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I sip my wine as North clears the dishes from a simple pasta meal that was oh-so-satisfying. It helped that he bought a baguette from my favorite local bakery. That was thoughtful. I’m stuffed, but reach for the final nub in the bread basket, dragging it through olive oil seasoned with grated parmesan and freshly cracked black pepper before polishing it off.
I’ve been choosing my timing carefully and now, with full bellies and nothing on the agenda, it’s prime time to talk to North.
“I’ve been thinking”—I pause to drink from my nearly empty wineglass—“about us.”
“Oh?” He doesn’t look up from stacking our plates in the dishwasher.
“Yes. About our little dry spell.” I say it in a cute way so that he doesn’t think I’m dissatisfied. Though...I am. Six weeks without sex with the person you’re in a relationship with seems excessive.
“Are we having a dry spell?” He clears the empty bread basket and silverware and moves back to the kitchen. It’s a gorgeous setup, with black cabinets and sleek, charcoal granite countertops. Him in it isn’t half bad, either...if he wasn’t being this obtuse.
“Do you remember when we met?” I stand and refill my wineglass as I talk. “You couldn’t keep your hands off me.”
“That’s normal, Catarina. There are seasons in every relationship.”
“Don’t you find me attractive?” I strike a pose in my pencil skirt and blouse, pointing the toe on one of my shoes. I’m wearing sky-high heels and enduring the mother of all blisters on my pinky toe for my efforts, yet he doesn’t seem the least bit turned on by my footwear.
“Sweetheart, you’re beautiful.” He comes to me and lowers his lips for a kiss before resuming cleanup duty. The kiss is similar to the hundreds of others I’ve received from him but lacks something.
“You don’t feel the need to...look elsewhere?” I try. “For companionship?”
He frowns, slowly closes the dishwasher door, and stares at me for a long, uncomfortable beat. Then he presses a button, and the machine begins its quiet, purring cycle.
“Catarina, I don’t appreciate you accusing me without merit. You’re busy. I’m busy. We’re working professionals who care about our jobs. If I had a spare moment to sleep with anyone it’d be you—not two people. Use your head, sweetheart.”
I wince when he touches his lips to my temple. That was too close to being called stupid— and I didn’t accuse him of anything.
I regroup. Take my own article’s advice. If you want sex, be bold. Don’t ask.
“We’re not busy tonight.” I leave my wineglass on the counter and go to him, draping my wrists on his shoulders. He’s much taller than me, and I suffer a little crick in my neck if I stand this way for too long, but he’s worth it. We’re worth it.
“What do you say we fool around?” I tug the knot on his tie and then drag my fingers down his crisp dress shirt as his phone buzzes behind me.
He unceremoniously brushes my arms aside and checks the screen of his cell.
“Who’s that?” I ask, stung. Whoever it is, they’re apparently more important than me or what I’m offering. Frankly it’s pissing me off.
His noncommittal utterings leave me with no clue of who the caller might be. He declines the call and pockets his cell.
“Who was that?” I try again.
“Maria.”
“Maria who?”
“My associate. We’re working on closing the apartment building sale and it’s been a real bitch.” He straightens his tie, and since I was the one who tugged it out of place that also irks me.
Is she pretty? I want to ask but don’t. It’s not like me to be needy.
“I’m going to have to cut our evening short. Looks like they’ve asked for another clause in the contract. The seller is fit to be tied.” He grabs his suit jacket off a chair and shrugs into it.
“You’re leaving?” My dwindling control of our evening together has evaporated completely.
“We spent yesterday together.” He lowers his lips to kiss me, but I turn my face so that his lips collide with my cheek instead.
“Catarina.” He lets out a sigh of frustration. So what? I’m frustrated, too. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Lock up when you leave.”
I fold my arms and refuse to look at him. He leaves anyway.
