by Zoe Norman
“That's nice to hear. I missed you too,” I reply.
Helping him off the hook—and delighted that he feels this way—I point up to the chalkboard over the counters, directing him to the coffee options. “See anything you like? I'm getting the hot chocolate. It's insane,” I promise.
He says that he'll have the same, and I stand up to place our order. He stands immediately.
“No way, Liv. I'm getting this.” He looks confused.
I laugh and gently push him back to sit in his chair. “Let me, really, I'd like to buy you a hot chocolate,” I plead.
He smiles, nods his head, and watches me walk away.
I order our drinks and a chocolate chip cookie for myself. Taking the cookie, I go sit down to wait for our drinks. I break a piece of the cookie off, placing it delicately on my tongue, relishing the taste of the melting chocolate. I moan audibly.
“Oh my God,” I sigh, really drawing out the words, “this is so good. Here, you have to try this. It's still warm.” I break off a piece, melted chocolate dripping off my fingers, and hold it out for him to take. Owen looks like a deer in headlights, staring at my mouth, watching my tongue lick off the last of the chocolate from my lips. He finally makes eye contact with me and takes my wrist lightly, guiding the cookie into his mouth. Then he runs his tongue over and around my fingers, sucking the chocolate off.
“Mmmm...you're right. Delicious.”
I feel a rush of moisture between my legs. Note to self: If we have sex again, it must include chocolate. Suddenly, two hot chocolates appear in front of us. The pretty waitress smiles and asks if we need anything else. Owen doesn't take his eyes off me, and I simply nod in her direction, thanking her. I take a sip of my hot chocolate and watch as he does the same. His eyes flutter shut as he gets his first taste of the liquid gold in the cup. I observe him intently, enjoying his reaction. He opens his eyes and smiles.
“Penny for your thoughts, beautiful?” he asks.
Just watching you drink that luscious beverage and wondering what it would be like to be curled up in your lap in front of a fire drinking hot chocolate and snuggling together. Instead, I give him a wink and say, “Just thinking, enjoying your reaction to your drink. It's amazing, isn't it?”
“How late do you have to work?” I wonder, taking another piece of my oozing cookie and putting it in my mouth.
“I work...I…umm… Sorry.” he blushes. For the love of all things holy, he is blushing. It's adorable. “I'm off at 1800 and, thankfully, am coming into my seventy-two hours off. ”
He watches me as I continue to eat my cookie and suck the chocolate off the pad of my thumb. I'm teasing him a little, and the reaction in his face and the sudden stiffness in his body lets me know that it's affecting him. I like that.
“Have dinner with me tomorrow night,” he blurts out. He looks as surprised by his question as I am. Notwithstanding this past weekend, it has been a really long time since I've felt like I was capable of turning a guy on—and even longer since I cared.
Aside from the fact that flirting with him and fucking him is amazing, Owen is bringing something that has long been buried out from inside me, and I feel oddly grateful for that. “I would love to have dinner with you tomorrow night, Owen” I say, taking a long sip of my drink.
He looks relieved. “Excellent. You're not on any gluten-free, non-dairy, no sugar, no taste but cardboard diet, are you?”
I shake my head no.
“Good. I already know you like meat, so…” He smiles at me over his cup, and I crack up, throwing my head back laughing. His sense of humor is exactly like mine, and it's a connection I really like.
As we continue to laugh, we are assaulted by a high-pitched noise. Owen jumps and looks down at his side, pulling his radio from its holder on his belt.
“Shit,” he grits out. He presses some buttons to make the beeping stop and looks back up at me, disappointed. “I'm really sorry, Olivia, but I need to run. I'm sorry…” He stands up quickly and pushes his chair back in under the table. He comes around to my side and leans over, kissing me chastely on the lips. After tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear, he leans toward me. “I'll text you my address. You don't need to bring anything”—he moves in closer to whisper in my ear—“but I would love for you to wear something sexy for me.”
I'm swimming a little because of his kiss. I realize I was hoping he would do that, and wow, my whole body lit up. I flush a little at his words but quickly recover and turn toward him, our mouths millimeters away.
