He raises his hands in surrender. “There’s no game. I swear, what you see is what you get.”
“So all you want is to sleep with me? Once?”
He swallows hard and rubs the side of his neck. I’m guessing he’s either nervous or impatient. “I never said once. You assumed the worst of me. What I said was that the second time would be up to you.”
“You’re weird,” I say, almost resigned.
“C’mon, Grace. What do you have to lose? I know that you like me.”
“Oh, you do?” I say losing my composure. “To be honest, Nate, I did like you and I still do to some degree, but I’m definitely liking you less and less as this keeps going in circles and your strangeness just keeps getting stranger.”
“When you’re in my arms, I know you feel the truth,” he says.
“How do you know what I feel?”
“Because I feel it, too. We’re feeling it together.”
I cover my face with both hands. How can a man seem like both a gift and a curse to me at the same time? I swing my body around and walk to the kitchen. I wish my place was bigger, with a second floor maybe and plenty of rooms I could disappear into for a moment or two to collect my thoughts.
Nate doesn’t follow me so I gulp down what’s left in a wine bottle which isn’t much. Nowhere near enough to fortify me in my dealings with this persistent, gorgeous lunatic who makes my knees weak and my senses leery.
When I return to the living room, he’s by the door. My heart feels a pang as I realize he’s thinking of leaving again. What on Earth is it that I really want? Maybe I should just take him up on his offer so the infuriating circle of madness will be broken? Lord knows I can’t stop thinking about him.
“You don’t have to go,” I say weakly.
“No,” he says. “It just hit me that you’re not enjoying this. I’ll see you at the shelter after Thanksgiving.”
He puts his hand on the door handle when I step next to him and grab him by the arm. “I do,” I say.
He glances at me inquisitively. “What do you mean?”
“I like you,” I mumble, letting go of his arm. “You’re not wrong.”
It’s his turn to grab my arm. “And?”
“Am I ready to jump into the sack with you?” I say, doing my best to hold his gaze. “I don’t know. I’m not the impulsive type. It takes me time to process these type of feelings.”
“Doesn’t attraction happen naturally?” he says, furrowing his brow. “No processing necessary.”
“Maybe, but attraction is not the whole story,” I say, faking a smile.
He nods, accepting my statement reluctantly. He’s probably tired of us going in circles as well. “Can I stay if I promise to be good?”
“You can stay either way,” I say inviting him to sit.
His face lights up as if I had just told him he won the lottery. His charm and insane good looks are even more striking when he acts like an impressionable boy.
He sits down while I put some music on and bring out two new unscented candles I got from the shop.
“What’s that music?” he says, throwing a curious glance at me.
“It’s Arabic jazz,” I say. “Don’t ask me about musician names, they’re hard to remember. Taylor made this compilation for me.” I can’t stop talking. I guess it’s better than saying nothing.
“Taylor?”
“My friend. I think you met her at her shop.”
“You never introduced us,” he says.
“Well, next time then.”
“Come sit here,” he says, patting the empty spot on the loveseat.
“I think it’s better if we sit on the floor,” I say after a short hesitation. “I have some snacks.”
“Food? You actually have food in the apartment?”
“It happens,” I say.
I disappear into the kitchen to catch my breath. I return maybe too fast with a tray loaded with olives, crackers, cheese, cashews and celery sticks. I place our measly feast on the coffee table.
“What do you have to say now?” I say as I take my place on the floor opposite him with the coffee table between us.
“I’m impressed. And starving.” He digs into the food so fast I think it won’t last for a minute. He slows down, though, to take a long sip out of the water bottle I’ve placed in front of him.
“When was the last time you ate?” I ask him as he grabs more food.
“Hmm, sometime yesterday,” he says with his mouth full.
“Yesterday? How do you stay in such top shape if you don’t eat?”
“Today was a fluke. I’ve been busy.”
“Too busy to eat?”
He has no intention of answering me. Too invasive of a question.
“Hey, we’ve got company,” he says, pointing at the window.
A small, orange tubby cat stares at us with its paws against the outside glass. It’s meowing but it’s soundless from this side of the glass.
“That’s Lilly,” I say, getting up. “It’s the neighborhood cat. She likes to visit sometimes.”
“What do you mean the neighborhood cat?” he says as I let Lilly in.
“Honestly? I think I’m just embarrassed to admit I’ve never met her owners even though they live in this very same apartment complex.”
He calls to Lilly and she jumps onto his lap without a second thought. Nate’s great with animals and I guess there’s no better recommendation for a man. Lilly starts purring as he tickles her belly as if they’re old acquaintances.
“Wow, she’s taken to you faster than I expected. She was quite shy with me at first.”
“Maybe you trained her,” he says before he kisses her nose. I realize I’m jealous of that kiss and I wouldn’t mind one myself. Not on my nose maybe but I’d take anything really.
“Where have you been staying, Nate?”
“Here and there,” he says, not looking at me.
“Do you think you can be a little more specific than that?”
“I’m fine, Grace. Although–” he says, stopping in mid thought.
