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We eat and we talk, playing our own version of twenty questions as a way of catching up on the first date-type stuff we skipped right over in favor of trading bonds and bodily fluids.
Sipping my coffee, I ask, “What’s your favorite topping for grits?”
“Butter and cheese,” he replies. “Fish and collards too if you’re feeling fancy.”
I grin. “That sounds delicious.”
“Grits are delicious. Have you had the ones from Rodgers’ Farms? Apparently this former MLB star bought a farm in South Carolina and started milling his own grits. They’re insane.”
“Oh, God, Rodgers’ Farms grits are the best.”
“College major?” Theo asks, digging into the French toast. Turns out he’s got a big sweet tooth. “Mine were econ and statistics.”
Smiling, I roll my eyes and finish the last of my omelet. “Of course you double majored. I bet you minored in something too.”
He’s smiling too as he wipes his mouth. “History.”
“Stop! I majored in history.”
“Really?” he raises a brow. “How’d you end up in finance, then?”
I shrug. “I took a lot of business classes on the side, thinking I’d finally have something to talk to my dad about.”
“Did you?”
“Eh, not really, even now. But it ended up working out. I didn’t have a burning passion for any one particular career path, and I actually liked learning how the markets worked. How companies operate and make money. I bombed my first i-banking interviews, but I’m a fast learner and eventually became pretty decent at them, which helped.”
Theo meets my eyes. “You really went into finance and worked for the same bank your dad did, and he still doesn’t have anything to talk to you about?”
He was busy.
He was important.
He worked hard to provide for us.
But all my usual canned responses taste like ash in my mouth this morning. “He didn’t try,” I say. “After a while, I stopped trying too. And now we just talk about the weather and golf.”
Theo’s brow furrows. “Golf? I hate it.”
My heart skips a beat. “Me too!”
“Takes too much damn time. Not to mention the country club fees. Only sport I have time for is crew, which I love.”
“That’s right—you rowed with George at Duke. Y’all still row?”
Theo dips his head. “We do, on the Catawba River about twenty or so minutes out of uptown. One of the draws of leaving New York was having better places to row down here. In Charlotte, I mean. Not uptown, where there’s obviously no water. But half an hour outside the city, you’ve got the Whitewater Center, the Catawba River, Lake Norman, Lake Wylie . . .”
I basically have heart eyes at this point. “I’d love to watch y’all.”
“I’d love for you to watch us.” He picks up his glass of orange juice and sips, eyes locked on mine. “Just give me a heads up so I can take off my shirt that day. I know how much you like the view.” He flexes his bicep and I laugh, body warming.
“So you’ll be shirtless. Will you be sweaty too?”
He furrows his brow. “Of course.”
“I’ll bring my smelling salts.”
“As one should, Lady Frasier. Your fan too.”
“Never leave home without it.” I take the last bite of omelet that’s left on my plate and survey him, thoughtful. “Never would’ve guessed you’d be so easy to talk to. Least of all the morning after.”
Theo sets down his napkin and reaches across the table to cover my hand with his. It still takes me off guard, Theo being kind like this, and I have to resist the urge to pull away, to put up my dukes.
But instead of landing a well-timed barb or blow, Theo skates his thumb over the back of my wrist. “I want to talk to you about everything, Nora. The way your mind works is fascinating to me. The way you work. I’m learning as much as I can, but I still want more. I want to know you.”
My skin ignites and my pussy throbs and my eyes inexplicably start to burn. He’s playing games, a voice in my head warns. He’s saying what he knows you want to hear so you’ll trust him and fuck up. That’s how it’s gone before.
But this all feels so different.
I like Theo’s brand of different so, so much.
I’m also so, so turned on.
Maybe the fallout comes. Maybe it doesn’t. But I want to wring every last drop of this feeling from the time I have with Theo—the feeling of being cared for, of being seen.
Of being safe.
I keep getting the feeling he wants what I do. Which is the root of our connection, but also the root of our problem. We’re looking to fall in love. We’re also after the same promotion because we work on the same desk at the same bank. None of this—not the breakfast nor the orgasms nor Theo’s slow, steady hands—solves that problem.
