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“Hmm?” Laurel builds her S’mores and plates a few extra presumably for the cute niece.
“Yeah, I was hoping we’d be at my place upstate outside for real, or even here at my condo. I’d wrap you in a blanket or make you wear one of my flannel shirts to keep you warm.”
“Wait, hold up.” She puts her hand up blocking my view of her pretty face.
“What?”
“Donovan Ward owns flannel? This I gotta see.”
“Fine.”
“Good.”
I don’t know what possess me, but I peel off my t-shirt and stalk back to my bedroom. I tear through my closet and find one of my flannel shirts. I push my arms through the sleeves and stalk back out to the kitchen to find a gape jawed Laurel staring back. I don’t bother buttoning up my shirt, instead I let it hang open and let Laurel get a view of my gym honed body.
“So you going to show me yours?”
“Van!” She whispered hisses at the screen looking away for a moment.
“I showed you how big my marshmallows were and my flannel. I’m starting to feel like I’m doing all the giving here.” I joke.
“Oh my God, behave.” She hisses swinging her laptop around blocking my view of anything in her apartment.
“I’m teasing. I’d never ask to see your, um. You know.”
“Please.” Laurel pleads and I can’t tell if I crossed a line or not. I’m kidding, perhaps in poor taste.
“Laurel, I’d never expect.”
“I know. I know. This is…”
“Challenging.” I offer and she agrees nibbling her lip. She’s got a tiny bit of melted chocolate in the corner of her mouth and damn if I don’t want a taste.
“Everyone is still up and about, I should go.”
“Tomorrow then?” I hang onto her every word.
“Definitely.” She ends the call with Hannah demanding a s’more and I’m left feeling distinctly unsatisfied and frustrated through no fault but of my own.
14
Laurel
Another dinner like date at home and we’ve devolved into our typical teasing banter.
“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” Van’s eyes have that mischievous look in them and I bark out loud laughing.
“What?”
He can’t be serious, but I can tell he is in that Donovan deep think sort of way that unbalances me. Every day he draws me in deeper down the rabbit hole of lust.
He repeats with a cheeky grin, “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
“That’s the worst pick up line I’ve ever heard. You need some new material.” I chortle so hard it sounds like a piggy snort and Van joins my merriment.
“Come on.” Before I can say yay or nay he’s pulled off his tight-fitting shirt showing me his six pack of abs. His stomach ripples and my hand shyly touches the screen as if they’re real.
“Yeah, they’re real.”
