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“Yeah.”
She makes a move to straighten up, and I reluctantly let her. Stepping back, I admire her body—her soft curves that were just under my palms, those flushed cheeks caused by my body, and her gleaming blue eyes.
“I can’t believe we did that? They can’t really see us, right?”
She sounds like she’s panicking, which makes my smile fall and heart worry.
“No. I swear, I would never let anyone see you.” My tone is fierce and makes her stop, that tight black dress still at her hips, and I can’t help it. I go to her and take her face in palms. “Come home with me? I know I’m being presumptuous, but we did just do that. And I’m not ready to say goodbye,” I whisper across her lips, so tempted to taste them, but instead, I wait. I need to know where her head is.
“You’re not tired of me yet?”
“No way.” I rear back dramatically, and she laughs.
“Ok, then.”
Finally, I take her lips with mine in a chaste kiss.
“Good girl.”
She giggles, and we pull apart to finishing dressing. Then, I take her hand and pull her out, waving goodbye to my buddy at the bar as we leave.
Once we’re back at Fitzpatrick Place, Olive decides to be shy, even though her hand was on my cock the entire ride here.
“What are you afraid of?”
“I just know Fitzy is going to pop out of one of these bushes, martini in hand, and shout, ‘I told you so.’ Then, we’ll forever be in her debt.”
I can’t help but laugh at her accurate assumption.
“You’re right. We better hurry.”
And we do, giggling all the way up the elevator and crashing through my door.
Our bodies gravitate to each other, and soon, we’re tangled in my sheets, and all I can think about is her.
Can I be the man good enough to call her mine? Or is this all too much too fast and, like a flame, burn out too soon?
The next morning, I wake to an empty bed and a note saying she had to hurry to open her store. Maybe I could swing by with breakfast. Would that be too much?
I stretch my long legs, piss, and make my way to the kitchen for much needed coffee. If I’m going to figure out how to keep a girlfriend, I need to start with a clear head. But something on the couch catches my eye.
“Penelope?” I clutch my chest, not expecting my daughter and praying she didn’t run into Olive before I had a chance to talk to her.
“Hey.”
“Um, hey. What are you doing here? How long have you been here?”
“Just now. Why? I thought I was always welcome?” She stares at me like I grew a second head.
“I, um, of course you are. Sorry. Still waking up. Do moms know you’re here?”
“Duh. I won’t be here long.”
“Where are you going?”
I hate theduh. Smartass used to be my little princess, and now she can’t bother to have a real conversation with me.
“Just shopping.” She shrugs.
