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Maybe we’re just still in that “honeymoon” phase, but even that tiny peck still sets off fireworks behind my eyes.
“I saw you pull up from the window and I was excited,” he points, and I can see where the kitchen window looks out over the parking lot.
I can’t help but grin, and my heart melts into a puddle over his boyish glee. “You’re adorable, you know that?”
“Damn straight,” he replies, “Come on, come in.”
He leads me inside, and I immediately catch whiff of something mouthwatering. Well, other than Elliot himself.
“So I’m almost done with dinner,” he says, “Honey garlic salmon with roasted asparagus.”
I gape at him for a moment. “Tell me again how you were single and I got this lucky?”
He laughs, his face reddening. “My mom made sure I knew how to feed myself,” he says with a shrug.
“Seems like she did a lot of things right,” I tell him, slipping my arms around his waist and gazing up at him.
“I’ll be sure to give her your glowing review,” he laughs, bending down and brushing his lips over mine.
I move my arms up to wind around his neck and he pulls me closer. My thigh is pressed between his, and I can feel just how much he wants me, the hard ridge under his zipper…
But reluctantly, he pulls back and lets me go after a moment with a sigh. “I’d better go check on food before I get carried away and burn the place down.”
“Probably for the best,” I giggle.
With that, he darts away into the kitchen, calling over his shoulder: “Go grab a seat on the couch, make yourself at home.”
I wander over to the couch and settle on it, looking around. Since my first visit to his place had been so brief, I hadn’t gotten much chance to really take in all of the sights. Although for the most part, the space is pretty plain.
It’s clean and comfortable, but other than the video game console and the collection of DVDs and games, there’s relatively little in the living room to indicate much personality. And I wonder what might be Elliot’s and what might belong to his roommate.
“Would you like a glass of wine?” Elliot calls from the kitchen.
“Sure!” I call back.
After a moment, he emerges from the kitchen with a bottle of wine and two glasses in hand. He sets the glasses down on the table and retrieves a corkscrew from his pocket and makes quick work of opening the wine. He pours a healthy amount into each glass and offers me one.
I take it, and he takes the other and lifts it out in a toast. “Cheers.”
“To what?” I ask, lifting my own in turn.
He thinks for a moment, then shrugs, smiles, and says simply, “To us.”
I can feel my face heat up, but a grin spreads across it. “To us,” I echo, clinking my glass against his.
We each take a drink. The wine is delicious, buttery smooth with a faint lingering flavor of apples. “Okay, give me just like, two more minutes,” Elliot says, setting down his glass and ducking back into the kitchen.
It’s less than two minutes before he’s calling me to the table, though, and as I sit down, he places a plate in front of me with a proud flourish. He sits across from me with his own plate. “This smells incredible,” I tell him.
“Well, dig in,” he says with a grin.
And so we do, and from the first bite, I’m swooning. “Wow.”
“Wow is good, I like wow,” Elliot laughs.
“Your mom taught you well,” I inform him, “This is absolutely delicious.”
“Well, thank you. I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”