“Although what?”
His fingers keep playing with Lilly’s fur and she’s loving every second. “I wouldn’t mind staying here tonight. Actually, till after Thanksgiving.”
I can see an apology already forming on his lips so I rush to answer. “Yes.”
“Yes?”
“You can stay. But no funny business.”
His surprise is so obvious it makes me laugh. “So, my obsessive behavior hasn’t put you off completely?” he says.
“Define completely.”
He unleashes his carefree, sexy grin for the first time tonight.
“Nate, you are a lot to take in,” I explain. “And you know it.”
“That doesn’t sound all positive.”
“We’ll see,” I say.
He gently sets Lilly on the floor patting her on the head one last time before giving her the last slice of cheese. “I have avoided getting close to people for some time,” he says. “I haven’t felt that comfortable around a human being in a long time.”
My heart stops at his words. Is he finally opening up? I feel a sudden desire to confide in him as well. “I haven’t exactly been a party girl myself.”
“When was the last time you had a boyfriend?”
“I don’t want to tell you that.”
“It’s been that long?” he teases me.
“How long has it been for you?” I fight back.
His expression changes to somber. “I can’t even remember.”
“Seriously?”
He nods. “Truly.”
Okay, I don’t know how to process this. He’s my age. I can’t imagine how he’s been able to keep women away with his looks. It wasn’t that long ago that he did modeling for crying out loud.
“I never know when you tease,” I say.
“I’m not teasing. Now it’s your turn. How long?”
“It’s been a while,” I say. A
fter some hesitation, I add, “I don’t actually mind it.”
“What don’t you mind?” he says, picking up the water bottle.
“Not having a boyfriend. Or sex.”
He just about gags on the water. “Sex? You haven’t had sex in a while?”
“Why so surprised? Isn’t this what we’ve been discussing?”
“We were talking relationships, not sex.”
It finally hits me. Those are two completely different things for him. “So, when you said you couldn’t remember your last girlfriend, you didn’t mean you couldn’t remember the last time you had sex.”
He shakes his head. “How come you don’t care about sex?”
I can see I’ve created some kind of new obsession for him. I might as well get it out of the way. “Sex just stopped being very fulfilling.” I stop, uncertain how much I should reveal.
“Fulfilling?”
“Can you please stop repeating my words? I feel like I’m paying you by the hour, Doctor Freud.”
He smiles. “I do that a lot, don’t I?”
“You do.”
“Do you have orgasms?”
I go red all the way to my ears. I didn’t expect that type of candor. “Is this you not acting like Freud?”
“You’re avoiding the question,” he says intensely.
“It’s a rather personal question,” I say, not one bit amused.
“This whole conversation is personal, Grace.”
I gather up all the strength I can find. Maybe if I tell him the truth, he will give up on me. It might be for the best. “Fine,” I say. “I’ve had them, yes.”
His suspicious eyes wait for me to say more.
“I used to anyway,” I continue. “My last encounters were disastrous. I wasn’t able to feel much.”
His blue eyes are set on me with a burning ferocity. “Grace, you didn’t just say that. Fuck.”
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t expect me to just let things be after this.”
“After what?
“What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t help you out?” he says with an innocent smile. “There’s no way I’m leaving this place without giving you endless orgasms.”
I laugh even as I blush. “Ha! You sure don’t lack confidence.”
“I’m serious. I won’t be able to get it out of my mind. You know how obsessive I am about you and I can really help. Let me help.”
“I’m good,” I say.
He shakes his head from side to side. “But you’re not. If your foot hurt, you’d see a specialist. Why not this?’
“And you’re a specialist, I suppose?”
“Of sorts,” he says.
“Again, do you even know how uninviting that sounds?”
“You think I’ve slept with many loose women?”
“How many have you slept with?”
He hesitates to answer. “A number would make it sound cold. I like good girls. Shy girls. I’m not a slut.”
“I believe you,” I say, not knowing what I mean.
“Good,” he says.
“Good,” I say, suddenly feeling shy. Does he like me because I am shy, because I am good, because he thinks I am likely not a slut?
Nate reaches over the coffee table to touch my cheek. His fingers trail off to my earlobe, massaging it softly. I feel the urge to close my eyes and let my senses run wild, because as much as I try to deny it, my body has been waiting for him eagerly. I wonder how much of this he can sense.
With one swift motion, he shoves the coffee table to the side. He puts his hands behind my hips and pulls me onto his lap, my legs wrapped around him.
I feel his rock hard chest against my breasts as his tongue starts exploring my mouth hungrily. I kiss him back running my fingers through his short, silk hair.
I shiver now, feeling every pore on my body tingle with anticipation when he slips both hands under my shirt, going straight for the clasp on my bra. I consider stopping him but it’s so quickly unhooked, my breasts spilling out and into his big hands that have already moved to my chest.
It all happens so fast I have no time to say anything, or even think of anything to say. I am racing upon the wave of his hunger, touch by touch.
