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Iopen my apartment door and am immediately greeted by the most amazing smell.
“That smells delicious,” I say, my smile instant, my heart skipping a beat as I walk on autopilot toward Eddie, where he stands in the kitchen. He is in his jeans and a tight top. His sleeves are pushed up his forearms, and I can see his strong arms as they stir the contents of the pan.
“Just in time. It is all ready,” he says, looking at me, openly devouring me with his eyes as one of his hands reaches out for me, pulling me close and sealing my lips with his.
We kiss like we haven’t seen each other for weeks, not merely the day. He pulls me close, tucks me into him, and I do what I have wanted to do since I met him. I sink into him. His large arms circle my body, and he pulls me tight. Our chests are meshed, our hips connected, and I feel the stress of the day leave me immediately.
I pull back and look at him. “This feels oddly domesticated,” I say as I look around. He has the wine open and the table set, including fresh flowers in a vase in the middle.
“It does, doesn’t it? I kinda like it.” His hands run up and down my body, making butterflies swirl below. His hands, like him, are large and cover my back with ease.
“I kinda like you,” I say, smiling. He has melted me like butter.
“That’s good, ’cause I kinda like you too,” he says sweetly, and I laugh as he pulls me in, taking my lips in his again.
“Go wash up. Dinner is ready,” he says, slapping my butt as I quickly walk out of the kitchen to go change and freshen up. I select a dress to put on, sick of wearing my scrubs all day. As I go through the motions, I hear him serving, and I wonder if this could be life. A buzz of excitement fills me. For the first time ever, I allow myself to just sit in it. I don’t push it away, don’t tamp it down. I relish it. I want to feel loved, and if this is the beginning of that, I don’t ever want it to leave me.
I smile at everything as I walk back out. The table set, wine, fresh bread, nice napkins.
“Bon appétit,” he says in a perfect French accent as he pulls out my chair for me. I’m impressed. He watches me as I take a seat at the table, and I don’t hesitate to grab my fork and swirl it in the creamy pasta, my stomach growling in anticipation. I didn’t have a full lunch break today, but I did manage to eat the lunch Eddie prepared, and it was delicious.
“Okay, be honest. I can put in an order at the pizza place around the corner if it is shit.” The pasta hits my tongue, and the creamy, cheesy goodness delivers the most amazing flavors ever. I chew eagerly, loving every bite.
“This is amazing,” I say to him, trying not to moan out loud. I can’t remember eating anything this good.
“Seriously?” He doesn’t seem convinced.
“Seriously. This is so good. Like, perhaps the best thing I have ever tasted.” I laugh when he looks at me, cocking a brow. “Okayyyy, maybe the second-best thing I have ever tasted.” That makes him laugh. I can’t remember the last time I laughed so much. Maybe never?
“How was Dr. Wilson today?” he asks as he pours a small glass of wine for us both and starts to dig in.
“His usual asshole self. But we had our new volunteers today. They are always a mixture of fun and frustration, but it helps the day to go quickly,” I offer. “So how was golf?” I ask, shoveling the pasta into my mouth, already almost finished, the serving just the right size.
“I had a shit game,” he grumbles, then takes a sip of his wine.
“Oh, why’s that?” I ask, pushing my plate away and settling in.
“I kept thinking about you. My mind wasn’t on the game at all.” His honesty is one of his best qualities. He reaches out to grab my hand, and I squeeze his. Taking a sip of my wine, I look at him over the rim, admiring his sexy smirk as his thumb strums over my hand. He is very swoony. His hands are soft. Not at all like the hands you would expect a man who frequently uses tools to have.
“So what thoughts did you have about me?” I ask cheekily, intrigued.
He barks a laugh. “What thoughts didn’t I have of you?” he says as we both smile at each other.
“Hmm, well, I thought about you too.” I stand up from my chair and walk to him. He sits back, and I straddle him. We are chest to chest as he slides his chair back from the table a little, his hands cradling my hips.
“What thoughts did you have about me?” He throws my question back at me as his hands find the hem of my dress, and he caresses my bare thighs.
“Dirty ones…” I say as my hands run from his shoulders down his chest, landing on his belt buckle. He takes a deep breath, and my eyes flick to his.
“There is something that we need to talk about.” My hands freeze because he looks a little nervous. He has tried to talk to me about something a few times now, and I always dismiss it. I have no idea why. I am scared of what he is going to say. It is like my mind already knows it is going to be bad and I don’t want to know. I hold my secrets, and he can hold his. It may not be the best plan, but it works for now. So, I say the first thing that comes to mind.
“Do you have an STD?” I ask, not sure why my mind goes there, since it probably should have been something we discussed before we had sex, but it does. I blame my work.
“What!? No!” He pulls back slightly, looking at me like I am crazy.
“Do you suffer from some other contagious disease?” I ask, as my hands get back to work unbuckling his belt before I start to open the button on his jeans. Trying to get us back on track.
“No.” His eyes squint in confusion. I pop his button open and lower his zipper.