"I'll be sure to put some thought into my outfit. If you're going to cook for me, the least I can do is provide you with something pretty to look at." I give him a smirk. "Now go before the city burns down without you." Purely on impulse, my hand reaches up to push his hair from his eyes and I slide my lips over his.
“Mmm...that's nice,” he murmurs. “Let's do more of that tomorrow night,” he smiles, lifting his eyebrows. “But now, I need to save the city.” He stands up straight and pounds his fist into his chest like a gorilla. I laugh. “Tomorrow night, Olivia.” He takes one step before quickly turning back to the table. As if it was an afterthought, Owen quickly reaches for his mug of now slightly cooled hot chocolate and take three large gulps. “Mmm, that really is good,” he says murmurs. “Okay, gotta go. And, hey, you can check out my ass on my way out.”
I put my hand over my mouth, laughing as three old women at the neighboring table turn their heads to do just that. They look pleased with what they see, not that I can blame them, and I give him a wave and a laugh as he walks out the door.
Once I have finished my drink, I head back out into the street in the hopes of finding a cab. One pulls up rather quickly and I slip in. As we approach the Brooklyn Bridge, we see lots of brake lights and I decide now would be a great time to call Charley.
The phone rings several times, and just as I'm thinking the voicemail will pick up, I hear her breathy voice, “Hello? Liv?”
“Hey, sweet girl. How are you?” I ask, so happy to hear her voice.
“I'm fantastic actually. I am running some errands because tonight I'm going out with Marc! Can you believe it?” She is overexcited and giddy, and it's infectious.
“Get out of here. How crazy is that!” I say, flabbergasted. “Did he call you or did you reach out to him?”
“Oh my God, Liv, it was karma. I was reading your text about meeting up with Owen for coffee and bingo. He calls. Out of the blue! He wants to take me to dinner. Somewhere fancy. I'm so excited.”
I listen to her tell me some more about their plans—and more importantly, her plans to dress to the nines tonight and potentially give him a blowjob after their dinner. She has me laughing the entire long ride home over the bridge.
When I finally get to the other side, she asks, “Holy crap, Liv. I forgot about your coffee date with Owen. How did it go?”
“He's cooking me dinner tomorrow night, actually. So it went really well.” My voice trails as I think about him, and I smile.
I hear her make a breathy sound on the other end, and I can actually hear her smiling. “Oh, Liv. That is wonderful. I'm so happy for you.”
“Yeah. I, uh… This is pretty cool. I'm really looking forward to tomorrow.”
“Just remember what I said, Liv. Give him a chance. Don't run. Just try and enjoy it. There's nothing wrong with being happy.”
I nod and let out a huff of breath. “I know. I hear you. I promise I'll try and have fun and not stress.”
She finishes our conversation with a few more words of wisdom, including some lingerie ideas, and we end the call by professing our love for each other and promising to reconnect after our prospective dates. I pay the cabbie and step out into the New York afternoon.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Owen
After I'm showered and shaved, I walk into my living room with a white cotton towel slung low and tight around my waist. I plug in my phone to my surround sound system and select the Ray LaMontagne stat
ion on Pandora. I want something light and sexy, and damn it if Ray isn't a romantic bastard. Ray starts crooning as I walk back into my room to look for something to wear.
After a little thought, I decide to wear a navy polo shirt and a pair of dark jeans. I dab on a little cologne, mess with my hair a bit more, and make my way to the kitchen barefoot. Recalling that Olivia likes white wine, I grab a bottle of Sancerre Sauvignon Blanc out of my wine fridge.
I caught up with Marc earlier today when he called me to specifically ask about Olivia. I asked him how the hell he knew I had a date with Olivia tonight. He confesses that he went out with Charley last night and she told him. Marc pulled out all the stops for his date with Charley too by taking her to dinner at Lola and dessert at Icon Grill, both famed Seattle restaurants. Sounds like it worked out for him too. He wouldn't delve into it, but he did allude to the fact that both of them went home “satisfied.” I'm happy for the shithead.
