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I laugh. “Alright.”
I stand outside the door and put my back against it. I run my hand down my face. What the hell am I trying to accomplish here, exactly? More and more, I’m wondering if Mia is harboring some feelings she isn’t letting on. But isn’t it best if we both keep that shit to ourselves? Is there really a version of us being together that isn’t worse for both of us?
“Ready!” she calls.
I find her sitting on the toilet with her pants pulled up. She lowers her eyes to my bare lower half. “Okay. Now I don’t feel the lack of dignity so much with your business all out like that.” She smiles, then crooks her head to the side. “How is that even comfortable? Like you guys just walk around all day with that thing hanging there. Doesn’t it get in the way?”
I grin. “I usually forget it’s there. Until I’m around you, at least.”
She bites her lip and steps closer, eyes still fixed between my legs. She reaches out and touches it gently, making a pleasant chill run up my spine. “Such a little thing that causes so much trouble,” she muses.
“Did you just call my dick little?” I laugh.
Her smile is devious. “Proportionally speaking,” she corrects. “As far as penises go, yours is very impressive.” She goes on her tiptoes, one hand still gripping me as she kisses the tip of my chin, still smiling. “That’s what guys like to hear, right? Your cock is a monument to all female desire. It’s one of the seven wonders of the world, probably visible from outer space. It violates air traffic control laws in fourteen states. It–”
“Mia,” I say, cutting her off with a finger to her lips. “I’m kidding. You can say whatever the hell you want about my cock, as long as you keep coming back to ride it. I frankly don’t give a shit.”
She chews her lip, gripping it tighter as I feel it swelling and pulsing against her hand. She brings her mouth to my neck, which is as close as she can get to my ear from her height. “I could be convinced to take another ride.”
I smile. “If you keep touching it like that, I’m just going to carry you to the bed and set you down on it–convincing be damned.”
She arches an eyebrow. “You say that like it’s a threat.”
I pick her up, take her to the bed, and pull off my shirt.
“Okay, then,” she says, reaching for her zipper with a smile.
28
MIA
Ispend most of my time at Taste lately. Marten’s dad and his nasty review did cause a little dip in reservations for a while, but it hasn’t been permanent. When Marten came by a few days ago to gloat about the damage his dad’s interview did, he had to fight his way through the crowded lobby and wait several minutes before one of us could come out to hear what he had to say.
Zander happily told him to go fuck himself and feel free to have his dad come back any time. Marten left in a huff, from what I heard.
With Nolan spending more time at the restaurant and our hour-long experimental sessions after work, people can’t seem to get enough of the restaurant. Nolan’s agent was also able to arrange for several influential critics to come eat at the restaurant and write about their impressions. Between the good food and the positive feedback in magazines, websites, and even a few TV shows, business is absolutely booming.
Andi’s belly keeps growing, the guys keep training for the upcoming season, we spend a few nights a week all hanging out at Jesse’s cabin or one of the bars, and time feels like it’s passing by too quickly.
When nobody is looking, Nolan and I have still been slipping away to sleep together. We do it in bathrooms, at a park, behind the concession stand at the harbor, and a few other places I wouldn’t admit under torture. Mostly, though, he sneaks over to the rental and we use my bed.
I’m pretty sure everybody suspects something. My friends know, of course, but I don’t think Nolan’s teammates do. We don’t talk about it, partly because I’m not sure either of us knows what we would even call our “arrangement.”
We’re not even quite friends with benefits. That would imply we’re hanging out talking all the time. Instead, we’re like co-workers with benefits. Or acquaintances with benefits. When we do sleep together, it feels purely physical. We fuck, and then he leaves. That’s all.
I keep thinking I’m going to get the courage to tell him to stay one of these days. I want to tell him to come back and cuddle or talk, but I can read in his body language how that might go. He’d tell me it was a bad idea. Worse, he might even break things off if he suspected I wanted our arrangement to grow into anything beyond what it is.
And me? I guess I’m too much of a coward to risk the scraps of him I’m getting by trying for more.
The hockey offseason ends in two days, and I’m in the middle of taste testing a batch of our new syrup reduction. We’re going to start offering brunch a few days a week, and Nolan wants to get the syrup perfected before he leaves for the hockey season.
We haven’t talked about the fact that he’s leaving or what that will mean for us. I’m not sure we will, either.
I watch him lift a spoon to his lips and taste. He scowls, then pushes the container to Zander, who gives it a try.
Zander shakes his head. “We reduced it too far,” he says.
I try it, nodding my agreement.
