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She smiled brightly and proceeded to finish her ritual. “Make yourself at home.”
I looked around at her space that spread over the size of her bakery downstairs. The loft was inviting. I leaned on the couch facing a panel with a TV and inspected the space. I assumed her bedroom was behind the door to the left, since her kitchen was to my right, separated only by a countertop. Considering the size of the loft, the kitchen was supposed to be small, but that section didn’t seem to match her. I understood she needed somewhere cheap and close to the bakery, but I’d pictured her in a bigger space. Like mine.
I quickly dismissed the dangerous thought.
The place was organized, and it matched her. Or maybe it didn’t and I was just happy to be there. I stopped my musings to watch her instead, believing it’d be less dangerous. Although one look at her leaning on the dresser in the living room, our eyes meeting through the mirror, forcing me to control a shiver, was enough to show me I’d never be safe if she was around.
She faced me intently, shifting her head to each side to put on her earrings. “Have you had a chance to rest? You seemed tired yesterday.”
“A little.” I made myself comfortable on her sofa. “Although sometimes I feel like I need a whole month to recharge.”
“I still don’t know what you do.” There was no accusation in her voice; just curiosity. I felt eager to answer all her questions. I still couldn’t examine it inwardly, but I wanted us to know each other beyond the surface.
“I co-own a private investigation and security company.”
“That sounds interesting.” She sounded sincere.
“It can be sometimes. We have our dull moments, but we also have our fill of excitement here and there.”
“Well, I’m ready.” She stretched her arms at her side and leaned her hips to show me the result. “For the dinner, and you.”
“Then let’s get going, otherwise we won’t get a good table. Where I’m taking you isn’t the kind of place you make reservations, but I assure you, you’ll like it.” I strutted toward her. “But first we need to deal with something.”
Her curious gaze held barely-contained lust as I got closer. “You know how people keep wondering about first-date kisses? It’s such a pressure that most of the time puts a damper on the whole night.” Our bodies were almost touching, and Forest made no move to step back. “I don’t want a damp dinner.” Her breathing was heavy and pupils dilated when I touched her face, my thumb rubbing her cheeks and hands placed at the base of her neck.
“Maybe we should get this out of the way, so we can enjoy our evening.” Her breathy voice made me groan, and I’d have a hard time walking around with a hard-on after that. Our noses were almost touching, and we were breathing each other’s air.
“My thoughts exactly.” I closed the final space between us and pressed my lips on hers, lightly at first. Reckoning, I licked and nibbled on her soft lips. She pressed her body against mine, and I could feel her heartbeat, just as wild as mine. Her breasts on my chest, my hands instinctively fisting her hair. When I bit her lower lip harder, her moan sent a flow of energy straight to my cock. All recon was over; I was ready to attack.
Taking advantage of her open mouth, I plunged my tongue, holding her flush against me. Our tongues danced together as we devoured each other. I was famished and borderline out of control. I wanted to explore all of her; I couldn’t stop the kiss.
She gripped the side of my buttoned shirt, pulling me even closer, her high heels making it easier for us to explore our greed for each other.
That wasn’t just a kiss. It was a claim. I just wasn’t sure who was claiming whom, but I had a feeling that was the moment when I became hers.
We broke the kiss, both of us breathing hard, our foreheads pressed together and hands still gripping each other like a life-saver. I felt like I was drowning in Isabella’s ocean, but I was too entranced to care. “Now we just have to worry about our next kisses,” I panted.
I pecked her lips and kissed her on the cheek, not ready to take my mouth away from her. She took my offered hand, her face revealing both lust and fondness, and we left for our date.
I couldn’t put my finger on it, but something told me that night could change my life.
We arrived at All In One on time to get a table at the back. It was the most strategic spot—not too close to the kitchen, in the line of sight of the bar, and away from the jukebox. We could talk without being interrupted, we could hear each other, and our fast serving was guaranteed.
“I know this isn’t the fanciest of places; Picadilly seemed way posher than this one. But this is an institution in this town, and I want you to know everything.” Scary enough, I meant that for more than just the menu.
“I’m loving this already. This is more my scene than Picadilly.” Her awe and cheerfulness evidentiated the truth in her words. “The atmosphere here is addicting. I loved how unique they are in their decorations. I mean, they have a picture of a gay couple kissing right next to a photo of what I can only assume is a motorcycle club.”
I tried to look at it all as if for the first time, trying to remember my reaction when I knew that place. Its transition from rainbow colors to red and pink, to brown, to gray and black should be tiring or tacky, but it was welcoming. It made sense to the proposal of the place.
“That’s because this is a motorcycle bar.” Her eyes snapped at me with surprise and curiosity. “And a gay bar, and an elder bar.”
“What?” she asked, already laughing.
“All In One. We have everything in here. Today is couple’s day. Tomorrow is for LGBTQIA-plus. Normally Mondays are for the elderly. Fridays are for the local MC, based a town over, in Gratitude. Sometimes the local church organizes some events here as well.” Her eyes were big as she looked around, this time with the knowledge of how the place worked. She seemed even more delighted. “Everyone is welcome to come in any day, despite the schedule, but they know the theme will be specific—the drinks, the songs, the games.”
“This is so incredible. It’s fun, it’s inviting, and it leaves no one out.” Roaming her hand over the table, she said, “The rainbow flag tablecloth makes much more sense now.”
“Now look at the other tables.” As she checked around us, her eyes were brimming with glee. The one immediately by our side was decorated with knitted ornaments—thank you, grandmas of this town; the one at her back had no tablecloth, and the table was black, with an image of a Harley carved on the top. The people were just as unique.