I check the clock and a rush of nervousness tingles in my ears and flushes over my body. She'll be here in about twenty minutes. Here. To my apartment. What was I thinking inviting her here? I threw my own rules out the window in my anxiousness to see her again. I don't do this. I never take women back to my place. Despite my apprehension to have Olivia over, it feels natural in an odd, unexplainable way. I spoke with Travis earlier today too, and of course, he wanted the Olivia update. He was happy to hear that I'd finally called her and gave me props for inviting her over.
“Way out of your comfort zone, O, but it's a good thing. You gotta take big risks in order to get big rewards,” Travis told me. Why does he need to be so damn smart?
I rush around my kitchen, pulling out the steaks and dousing them in my dad's secret concoction of spices and salts for a kickass rub. The semi-homemade rolls are just about finished, and the broccoli is rinsed and drained in the colander. The table is set, complete with a white linen tablecloth and the napkins I borrowed from Claire. She said that I needed to “set the mood,” so I picked up some white roses and candles too.
I hear the door buzzer as I take the rolls out of the oven. Placing the hot pan on the stovetop, I shuffle over to the intercom. “Olivia?”
“It's me!” she calls back. I can almost hear her smile through the intercom.
“Hi. I'll let you in.” I hit the button, unlocking the building door for her.
I unlock my own door and come out into the hallway, watching as she climbs the stairs. She's wearing a short black dress with a zipper that runs up the back that I'm assuming is part of the design of the dress. The irony is not lost on me, and I chuckle to myself. I'm praying that the zipper gods are with me tonight—no mishaps like last time. Her dark hair is down, long, and curled—just how I like it. Her makeup is soft and natural, but her lips are painted a deep, dark red. She's dressed to thrill with sexy shoes to match. My dick twitches as I envision them resting on my shoulders later and my heart starts to pump harder as my thoughts wander, wondering what lingerie she may be wearing underneath that tight black dress. She's like my very own gift waiting to be unwrapped.
“Wow. You do not disappoint, Miss Burke. You look amazing,” I call out as the sounds of Amos Lee's Arms of a Woman flood the hallway.
“Thank you for the compliment,” Olivia says as she reaches my landing.
I usher her into my apartment and close the door behind us.
“Wow, great place.” she says as she walks farther into my apartment and looks around.
When I rehabbed the building, I asked my designer for something masculine, comfortable, and warm for my apartment. Luckily for me, she read me like a well-used book and now I have a place with an open floor plan that's rustic and, well, elegantly simple. The colors and furnishings are masculine with woods and dark blues and browns.
“Thank you,” I say simply as I turn towards her.
“Something smells really, really good. Tell me that's not your neighbor's cooking?” Olivia says, turning to giving me a wink.
“It's not my neighbor's cooking. Thank you very much for your vote of confidence in my cooking abilities, by the way,” I reply sarcastically with a chuckle. I walk towards her, take hold of her hips, and pull her towards me, giving her a lingering, welcoming kiss.
“Mmmm…you taste delicious though.” Olivia's tongue darts out to lick her bottom lip, tasting me.
“I hope you're hungry.” I move around Olivia and take her hand, pulling her into the kitchen with me. “I just pulled some rolls out of the oven and the grill is ready for steaks. Would you like a glass of wine? I have some Sauvignon Blanc chilled for you. I hope that's okay?” I ask, pulling two wine glasses out from the top of the cupboard.
Olivia leans against the counter as I set down the wine glasses. “It's perfect. Thank you. I'd love a glass.”
She scans around my chef's kitchen complete with a subzero fridge and double oven. Walking around towards the set table, she smiles, running her finger along the pressed white linens and bending to smell the fresh flowers.
“I'm impressed, Owen. You went through a lot of work for this dinner. You must be hoping I'll put out or something,” Olivia says with a smirk.
Her comment catches me off guard and the wine that I'm pouring absently misses the glass, dribbling onto the countertop. “I would never assume, Olivia, but I can hope,” I reply as I reach for a dish towel to clean up the spilled wine.
Olivia watches me intently as I finish pouring the wine. I hand her the glass and we clink them together.
“To a fun, relaxing evening,” I say. “Thank you for joining me tonight.” Olivia smiles and nods before we each take a first sip of wine.
