Can't Stand the Heat

by Shelly Ellis

  This is really strange, she thought as she placed a dinner plate on the countertop beside the oven.

  Cris must be the mellowest guy in the world. He didn’t seem at all phased at the idea of eating a dinner for a housewarming party by himself. She hadn’t even seen him check his cell phone or voice mail to see if people had called to say they would be late.

  I guess he’s used to it, she thought with a shrug as she grabbed some tongs and began to arrange pork chops on the plate. If I were him, though, I’d get a new set of friends.

  Minutes later, Lauren carried an entrée into Cris’s dining room. It was a massive space, but he had turned down the overhead lights and lit candles in candelabras at both ends of the table, filling the dining room with a soft orange glow that made it feel smaller, more intimate. With the white tablecloth, candles, and crystal stemware, she would even venture to call the space romantic, but Cris looked rather lonely sitting at the head of the table all by himself.

  “Here’s your dinner.” She placed the plate in front of him. She glanced at his now-empty wineglass. “Would you like more wine?”

  He smiled. “Yes, please.”

  Lauren leaned forward and reached for a bottle of merlot. She slowly poured the wine into his glass, feeling his gaze on her as she did it. He was making her nervous again. Her hands began to tremble and the palms grew moist. The neck of the bottle bobbed in her shaking hands, spilling wine over the side of the glass and onto the tablecloth.

  Her cheeks flushed with heat. “God, I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s OK. It’ll wash out. That’s what bleach was invented for.”

  She looked around the empty table. “I’m really sorry about your guests. I hope they’re all OK.”

  “They’re just missing out on an incredible dinner.” After taking a sip from his glass, Cris leaned down to smell his dish. He shook open a napkin and tossed it over his lap.

  “Mmm, smells good.” He licked his lips. “What did you say this was again?”

  “Well, these are herb-brined pork chops.” She proudly pointed down at the dish. “It’s served with a sweet pea and corn succotash and baked fingerling potato compote.”

  “That sounds like a mouthful.”

  “And hopefully it tastes like a mouthful.” She smiled before turning to walk out of the dining room. “Please, enjoy,” she said over her shoulder.

  “Uh, Lauren?”

  She stopped halfway down the dining room table and turned back around to face him. “Yes?”

  “I really don’t think my other guests are going to make it here tonight. There’s a lot of good food that’s going to be left over from this and I can’t eat all of it by myself. I’d hate for this to go to waste. Would you like to join me?”

  He looked up at her with that kind face and pleading eyes and she knew it would be nearly impossible to say no to him.

  She hesitated while furrowing her brows. “Are . . . are you sure?”

  His smile widened. “Of course, I’m sure. Make yourself a plate and pull up a chair.” To illustrate his point, he pulled out the chair closest to him and patted the upholstered cushion. “You’re my guest tonight.”

  Lauren laughed until tears almost ran down her cheeks as she finished the last of the raspberry chocolate mousse in her soufflé cup.

  She hadn’t expected to find herself laughing when they started eating dinner. Their meal began awkwardly, with her so nervous she could barely chew her food. But by the time they started eating dessert, she was completely at ease.

  She sat next to Cris with one leg tucked underneath her bottom. The buttons of her chef jacket were open, revealing the white tank top she wore underneath.

  “So Mark’s screaming at the top of his lungs and he’s standing on top of the bench and damn near climbing on top of the lockers trying to get away from this gerbil, right,” Cris said, continuing his story. “I’m standing there with my mouth open because I had no idea he was going to lose it like that. I mean, it’s some fan’s pet gerbil. It wasn’t like it was a cougar or a bear or somethin’.”

  Lauren held her stomach and continued to laugh as she shook her head. “There is no way he was that scared!”

  “I swear that’s exactly what he did.” Cris was laughing himself. “The only way we could get him down was to take the gerbil out of the locker room. And even then it took him a good twenty minutes to calm down. I mean, he’s a big dude: six foot five, three hundred twenty pounds. He has half of the quarterbacks in the NFL shaking in their shoes when they see him comin’ for them on the field, but put a gerbil in front of him and he’s not so big and bad anymore.” Cris shook his head. “We never let him live that one down. He kept finding stuffed toy gerbils in his locker for the next two seasons.”

