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“Your turn,” I say. “Tell me why you don’t like heights.”
“Helicopter tour in Alaska,” he says after swallowing a bite of his burrito. “My friend is a pilot, and he was taking us heliskiing, but we were doing a little sightseeing along the way. We were cruising along the coastline when suddenly all hell breaks loose. Lights are flashing, alarms are going off, and we start spinning. He managed to set it down and we all walked away, but the bigger miracle was that it had been low tide. Otherwise the tiny little spit of land he put us down on would have been covered, and we’d have crashed into the ocean. Chances are we wouldn’t have walked away if that had happened.”
“Wow.” Now it’s my mouth that hangs open. “Did they ever find out what happened to the helicopter?”
“The fuel gage was broken. My friend thought he had a full tank because that’s what the gauge read, but he had only a fraction of that. We were only in the air about fifteen minutes before the crash.”
“Does that make it hard to get on a helicopter again? Or a plane?” I take a bite of my burrito.
“Yes. Before the crash, I loved the helicopter. Planes not as much, but I’d been on enough of them that I didn’t mind them. Before the crash, I might have even tried skydiving. Not anymore.” He shudders.
“That fits.” I borrow his line.
“How so?”
“Well, I know you like to work with your hands, so you don’t seem like the type who sits still. But you don’t strike me as someone who avoids risk, either. I guess that’s why I got hung up on you not liking heights. It seems contradictory.”
Chris’s eyes go momentarily wide before he offers a nonchalant, “Perceptive,” and continues eating.
As we talk about our families, our shared fondness for sci-fi movies, and even football, I feel this connection between us growing stronger. Chris doesn’t just go through the motions of answering my questions; more often than not, he shares a personal memory, like how he was so obsessed with football that he only wanted to wear his football pants to school, or how his parents would kiss each other all the time, which a young Chris and Charlie both thought was gross, but he now appreciates because he has no doubt his parents are truly happy.
Once again, I find myself asking whether Chris is for real. It’s so refreshing to have someone talk about things that shape their life rather than merely volunteering their interests. He doesn’t just talk about the what, what he likes to do, what he likes to see. He talks about the why. It’s a far more intimate conversation than I’ve ever had with a man before, and not because we’re holding hands or looking intently at one another but because he’s baring parts of himself that lives below the surface. It’s intoxicating and terrifying at the same time, because I’m not sure what it means, but I like it.
When characters in my books have these types of conversations, they’re falling for each other, hard. And yes, in my books, that sometimes happens pretty fast. But that’s fantasy. This is reality. It doesn’t happen this fast in real life, does it?
Chapter 11
Chris
I’ve never had such a great time just hanging out with a woman, and I don’t want it to end.
When I arrived at Lisa’s house and learned she planned to take me to make terrariums, I admit I questioned whether it had been a good idea to let her pick the date. I couldn’t think of anything less interesting than plants. But then I started looking at it from her point of view, noticing how the plants you pick and the way you arrange them give off clues to your personality, and plants got much more interesting.
I enjoyed the experience much more than I expected to, but that hadn’t even been the best part. The best part was discovering more about her. I’d already known that she's different than other women I dated, more prone to substance than appearance, but now I understand just how unique she is. How comfortable she is in her own skin. It’s adorable, but what I didn’t tell her is how sexy that is. Between her confidence, her unique perspective, and the fact that she seems to like me for me, I’m starting to think she’s the perfect woman. Part of me wonders if some shoe is going to drop, because no way could the perfect woman actually exist, and the other part of me is starting to think not only that she does, but that I actually found her. And that I want her. Now.
I’m not sure how much longer I can rein myself in. I found her beautiful from the first moment I saw her, but now, after learning more about the person inside, I have no doubt she’s the sexiest woman I’ve ever known. That, coupled with her proximity to me in the car, our fingers lightly entwined on the armrest, and I’m having trouble keeping myself in check physically.
I pull up in front of the house and walk around to help Lisa out of the car, holding her hand as we walk up the path to her door. Only our fingers are touching, but the electricity from that small point of contact is staggering, and I know my resistance is buckling. If Lisa invites me in, I won’t be leaving tonight.
As we reach the door, I reluctantly drop her hand so she can find her keys, and when I see her fumbling with the lock, her hand shaking just slightly, I know she wants me as much as I want her.
I intend to be the gentleman. I intend to stay firmly rooted on the porch unless she invites me in and to limit our goodbye to a lingering kiss if she doesn’t. I am not going to devour her like I did the last time. And I don’t. But the second Lisa steps inside, she pulls me flush to her and wraps her arms around my neck.
“Stay,” she whispers as she brushes her lips across mine.
I kick the door shut behind me and cup her face in my hands. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” she breathes.
I pull her mouth to mine, sweeping my tongue across her lips as I slide my hands into her hair. It’s just as soft and thick as it looks, and it feels like velvet gliding over my fingers. She utters a wanton moan, and I immediately go rigid, turning my head to deepen the kiss. When she shudders against me, my legs go weak, and I have to lean against the door to keep us upright. Her sweet mouth is fused to mine, sharing my air, her chest heaving erratically as my tongue teases hers. She presses into me and rises onto her toes, rolling her hips against mine. The friction is almost painful on my cock, and I’m tempted to take it out right here to find relief. But I’ve tried so hard to do right by Lisa, and fucking her up against the door would ruin all my efforts. I need to slow this down, to take my time and give her everything she deserves.
“God, Lisa. I don’t want to go too fast, but I don’t think I can stop,” I whisper against her mouth.
“Don’t stop.” She brushes her lips over mine.
“Tell me you want this.”
“I want this,” she breathes.
