“Why are you staring at me like that?” she asks.
“How can I not stare at you after what you just said?”
“I didn’t say jump my bones or strip me naked with your eyes, Mark.”
“You may as well have.”
“Is that what you want?”
Oh god. Is she doing this right now? I have self-control, but when it comes to her, I lack in that department.
“Do you want to strip my clothes off?”
And now she’s repeating it.
What I wanted was to make her breakfast like I do most of the time, and yet this is the conversation we are having, first thing in the morning. Of course it is.
I should have showered and taken care of things before I came down here.
Instead of answering her, I move to the cabinet for more bread. I’ll think more clearly if I eat. Carbs are definitely the way to go.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” She smiles and takes a seat at the island. Thank heavens she wears pants and a T-shirt to bed. I’m not sure how some people can survive when the person they are starting to want to be with walks around the house revealing skin. I should consider myself lucky.
“Do you want me to cook you breakfast?” I ask. Moving on to a new subject is best right now.
I don’t get a hard-on just because someone mentions sex, but it’s been a while since I’ve been with a woman, and said woman is sitting right across from me, biting her lip and looking at me with an expression that I am pretty sure I don’t want to read but can’t help but do it.
She wants more than breakfast.
I’m not giving in first and ruining how far we’ve come.
I’m not.
I.
Am.
Not.
“Breakfast does sound good.”
“Awesome. Great. Okay. Let’s see.” I open the refrigerator. “What can I make you?”
The air from the fridge cools me down, thank god.
“I don’t want food.”
Don’t do it.
Don’t.
Do not turn around and ask her what she wants.
She’s doing this on purpose. She’s just baiting me.
Show control. Show her you know what control is.
“I just want . . .”
