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I flip one of my dish towels over my shoulder, resting my arms on the balcony door frame. The sounds of the birds in the trees blend with the horns and sirens below. I rub my hand along the back of my neck. It seems any tension I feel heads straight there.
I haven’t cooked for anyone besides Stacey, Lauren, or Wes in a long time. I know that’s not my only sense of anxiety. I’m walking dangerously close to a line of landmines. I’m not one tojust dive in. I’m not one to act immediately on feelings, but she’s got me turned around and inside out. Blue Eyes is giving me a chorus of “Strangers In The Night'' when I get what I’ve been waiting for, a knock at the door.
My heart palpitates as I walk toward it. Once this door is open, there is no turning back. First the click of the dead bolt, then the creak of the door handle, gives me access to her. She dropped her golden hair from the confines of her scrunchie, so it cascades over her shoulders and beyond. It covers portions of the skin that was visible to me earlier as her sweater slides to the left. She’s traded her track pants for a simple denim skirt and those sneakers. I never thought I’d love them as much as a pair of heels, but I do. On her I do.
“You’re late,” I scold her with a small smile.
“Yeah, well I didn’t want to seem eager. May I come in?” I open the door wide for her to pass. She opts for walking close, dragging her hand across my chest. “Thank you.”
The last time I watched her walk away, I was trying to catch her. This time, it feels like I have. I lock the door, pull the towel off my left shoulder, and whip it across to my right purposefully, letting the corner crack against my skin. “Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes. Would you like a drink?”
“I can have one glass, yes.” I watch her eyes slowly scan my apartment.
“Just one?”
“Yes. One. It’s technically a school night. I have a rehearsal tomorrow.”
“A rehearsal?”
I twist my corkscrew in the bottle of rosé I have chilling on the counter. She drops her purse in the white, winged, half-moon chair at the head of my dining table before she crosses to check out the view. “It’s a senior solo project for the dance students. I’m choreographing a group piece.”
“You’re a marketing student moonlighting as a dancer?”
Her head whirls back to me as the cork pops. “I’m a dancer moonlighting as a marketing executive.”
“You seem to excel at everything.” I completely mean that in whatever way she wants to take it.
“Not everything.” She walks over to me, taking the half full glass from the tabletop. “Just most things.” She licks her lips slowly before letting the perfect pink liquid float over them. I watch her swallow and a little hum of appreciation vibrates from her throat. My cock quivers. It remembers, as well as I do, that sound. It’s a sexy tone that’s half an octave lower than her speaking voice. “Something wrong?” she asks.
“Wrong?”
“Yes. Wrong. You’re staring at me and this glass like you want to crawl inside.”
I clear my raw throat. “Well, that’s close.”
She takes another sip in the silence between us. Dylan backs up about three feet, sliding out of her sneakers. Her bare feet are something to behold. Her toes are painted a pale gray in an attempt to mask a few cuts and bruises atop them. “Mind if I get comfortable?”
“Not at all. I’m going to check the sauce.”
“I think I can amuse myself.” She smirks, turning toward the music. The breeze from the balcony door catches her hair, blowing it back. As it whirls around her face, she does a double spin in front of the speaker. Fucking hell.
I make it around the corner into the kitchen before I react viscerally. She’s like the sun. I just want to get closer and closer to her. I want to feel every bit of warmth she has to offer, literally and figuratively. My dress pants are instantly too tight. Thank fuck I have my dress shirt untucked or the false appearance of control I have would be completely blown to shit.
I call out to her. “I made Italian. I hope that’s okay.”
“I love Italian.” Her voice is husky… and close. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch her shadow. She’s standing alongside my tall pantry cupboard. Her sweater has fallen even farther down her shoulder and what has fallen away completely is her skirt. The white tight weave of the sweater hugs her curves and barely covers that heavenly ass of hers.
“Comfortable?” I ask.
“Very,” she answers, as she hops up on my counter. The bare skin just below the sweater squeaks lightly as she shifts back, her legs swinging slowly.
“Hungry?”Answer that. I dare you.
“Very.” She leans in, cupping the back of my neck in her hand, and pulls me to her lips. The spoon clatters to the counter before I slide my hands up her back. Dylan begins to devour me. Her athletic legs squeeze at my sides. My hips pull forward to rest tight against the space between those legs.
She tastes like the sweetest, ripest peach. I sigh her name, “Dylan…”
She nibbles on my ear before she whispers, “See. I told you you’d say my name again.”
