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He smiles at me, and I return it as I continue to work at his arms. A few minutes later, I lead him to the sink and rinse him off. He doesn’t help, just lets my dexterous fingers wipe him clean. And I don’t mind if I do.
“Alright,” I say as I pat his skin dry. “Now take a feel.”
He gently strokes a finger up his arm and cocks his head. “Kind of oily.”
My eyes roll. “Yes, well, it won’t be like that for long. Your skin is dry. It will suck that right up. Like a monsoon in the desert.”
Grabbing on to his hand, I place it on my arm and run it up from wrist to elbow. His cheeks darken, and I feel my heart rate increase.
“But see. Soft. My skin is soft.”
“Yeah,” he says with a swallow, taking a step back and turning his gaze to the door.
Well, perhaps I made him uncomfortable, I think as I struggle to figure out what I did wrong. He’s suddenly distant and not making eye contact. Maybe he didn’t like touching me.
The thought bothers me more than it should, and I can’t sit with it so I ask, “Did it bother you…touching me?”
His eyes meet mine and he shakes his head. “No. I just…your skin is soft.”
I arch an eyebrow at him and he shuffles on his feet. “And it felt nice.”
“Ah,” I say, not really understanding, but letting it go. “So it’s not that you touched a gay guy?”
“No,” he says quickly and then shakes his head. “No. Not at all. I’m uh, I’m looking forward to another day of you pampering me.”
Giddiness spreads through me at that. “Oh Tomas, you have no idea how excited that makes me. Now let’s drink. Imbibe. Let’s paint the town red.”
“Or we could just drink responsibly?”
“No, that’s no fun. Let’s get wasted.”
Leading him to the kitchen, I stand on my tiptoes, trying to reach the alcohol. Listen, it’s two o’clock in the afternoon, but I think after the dog incident, we both need something to help us relax.
“Pomegranate martini?”
He definitely doesn’t look like a martini guy, but it doesn’t matter. Tomas is going to expand his horizons if he hangs out with me. First exfoliation, and now drinks. Hopefully kissing and sex is next, but I won’t get my hopes up. No, no hope. I am going to let that dream die.
“Sure,” he replies. “Can I help you make it?”
“No. Nope. You sit your hot ass down and let me do it.”
He coughs at that, but lowers himself onto a barstool. I realize then that I’m still only wearing my shorts and nothing else. Well, it’s hot out. I don’t need to wear a shirt. My nipples need to breathe.
“I made some simple syrup yesterday so I have all the ingredients I need.”
I show him how to make it, a combination of pomegranate juice, vodka, Cointreau, and simple syrup.I shake it and then pour it into some hideously ugly martini glasses that the moms have and hand one to Tomas.
“These are horrendous. Why do these look like a cats butthole?”
Tomas just chuckles at that and then brings it to his mouth.
“Oh yes, take a sip. I want to watch you swallow,” I tease and his cheeks pinken.
His lips wrap around the edge and he takes a small, unsure sip at the same time I do. Our eyes lock, and I can see those depths sparkling, like the stars in the bright country sky. He really is a fine specimen.
“Mmm.” He bobs his head after swallowing, smacking his lips. “Not bad.”
“I know. I’m a genius. Basically a mixologist. Now, let’s go sit outside. The dogs are eerily quiet.”