  Lauren giggled. Her laughter began to slowly taper off as Cris resumed eating his mousse.

  “This is some good stuff,” he said with a mouthful of dessert as he pointed down at his cup with his spoon.

  “Glad you like it.” She tilted her head. “Cris, can I ask you something?”

  He looked up from his cup and nodded. “Of course.”

  “Is there any reason why you spell Cris without an ‘h’?”

  He gave a knowing smile, as if he had heard this question before.

  “I mean, if you don’t mind me asking. I know as a people we can get pretty creative with our name spellings. I was just wondering about yours.”

  “Well, Cris is short for Crisanto. A lot of guys have that name back in the Philippines where my mom’s from. I just shortened it.”

  “Why?”

  “Never liked it much,” he said with a casual shrug. “Besides, when you’re growing up in a neighborhood with guys named Tyrone and Hakeem, Crisanto stands out for all the wrong reasons. You know? I thought Cris sounded better . . . cooler.”

  “Crisanto,” she repeated softly, letting the word slide off her tongue. She then gave a thoughtful nod. “I think it’s nice. I like it. It sounds very exotic.”

  “It just sounds better when you say it.”

  Their eyes met again and Lauren felt the temperature rise in the echoing dining room. A thought suddenly popped into her head that he looked like he was going to kiss her and she badly wanted him to do it. But she pushed the thought aside as more nonsense. Lauren broke their mutual gaze and slowly rose from her dining room chair.

  “I should get started on the cleanup. It’s getting late.” He immediately stood from his chair, too, and dropped his dinner napkin on the table. “Lauren, you don’t have to worry about that. I can—”

  “No, no,” she argued, gathering plates, soufflé cups, and cutlery. “Remember, it’s full service. It’s the least I can do.” He followed her as she walked out of the dining room, laden with dirty dishes. “You paid me thirty-five hundred dollars and I ended up eating some of the food I cooked. At this point, I probably owe you money.”

  At that, an expression she was sure she was mistaking for guilt momentarily crossed his face. “Look, Lauren, I—”

  “I insist, Cris.” They stepped into the kitchen. She put the plates, forks, knives, and spoons in his sink. “It’s not that big of a deal. I can have this place cleaned up in less than an hour. You’ll see. It’ll be like I wasn’t even here.” She then reached for one of the platters of now-cold appetizers, preparing to dump the remaining food into a nearby trash bin.

  “Lauren.” He suddenly grabbed her wrist, stopping her.

  Her eyes leaped to his face in surprise. His touch sent chills through her. She swallowed loudly.

  “Yes, Cris,” she squeaked.

  “I . . . have a . . . confession to make.”

  Uh-oh, she thought. This doesn’t sound good.

  “I probably shouldn’t tell you this. I’m probably blowing it now, but it’s my rule not to play games and tonight, I broke it.”

  He let go of her wrist.

  “No one . . .” He paused. “No one came tonight because I . . . I didn’t invite anyone.”
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br />   “You didn’t invite anyone? But . . . but I thought you said you were throwing a party.” She looked around her with confusion. “Then what was all the food for?”

  He looked away from her. The expression of guilt returned to his face. “Well, when I tried to ask you out to dinner, you started to say no, so I had to come up with something quick that could still get you here but something that wasn’t a date-date. You know?”

  “A date-date?”

  “I knew we would enjoy dinner together. When I met you, there was just somethin’ about you. I figured I just came on too strong and had scared you off, but I could make up for it . . . tonight. You’d see what I was really like.”

  “So to get me here . . . you lied to me?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t call it a lie. It was more like—”

  “That’s what I would call it,” she insisted, “and I think any other woman would probably do the same.”

  “So I made a bad call?” He sighed and threw up his hands. “Look, just know that I had the best of intentions, here. I wasn’t trying to do anything underhanded. I just wanted to . . . get to know you better. That’s all.”

