her. Although, she didn’t need me. I wanted to help her. To serve her.

  If she wanted to be friends, I’d succeed. That I was sure of.

  “So no more asking me out then?” I couldn’t tell how she felt about that question, one way or the other. Her voice was level and measured.

  I stalled and filled her not-quite-empty glass to the top.

  I wanted to see her, but I wanted it to be on her terms. I wouldn’t chase her; it would be much more fucking rewarding if she came to me.

  “Not unless something changes.”

  That was totally fair. If she changed her mind, I could change mine, too. A loophole. I was proficient in loopholes.

  “Like what?” She tilted her head, and her hair fell off her shoulder. A wicked expression glowed on her face, and I wished in that moment I could read her thoughts.

  What do you want me to change? I’ll change it.

  I’d change anything. Well... almost.

  “If you decided you’d want to try something closer to monogamous, I’d be interested in knowing first.” I crooked an eyebrow at her.

  She mirrored my expression, then I saw the smile I liked best. I fucking wanted to lick that tiny space between her lips. In a friendly way. I’m a man of my word—but my thoughts were no holds barred.

  “That would be a change. A big one,” she said animatedly.

  “Anything can happen.”

  “Sure. And if you decide you’d be interested in an open type of arrangement, you’ll let me know.”

  She’d thrown down her terms. Even if it didn’t seem like it, it was major progress. Now I knew, without uncertainty, what it would take. She’d said it herself. Then, her overcast grey eyes flared like she’d misspoken, but I saw it.

  “You’ll be the very first to know, Nora.”

  “So friends?”

  “Best friends,” I countered, half teasing. On the level though, I don’t do anything by halves. I was all the way serious.

  “Whoa, don’t get ahead of yourself. I don’t know a thing about you. And there’s a fine chance, you won’t like me anyway.”

  “All true.” I deadpanned, and her mouth fell open. Then, I asked, “What do you want to know?”

  She sipped her wine trying to come up with a question. It felt like waiting for a dare.

  “Tell me about your family, please.”

  I liked—really fucking liked—the way please sounded from her lips, so I c
omplied. I would take my small wins any way they came.

  “My parents live in Seattle. My brother, Shane, is a computer programmer. My younger sister, Blake, is a chef.”

  She perked up. “A chef. That’s interesting.”

  It was, and I was proud of Blake for finding something she loved and pursuing it. “She’s just starting out. Working her way up.”

  “I love food. I’m a food snob,” she said, and her eyes lit up. “I really get into it.”

  I’d really get into you.

  Keep talking, Reggie.

  “Do you cook?”

  “No. Not really. I mean, I can, but I’m rarely home. I love eating new things though. I try everything.”

  I bet you do. Change it up again. Keep her on her...

  “How’s the toe?”

  “On life support, but thanks for the ice.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She looked under the pack and wiggled her toes. The pain that had been there earlier didn’t show on her face. “I’ll survive.”

  The talk of food reminded me I hadn’t eaten since lunch. I was hungry and definitely felt a need for something in the pit of my stomach.

  I looked at my watch and concluded what my quickest options were and decided. “I’m going to order food from the Greek place down the street, would you like something?”

  “Yes. I’m starving.”

  I all but relent on asking her out to dinner, then she answers that quick to join me? More mixed signals.

  And starving? I opened my refrigerator and found some chicken salad, and then took crackers out of the cupboard. As I was getting a few forks for our snack, she opened the container, scooped a pile onto a cracker, and popped it into her mouth.

  She wasn’t shy. Not even a fucking little.

  I scrolled through my phone and found the number but wanted to get her order before I called. “What do you like? They have fantastic gyros, and they have a steak and feta pita that’s pretty good. Decent hummus.”

  I held my phone up as I spoke. She grabbed it from me, which caught me off guard.

  “Is this the number?” she asked and held it up to show the contact info.

  What the hell?

  “It is.”

  “I’ll call,” she said and pressed the send button. Then like a smartass added, “for you.”

  It was possible she understood me more than I gave her credit for. Then again, I hated that she mocked me.

  “Yes, hello. Good evening. I’d like an order for delivery. Sure.” She smiled that bright, work smile of hers and waited, blinking quickly. Acting.

  Her fingers strummed across my counter, her patience tapping on repeat.

  Four. Three. Two. One.

  Four. Three. Two. One.

  “No problem. Okay. Do you have Dakos? Great. No capers. What about myzithra?” Blink. Blink. Blink. “Manouri? Awesome. Yeah, only one order of pita chips. That should be plenty. Do you have Avgolemono? Perfect. And an order of thin shaved Chicken Souvlaki.”

  How in the fuck did she know all that?

  She looked at me as she waited again.

  “Yes, there’s more. We also need some steak pita thing.” Then she laughed like she was making fun of me. “I don’t know. Just a second. Do you want the Tzatziki sauce on the side, Sir Frownsalot?”

  I wasn’t amused, but she didn’t care. “No. On it is fine.”

  How did she know those foods by memory?

  “Oh, and some hummus. Yeah. I know. And one order of Baklava. Hell if I know,” she said to whoever was on the line. Then she snickered again. “Oh, hold on a second.” She lunged the phone at me. “She wants your address. I have cash.”

  I’d never seen someone order Greek food like that. I was perplexed. She’d out-fucking-ordered me.

  What was all that shit? And why didn’t I know about Greek food like she did?

  “Hello?”

