Page 66 of Carver’s Craving

Styx

Resisting Carver’s pleadings all week was hard. Harder than just about anything I’d ever done in my life. But he truly was exhausted each night he came home. He was always near to falling asleep in the food. Expressing gratitude for my cooking—and then nearly nodding off while eating it.

He allowed me to give him another two blow jobs—like he was really going to refuse that. I, however, wouldn’t let him reciprocate. I made up some really creative excuses. Really, I impressed even myself. In truth, I wasn’t ready. To have his mouth on me would be a level of intimacy that would, in my mind, take us to the next level. Now, I’d exchanged so many blow jobs with guys over the years—most of which meant very little. That was on me. Sex was fun. Sex was for pleasure. Sex didn’t have to mean commitment.

With Carver, though, that wasn’t the case. Far from it. When he touched me, even just through my clothes, that lit a fire within me. Skin to skin was going to be explosive—and I just wasn’t emotionally prepared for that. So I kept whispering, “Friday. After the work get-together thing.” That appeared to mollify him as he didn’t push too hard.

Friday night, he raced into the shower and was ready to go back out at five. His boss, Foster, had let him go early so he could come and pick me up. He didn’t want to be smelly around me, so he’d showered.

I didn’t give a shit, and was aware everyone else was coming directly from the job-site, but I simply handed him his wool coat and hustled him out the door. We were on our way into town before he finally let out a breath.

“You okay?” I couldn’t help but notice his finger tapping on the steering wheel.

“Huh?” Carver cast me a quick glance before refocusing on the road. “Yeah. Of course.”

“There is no of course. It’s okay if something’s not right. Is it because of tonight? Because we don’t have to go. Or you can take me home and just go—”

“Nope.” He shook his head. “I’ve told them you’re coming. You haven’t been out all week. You must be going stir crazy. Oh shit.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Do you want to come? I mean, I don’t think I asked—”

“Of course I want to come. I want to meet your friends. And I’m not going stir crazy. I’ve been super busy. As far as I can tell, your mom’s stuff dates back to the late seventies. Or even earlier.” Shit. What if bringing up his mom is the wrong thing to say?

“That’s great.” He offered a small smile. “I won’t ask—”

“You’re welcome to. I’ve got almost everything scanned. The cursive is super hard to read, but I’m making progress. Next week is piecing together what fits. Some of it is super obvious and some of it is clearly just a line or disjointed poem or something. I’m still not entirely sure what I have.”

“You’ve done all that in three days?” His voice held incredulity.

“Well, you work long hours. The dogs really don’t need much except walks and attention. That leaves cooking dinner. I haven’t done anything fancy—”

Carver snorted.

“What?”

“In my world, lasagna made from scratch is the height of fancy. You remembered how much I love it.” He scratched his scalp.

I hadn’t commented that he’d chosen to go bald. The temperature was barely above freezing—and he must’ve been chilly—but he went without a toque whenever possible. I figured just wearing his hard hat must be freezing. He said not.

“Well, I was trying out the recipe with you. If you approve, then I’ll make it tomorrow for when Simeon and Ryan visit.”

“Yeah. You know—” He scrunched his nose. “—I think I’m actually looking forward to that.”

I chuckled. “Will wonders never cease.”

“Ha ha.” He gazed at me, rolled his eyes, then refocused on the road. We were now at the townhouses.

I picked at the seam of my jeans. “Anything else I need to know about your work friends?”

That got Carver started and, within a few minutes, he was sharing every little nugget he could.

I did my best to keep everything in my mind at the same time. I figured as I met people, these little bits of their personalities would slot into my understanding of them. Then, suddenly I did a double-take. “Did you say the server’s name is Thor?”

“Yep. And he’s, uh, a little on the short side. With spikey dark-brown hair and hazel eyes.”

“Wow.”