“You have such a perfect little body,” he says, massaging my breasts gently, making them tingly with all kinds of sensations. His tongue runs along the side of my neck and I throw my head back to give him more access, feeling my mind emptying of all thoughts.
The sudden intimacy turns out to be too much for me to handle when he undoes my pants and slips two fingers under the hem of my panties. I feel panic rise inside of me making my heart beat out of control. I’m about to push him away when Lilly comes to my rescue, pushing her way between us, effectively ungluing us.
I see my chance and take it. I take Lilly in my arms and slide off Nate’s lap and onto the floor clinging to the cat for dear life. I feel him panting slightly next to me but I don’t turn my face to look at him. I pat Lilly whispering silly things to her and wishing I could discreetly trap my breasts back into the bra.
“That’s it then,” he says.
I take a deep breath in. “For now, yes,” I say, still avoiding his eyes.
He stays silent but I can sense his disappointment looming.
“I’ve already taken a huge step, Nate.”
He puts his arm around me and kisses the top of my head. “It’s all right, Grace. The last thing I want is for you to be uncomfortable.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I say, trying to reassure him. I’m afraid he might decide not to stay after all.
“You’re afraid of love,” he says. “Maybe you’re right.”
I’m not sure I like what he’s saying. It hits me that he actually said love. Hearing him say the word confuses me more than anything.
“Love is overrated,” I blurt out. As usual when I lose control of a situation, I strike back blindly. “I’ve always thought it arrives as delusion and departs as disillusion. It leaves us emptier than it found us.”
I’ve done it. Nate has finally seen the broken, defeated person that I truly am at heart. A new expression that must surely be disappointment spreads across his face until it forms a slight, almost excited grin.
“Let’s see if you’ll say that after your next orgasm,” he whispers in my ear before getting up and heading for the bathroom.
Chapter 13
The ingredients are spread out on the kitchen counter: milk, butter, eggs, sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, vanilla extract and, most important of all, two big sweet potatoes which, according to the recipe that I found online, I will have to boil and mash. It could be worse. The recipe might have called for diced sweet potatoes which would have been a total disaster as I have never been able to properly dice anything.
I went shopping straight from work after having reassured Taylor I would bring some kind of pie and casserole dish to her Thanksgiving feast tomorrow. I’m already regretting my offer to cook as cooking for more than two people has never been one of my strong suits. I get easily distracted and feel kind of lost among pots, pans, mixing ingredients and oven temperatures.
It’s a little after four in the afternoon and Nate’s not back from wherever it is that he spends his days. I haven’t seen him since last night when we played a game of chess which I lost in barely fifteen minutes. To my defense, I’ve never played chess since I was in grade school.
It’s been nice having him around in the evenings and he’s been a total gentleman. Two nights have passed since our make-out session and he has waited patiently for my cue. I know he won’t have to wait long. I need to overcome the strange fear of being overwhelmed by him. My whole body melts and trembles when he touches me the hungry way that he does.
I put the sweet potatoes in a pan with cold water and place it on the stove. Thirty minutes of boiling should do the trick. Then I will have to mix everything together and pour the mix into the pie shell I’ve bought.
Eas
y peasy. All I have to do right now is set the timer.
While the water boils, I bring out the printed recipe for the macaroni and cheese. For Taylor’s sake, I’ve decided to mix the white cheddar sauce with mashed cauliflower which sounded like a good idea on paper. Now that I realize I will need multiple boiling pans going on at the same time, I panic.
I turn my head excitedly when I hear the door open but then quickly turn back to my task of setting the timer one more time for the cauliflower. I don’t want to screw up everything at the boiling stage.
Nate finds me bending over looking for a baking pan of desirable size and shape in the cupboards for the pie shell.
“Your water is boiling,” he says.
“What?” I get up to find the sweet potato pan overflowing, frothy water spilling all over the stove. My disappointment almost turns to tears as I stare at my failure, unable to do anything about it.
“Let me get that for you,” Nate says turning off the stove and moving the pan to the sink. “You okay?” he says, probably concerned by the fact I’m stuck in place like a statue.
“I can’t even boil potatoes,” I say, a little bit frantic.
“I’ve seen you boil eggs,” he says, adding cold water to the pan and returning it to the stove.
“Exactly,” I say. “It’s supposed to be easier than this.”
“It happens to the best of them,” he says, unable to hide a smile.
“The best of them have issues with boiling? Really?” I say. “You’re such a bullshit artist.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he says. “Did you know that farmers use bull shit to fertilize their crops?”
I laugh as he helps me get control of the cooking. “Yeah, well, bull shit is also like a major reason the ozone is thinning.”
He wraps his arms around me from behind so he can adjust the pans on the burners. “All things can be mastered with practice,” he whispers.
I close my eyes and enjoy his lovely scent. “Are we still talking about cooking?” I say unable to mask the pleasure his proximity causes.
He pulls away. I feel teased yet wonderful.
“When you fill a boiling pan that’s covered, you have to be careful to keep the heat real low,” he says, staring playfully into my eyes.
“That causes the overflow?”
Beautiful Ruin Page 9