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What the hell had I just done? My heart raced and my stomach twisted in knots. I held Yoda close, too close as he squirmed and I set him free. Down the hall he ran, far away from my affections. A sad representation of how I always managed to screw something up. I shook my hands and walked in circles in my foyer. I had just acted like some clingy teenager all but demanding he label himself as my boyfriend or some shit.
That wasn’t me.
Deep breath in. Slow breath out. It wasn’t that serious. But his brush off annoyed me more than it should. Having fun. I could have fun with no strings attached. Only I’d just acted the exact opposite of that.
“Ugh!” I slumped against the wall and slid down to the floor.
Who was I kidding? I wanted all the strings, but it was my inability to properly communicate that sent my past dalliances running for the heels after a while. The whole “not you but me, but really it’s you” thing I’d dealt with plenty. I should be used to it by now. My “uptightness” and needing things always done my way didn’t bode well for the long term with most men.
Emilio had some magical way of making me let loose and just go with the flow. Sometimes.
The light tap, tap, tap of Yoda’s paws echoed down the hall. Moments later he was jumping up on my arm, nosing at my face. I flattened my legs and picked him up. “You get me, bud. You’re all the companionship I need.”
Yoda curled up in my lap and I absentmindedly stroked his soft fur as I mentally planned out ways to go back to not seeing Emilio in passing. A few minutes later, Yoda’s ears perked up and he took off toward the glass slider, barking as he ran. He scratched at the door requesting out but I ignored him. I had no doubt Mr. Frustration was out on his patio and I was not in the mood to deal with any of that. Instead, I headed upstairs away from my dog’s whimpering to shower and clear my head.
Clean, but in no better a mood, I grabbed a glass from the cabinet and a bottle of wine from the refrigerator. I poured myself a generous amount before heading toward my living room. Work would be the distraction I needed. Numbers weren’t complicated. Numbers didn’t have strange, irrational, and way out of place emotions that made you say dumb shit.
I stopped in my tracks at the sight of my annoyance standing on my patio, smile on his face, and a plate in his hand. Part of me thought about closing the blinds in his face, but that would be rude. Ruder than I had already been. With a low sigh, I headed over to open the door.
“I offered you dinner, and I’m one to keep my word,” he stated holding the plate out toward me. The medium-rare steak was cut on the plane and spread across a bed of greens topped with some sort of sauce. It was accompanied by mashed potatoes and grilled squash. Damn the man could cook.
I stared at him and sighed. “God, how you annoy me.”
He laughed. “What can I say, it seems to be my superpower.”
I took the offered food and stepped to the side to let him in.
“Where’s Ren?”
“Upstairs sleeping in the middle of my bed. Would you like a glass?” I held up my beverage.
“You trying to get me drunk to take advantage?”
“Are you that much of a lightweight that one small glass of wine would knock you out?”
“No, but if it means you’ll do some wicked things to me, I can pretend.” His dimples deepened when his devilish grin took up residence.
Was he deliberately not bringing up what happened or waiting for me to do it? I knew I probably needed to apologize. Again. But he certainly didn’t seem to be bothered in the least. I handed him my wine and pointed to the couch. I joined him a few minutes later with another glass and utensils.
“Thank you for dinner.”
He sat back and sipped on the Cabernet. “You’re welcome. Enjoy.”
“Where’s yours?”
He patted his stomach in reply. Ah, so not sharing a meal with me so much as not letting it go to waste. I pushed away the weird feeling of disappointment and stuffed my mouth with the juicy steak to keep myself from saying anything out of place. As I moaned my appreciation, Emilio slid a folded sheet of paper next to my glass.
I glanced at it then over at him. “What’s that?”
“Language you understand.”
I frowned and put down my fork and knife to pick up the paper. I started coughing when I read the title in large bold print across the top: Reasons Emilio is awesome. Beneath it was a color-coded bar graph. I took a gulp of wine hoping to dislodge the lump that had formed there as I read over the columns.
“You’re unbelievable,” I managed through lingering coughs.
“Just trying to relate to you on your level.” He set his glass down and pulled the paper from my hand. “You’re the pro, con type so I figured I’d help you out.”
The first category was sex which was a bright bar that he’d taken the time to extend past the confines of the graph so it extended to the top of the paper. Point made. And I couldn’t deny it, the sex was off the charts. Literally now. I giggled at the thought.