  “Yes, can I get the address for delivery?”

  “Sure. 750 Lake Shore Drive. Apartment 1213.”

  Then they told me the total, that it would be about thirty minutes, and hung up.

  I still didn’t know what to think, and I scratched my head.

  The confused look on my face pleased Nora because she wore a very mischievous, very proud of herself smirk.

  “I told you I was a food snob.”

  What else was she?

  There had to be a better explanation than that. “Have you been to Greece?”

  “No. Not yet. Maybe some time.” She tapped the rim of her glass, indicating she wanted more.

  I poured and said, “You must eat a lot of Greek food. That was some order.”

  “No. I read a lot of cookbooks.”

  Who in the fuck reads cookbooks?

  I paced in my kitchen. My mind was spinning and a familiar fuzziness formed. I needed to focus.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  I shook my head, but answered, “I’m fine.”

  She opened her purse, retrieved her wallet, and counted out some bills.

  Now she was paying, too?

  “Here’s eighty. That should cover everything and the tip.”

  It would?

  She was fast. I felt so inadequately lost.

  I wasn’t going to count, but I had to calm down.

  I wanted to slow her down. For her to find my speed. But the rush she gave me was kind of thrilling. Even if I didn’t appreciate the panic that came along with it.

  She sat there like she hadn’t just bested me and attacked the chicken salad again. I supposed if I were going to be her friend, I’d have to get used to it.

  I abandoned my fork, too, and dove in after her.

  She was leading this, and I’d accept it.

  For now.

  FOURTEEN

  PAST

  NORA—Friday, June 27, 2008

  I could do whatever I wanted.

  Especially, lead an adult conversation.

  It was small, but impressing him with my ordering skills put fresh wind in my sail.

  If he was some misogynist, he was going to get a rude awakening from me. Either he’d be turned off by the end of the night, or I would. He’d lose interest quickly, especially if I kept dismissing his attempts to out-will me.

  But I couldn’t deny, it was fun pushing his buttons while I still had the chance.

  Soon enough he’d return his focus to someone who enjoyed being consumed. He’d find someone else to chase, and with that thought, my stomach rolled. I really was starving after all.

  Nevertheless, I could be nice. He had helped me a lot and had been really kind about my toe. He didn’t even make fun of how I had been an overdramatic baby about it.

  I’d buy dinner. On the same night I told him to quit asking me out, no less.

  I had to give him some credit, but that was all I was going to give him as I sat there in his kitchen, eating his yummy chicken salad goodness.

  I couldn’t let things get out of hand. Especially, since he’d just emptied the wine bottle into his glass. On my empty stomach, the wine had begun to alter my decision making. It was immature showing off like I had.

  Don’t get drunk, Nora.

  Don’t think about the hallway, Nora.

  Pretend you can’t still feel his hands on you, Nora.

  We had a deal, and it was only about fifteen minutes old.

  I wasn’t changing my mind. Nothing had changed.

  The food came, and the wine continued to loosen us both up. I didn’t know if it was thanks to the alcohol, but my foot felt much better. Since I’d made such a fuss about it, I didn’t let on that I was probably good to go without the ice pack. Which, by the way, he’d changed out for another cold one by the time we were both stuffed on cheese and meat.

  “Did you like the soup?” I asked.

  For a man who tried to come off knowing everything, it sure was fun watching him try something new, almost against his will. As if he didn’t have any other option, but to try or lose.
/>
  I wondered if he’d ever try other things. Different things.

  Experiment with me.

  No. Not with me. With food. Like French cuisine.

  No more wine, Nora.

  I liked how he studied what he was unfamiliar with prior to eating it, and, of course, that meant about twenty questions, but I was getting used to him. He was supremely thorough. Captivatingly so.

  I wonder if he studies new women like that before he eats them.

  Plus, as it turned out, I was starting to agree with his mother more and more. He was handsome and funny—in a dry, annoying way.

  “The soup was good.” He topped my glass off with the last of our second bottle. He’d had an excellent red wine chilled. I suspected he would though, so I pretended like it was no big deal.

  Still, I knew my wine, and that was a hundred-dollar bottle.

  I had half of it.

  My cash for the food still lay on the counter. He completely ignored it when he went to the door and paid from his wallet. I got a thrill from getting him riled up, so I left it there.

  “I’ve had enough,” I said before he opened another bottle. I didn’t want good wine to go to waste, and I know I would have stayed for more. “I’ve got a lot of stuff to do tomorrow.”

  He motioned to his mouth, and my eyes stayed there when he said, “Your lips are stained.”

  I ran my fingers over them, knowing he was probably right.

  Why weren’t his? How did he do that?

  The ice pack was room temperature, and I lifted it off my foot, which still sat on the stool beside me.

  He’d moved an empty stool around to the other side of the island to eat. I liked that. Being face to face with him. He was attractive when he didn’t look annoyed.

  I stood and reached for my tiny purse.

  “Want some help?” he asked as he rose, too.

  My foot was still sore, and it probably would be the next day, but it was fine. “I can make it.” I gave him a little smile for being thoughtful, and he gave me one back.

  “I hoped it was feeling better, but I meant help tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow? Unpacking?

  “No. I’ll probably turn on CNN and get it done.”

  Why didn’t I say music?

  His brows bunched. “The news?”

  “I like to stay up to the minute on current events.” God, I sounded like a fucking station commercial, but hated listening to music.