“How was the rest of your shift last night? Have you been with the fire department long?”
“I had a few calls during the day. It was really nice to see you yesterday, by the way. I'm sorry I had to ditch you like that. Hopefully my dinner and stellar company will make up for that.” I wink at her and clink my wine glass with hers again, like casting a penny into a fountain for good luck.
“To answer your question, I've been with the department for about eight years now and this particular firehouse for just about five. How about you?” I ask, moving to the other side of the island to get the steaks ready for grilling. “How long have you been a psychologist? What part of the city do you live in?”
Olivia takes another long sip of her wine before answering and observes me closely as I move about the kitchen. “Well, I graduated with my Ph.D. six years ago but didn't start doing research at NYU until, I don't know, four years or so ago?”
I pile the two steaks onto a plate and nod my head toward the back garden for her to follow me as she talks.
“And I live in Chelsea right now. It's a small apartment. Single living in the city, you know,” she continues, letting out a halfhearted chuckle. “Anyway, you're pretty lucky to have the roof-top apartment in this building, it's breathtaking.”
“Thanks. I know the landlord.”
She slowly takes another drink and surveys the beautifully landscaped patio complete with a massive grill and a table with soft, plush seats. “Does your mom live in the city too?”
No, my mom still lives in the same house I grew up in actually—in Connecticut, just outside of New Haven. I've tried getting her to move a little closer, but she chooses her big house and yard over her kids.” I give Olivia a wink to let her know I'm kidding and she smiles knowingly.
I arrange the steaks on the grill and take a moment to listen to them sizzle before I grab my wine and sidle up beside Olivia. She's looking out over the railing, towards the buildings and across the Hudson River with the Brooklyn Bridge in the distance.
“I put this little oasis together so she'd have something to do when she visits occasionally. My sister and her husband live on Long Island so I get to see them semi-regularly. What's your family situation? Where do your parents live? I know you mentioned you had a brother. Simon, right?”
Olivia finishes the last of her wine and sets her g
lass down on the table. “Yes. Simon.” she smiles, clearly impressed that I remembered. “I grew up in New York, a little farther upstate. My folks still live there. My father is a cop and my mother was a stay-at-home mom. I have an older brother, Simon, who I told you about. He and his fiancée live in the city too.”
“A cop, huh? Cool.” He sounds like my kind of guy. We can swap stories when I meet him.
What am I thinking?
“My dad was a senator and my mom was a senator's wife—a full-time job in itself.” I step around Olivia to readjust the steaks on the grill. I take a gulp of my wine and continue. “My younger sister, Emily, is a high school English teacher, God knows why, and her husband is a cop on Long Island. No kids for them yet, but I'm hoping they'll remedy that soon. I'm gonna make a kick-ass uncle,” I grin.
Olivia looks up, like she's looking through me as if deep in thought. She shakes her head and focuses back on me. “Could I have another please?” she asks, picking up her empty wine glass.
“Absolutely, but I'm going to make you work for it.” I smirk as I take her glass from her fingers. She lifts an eyebrow and looks at me curiously. I start to walk back into the kitchen, Olivia following close behind.
“And just what will you make me do, Owen?” She's cautious. Smart girl.
“How handy are you with a knife?” I reach around her body to grab a sharp knife from the cutlery block sitting atop the counter. She's so close I can catch a whiff of her shampoo. Lemon verbena may be my new favorite scent. “You cut up the broccoli and I'll get the steamer going after I get us both another glass of wine. Deal?”
Olivia smiles up at me and carefully takes the knife from my fingers before turning away from me to grab a stalk of broccoli from the colander. “I think that's a fair exchange and one I can definitely handle." She starts to chop the broccoli and places them in the steamer basket sitting next to her as I refill our glasses.
I stand behind her and place her filled glass on the counter in front of the cutting board she's using. Leaning into her, I press my chest against her back and she goes still, waiting for my next move. I nuzzle my nose into her luscious hair and inhale while twirling a silky curl around my finger. Olivia lays down the sharp knife and turns to face me. She reaches on her tiptoes and gives me a chaste kiss on the jaw.