  Lauren pursed her lips again. She wasn’t sure how she felt about this revelation. She was angry that he had lied to her and carried out this ridiculous charade the entire evening. But the other part of her was, in some strange way, very flattered. This guy had gone above and beyond to get her out on a date: creating a fictitious dinner party and hiring her as a caterer to do it. Plus, she had enjoyed having dinner with him. She had had a ball! Cris was funny and charismatic. Not to mention, incredibly easy on the eyes. He made her second-guess her decision to hold off dating anyone for a while.

  “So are you going to walk out of here and never speak to me again?”

  The room fell into silence. “No, I guess not,” she finally uttered.

  He instantly smiled.

  “I understand why you did it. Sort of.”

  “To be honest, I was wondering if I was going to be able to pull it off. I’m not that good of an actor.”

  A hint of a smile finally crept to her lips. “You’re better than you think. You definitely had me convinced. I thought you had really rude dinner guests who didn’t bother to call to say they’d be late. And the way you were behaving, I just knew you weren’t attracted to me.”

  “You really thought I wasn’t attracted to you?”

  “Oh, yeah! Every now and then, I would pick up on something, but I thought I was just reading you wrong.”

  “Really? So you didn’t pick up that all night I’ve wanted to do this?”

  Lauren didn’t have a chance to respond before he cupped her face and lowered his mouth to hers. Her eyes widened in surprise as his warm lips pressed firmly against her own. She breathed in audibly, opening her mouth, and when she felt his tongue slip between her teeth, her eyes lowered. Her heart began to thud in her chest. She kissed him back tentatively, and before she knew it, her tongue was dancing with his. She let out a soft moan.

  This was what she wanted. This was what she had been fantasizing about and trying to deny herself.

  Cris released her face only to wrap his strong arms around her waist. She could feel herself being hoisted from the floor. Her feet dangled in the air and she wrapped her hands around his neck, holding on for dear life. She felt a warm stirring in the pit of her stomach that started to radiate across her entire body. It then concentrated between her legs and began to vibrate. She had never felt this way before, especially not with James, who made sex seem more like an obligation or a chore than an expression of passion and desire.

  When she felt Cris’s hands leave her waist and cup her bottom, a hardened mound pressed against her hip—an obvious sign of his arousal. Instinctively, she started to move against it, teasing it with her thigh, kneading it with her groin.

  “Slow this down, Lauren,” a voice said in her head. “Slow this down quick or you two are going to end up on top of that kitchen island behind you.”

  With a lot of effort, she wrenched her mouth away. When she opened her eyes, she saw that they were both breathing hard.

  “I think we should stop,” she whispered breathlessly. Cris paused, like he was debating with himself, then nodded in agreement. He lowered her to the floor. She brushed her hair out of her eyes. He cleared his throat. They gazed at one another, now unsure what to say. She stared longingly at his lips and caught herself. She looked away.

  If I don’t get out of here soon, we’re going to end up kissing again, she thought. And I’m not prepared for what might happen after that.

  “So you said you didn’t need me to clean up?” she asked, breaking the silence.

  “Uh, yeah, I can take care of it.”

  “OK,” she said quickly as she reached for her satchel. “Well, I guess I’ll head out now.”

  “Now?”

  “Yeah . . .” She gathered her knife kit. “I mean, if you don’t need me to stay.”

  “Uh.” He watched as she zipped around the kitchen grabbing her things. “I guess I don’t.”

  “OK, well, see you around,” she said with a wave. She almost ran to the kitchen exit.

  “Lauren?” Cris called after her.

  She stopped in her tracks and snapped her head around to face him.

  “Yeah,” she almost squeaked.

  “Are you free next Sunday? I could come and pick you up at, say . . . two o’clock.”

  “Say ‘no,’ Lauren,” a voice in her head urged. “Do you remember what it was like to kiss that guy? If you go out with him, it’s over. No more focusing on you. No more ‘Lauren improvement project.’ You’re going to fall for him and you’re going to get sidetracked. Say ‘no’!”

