“Friends? Ha. You keep telling yourself that, but I’ve seen newlyweds with less affection for each other. Just be careful, of both your hearts.”
I’m a little shell shocked by Rick’s sentiment, I know he cares but I think this is the most heart-to-heart conversation we’ve ever had. I give him a curt nod and head to the front of the shop to meet Celeste, who to my relief has not heard a word of Rick’s little overshare.
“Hey, I’m all done with my bill.” She turns to me, looking a little drained.
“Great. I know we had snacks, but are you hungry at all?” I ask.
“Starved. A little woozy actually. Although…” Celeste raises her arms a little awkwardly from her body, “I’ll be totally honest with you right now, I’m very sweaty after that.” She gives a little embarrassed chuckle.
I bite into my bottom lip and hold in my laugh. “So no fancy restaurants, then. It’s from all the adrenaline during the tattoo, totally normal. If you’re a little woozy though, let’s just go to my place since we’re so close.” I gesture toward the door beside the shop entrance that leads to my apartment, “Would you be comfortable with that?”
I’m not sure why I’m suddenly nervous, waiting the few seconds it takes Celeste to answer, but I feel my heartbeat thumping in my chest and my mouth going a little dry in anticipation.
“Nevermind Hoot—” I start.
“No! I mean yes! That sounds great.” Celeste beams. “I’ve actually been dying to see where you do all your downtime brooding.” She giggles and grabs my hand. We say our thanks and goodbyes to this tattoo found family of mine and I lead her towards the stairs.
This isn’t the first time I’ve brought a girl to my apartment, but for some reason it feels more meaningful. I actually care about what she thinks of my space. I try to keep my composure steady while she continues holding my hand up the flight of stairs. I shuffle around with the keys to open the door and then let her step inside.
Immediately I see my home through her perspective. Black furniture, industrial piping on the ceiling, scruffy red brick walls, messy bookshelves. Suddenly my slice of solace seems drab and dreary. It has no colour. It’s sooppositeof Celeste. My cheeks heat in embarrassment as I try to quickly form any sort of explanation for my lack of interior design skills but she beats me to it, “Well, well, well. You like black, eh? Who woulda thunk.” She quirks an eyebrow at me.
I scrape my hand down the back of my neck, “I know it’s not your cup of tea, Hoot, but, you know…sor-sorry?”
Her eyebrows furrow together in question, “Sorry for? Dom, this is your space not mine.” She huffs a laugh and begins slowly walking the perimeter of my apartment, her hand trailing across my black velvet couch in front of the TV. She stops at a small closet door her hand resting gently on its surface. She looks towards me, eyebrows raised in question.
“Linen closet,” I answer. She nods in understanding and moves towards another door and I supply, “The washroom.” She nods again, a small smirk playing on her mouth. Finally she gets to the last door in my space. “My bedroom,” I say, my voice suddenly pitched lower. My eyes track her every reaction, her hand stilling on the door frame as we look at each other, unsure of what comes next.
Every second that ticks between us, the tension builds. The heat from my cheeks has drifted lower, my thoughts swaying towards what Celeste would look like in my bedroom. What she would look like on my bed, between my sheets, how I got myself off thinking of that exact thing. I clear my throat and swallow, desperate to keep my composure and my face neutral.
Celeste inhales quickly. “So, I hate to put you on the spot but I’m still all sweaty. Would it be weird if I showered?”
* * *
It’s weird. Everything is weird. Celeste is in my shower. Celeste is in my shower,humming.Celeste is in my shower humming,naked humming, in my shower. Wet. And so, so very naked.
Get it the fuck together, Dom.
I don’t know where to put myself so I’m awkwardly sitting on my couch. I had set her up with some fresh towels, one of my sweaters, and a pair of too-short running shorts that I found in the back of my closet. After reminding her that even though she has the second skin on her tattoo to try and not get it wet, she promptly shooed me out the door. That was almost ten minutes ago.
Why am I so goddamn nervous?
I run a hand down my face and sigh,because the woman you’re falling for is in your apartment, naked and humming.
I get up and move to the kitchen, putting on some calm instrumental jazz to try and drown out her melodic notes that feel like fingertips brushing across my already too hot skin. I manage to get a start on something for us to eat.
I begin chopping away at a head of lettuce and over the next ten minutes have pasta cooking and a Caesar salad thrown together for us. Simple but hearty food. I get carried away with my craft until I hear the creak of the bathroom door. I look up to see a plume of steam escape the bathroom, Celeste following in its wake. She stands there, worrying her lip and running her hands down the sweater,mysweater.
“Thank you for the clothes, I should have brought my own. A dress was definitely not the right choice, so thank you.” She meets my eyes as she chews on her lower lip again. Something primal and claiming preens in my chest at seeing her in my clothes. Her smaller upper body is cocooned in my sweater but her curvy lower body fills out those running shorts better than anything my imagination could have come up with. I swallow down the heat rising in my chestandmy less than savoury appendage and force my gaze towards the food before answering.
“No problem at all, Hoot,” I say as she makes her way toward me, folding herself atop a bar stool at the kitchen island where I work. Her braid is a little frizzy from the shower but not soaked as it drapes over her shoulder.
“Oh, pasta! But do you have Parmigiano Reggiano, because that’s the most important part of the dish.” She meanders to my fridge and bends down to assess the contents, the running shorts sliding up the backs of her thighs as she reaches for the block of cheese at the back of the shelf. I take a steadying breath and try not to cut a finger off.
After Celeste insists she grate a mountain of cheese atop both plates, we agree to watch a movie on the couch while we eat.
“This velvet is literally the softest thing I’ve ever felt,” Celeste muses, tucking her legs up and resting her plate in her lap, “I’m worried about spilling and having to replace it, to be honest.”
I snort. “It’s not luxury, Hoot. Don’t worry. And I’d never make you replace an entire couch.” My brows furrow in astonishment as she inhales a mouthful of pasta. “On second thought, maybe just that cushion.”