  “O-o-OK,” she heard herself stammer despite the warning, making Cris smile.

  Chapter 12

  Cris entered the farmer’s market, whistling an upbeat tune. He was going on a date with Lauren that afternoon. Moving to Chesterton no longer felt like self-imposed exile. He wasn’t in the NFL anymore, but at least he still had other things to look forward to: a new home, a new woman, and a new life.

  He grabbed a wooden basket and decided to head to the fresh produce aisle. He wanted to pick up a few things for today’s date. He couldn’t compete with Lauren when it came to cooking, and he didn’t plan to try, but he wanted to pack a picnic basket for the hot-air balloon ride he had planned for later. With a woman of discerning taste like Lauren’s, he knew he had to pack high-end stuff. He wanted to buy some strawberries, grapes, figs, and artisanal cheeses that would go perfectly with a chilled bottle of Dom Perignon.

  Cris smiled. He could see them now, sitting on a hilltop in rural Virginia, looking at the vibrant colors of the sunset over the horizon. In honor of the Fourth of July weekend, he had even arranged for a private fireworks display when it grew dark. Maybe the night would end with a repeat of the warm kiss they had shared the last time he saw her.

  Maybe if you’re lucky it’ll go a little farther than that, my friend, he thought to himself.

  But he wasn’t going to rush things. She obviously liked to take her time.

  He knew his plans for today were teetering on over the top, but he really wanted to go all out for her. She seemed sweet but so withdrawn. He wanted to push her out of her shell with a good time and a memorable evening.

  Cris glanced at the sign over the organically grown strawberries before grabbing two cartons. He tossed them into his basket. He did the same when he reached the Emperor grapes and then continued to stroll. As he drew near the glass display case filled with cheeses, he leaned down to examine them more closely. Suddenly, he felt a hard shove. He turned in surprise to find a woman in a red wrap dress kneeling on the ground, frantically gathering vegetables and fruits that had tumbled from her basket to the hardwood floors when she bumped into him.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed with embarrassment as she shoved her cell phone into what looked like a very expensive handbag. She reached for a roll
ing nectarine, then looked up at Cris. “Why didn’t I look where I was going? I am so sorry! So sorry! Really, I am.”

  Cris quickly dropped to one knee to help her. She looked up again at him before giving a loud sigh that ruffled the bangs that had fallen into her face. “Thank you so much!”

  “No problem. Don’t worry about it.” He handed her a bag of apples that had tumbled near the cheese counter.

  She was a beautiful woman, light-skinned with a trim figure. Her eyes were a warm hazel and framed with long, dark lashes, and her honey-brown locks cascaded over her slender shoulders and into one of her eyes. When they had gathered all of her spilled groceries and they had both slowly climbed to their feet, Cris got the nagging feeling that something about her seemed vaguely familiar. He just couldn’t pin where and when he had met her before.

  “I didn’t knock anything out of your basket, did I?” she asked with a grin as she brushed her bangs out of her eyes. “I’m so scatterbrained sometimes. I was talking on my cell phone and not paying attention and boom! I run into you.”

  “No, I’m fine. I’ve taken worse hits.”

  “Worse hits?” She pointed her index finger at him. “Hey, don’t I know you from somewhere? Aren’t you . . . aren’t you . . . a basketball . . . no! A football player?”

  He shook his head. “Not anymore. I retired from the NFL last year.”

  “Because of your injury. Right! I thought I knew you!” She snapped her fingers. “You’re Cris Weaver, right?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “I can’t believe it! I ran into the wide receiver for the Dallas Cowboys.” She leaned toward him and dropped her voice to a whisper. “You know, most of the people around here are Redskins fans, but personally, I’ve always preferred the Cowboys. Don’t tell anyone I said that, though.” She laughed affably and patted his shoulder.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t.”

  Cris noticed that the V-neck of her dress had dropped several inches lower. It looked like her wrap dress had inadvertently come open as she knelt on the floor. She was revealing a great deal of cleavage. The top of her leopard-print bra was showing.