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He hangs up the phone. “You got me, sweetheart.”
He pulls back the comforter and covers us both. Next the television comes to life, and he’s scrolling through the channels. “What do you want to watch?”
“Anything.”
“Nope, how are we supposed to avoid misunderstanding if we don’t understand each other? Tell me what you like.”
“I like your lips on my lips… and other places.”
“I love my lips all over you, and inside you. But I was serious earlier about getting to know you better. That means finding out more than just where you like my tongue.” He kisses me softly on the lips. “I mean, if I just put a bun in your oven, I should at least find out what kind of shows you like to watch.”
I bust out laughing. “Bun? A little cliché for a chef, don’t you think?” And ironic because that’s exactly what Malcolm called it.
“It’s because you’ve got my mind so twisted, I’m incapable of being witty right now. ” He grins. “Now, what do you want to watch?”
I tilt my head, surprised that this amazing, world-renowned chef wants to just lay back and hang out with me. “Are we really going to lie here and eat pizza, drink tea, and watch reruns on TCM?”
“TCM it is. See, I just learned something about you. You like classic movies. Look how easy that was?”
I crawl closer to him. He smells like citrus and me. “What do you like to watch?”
He rolls to his side and brushes my hair back. “I like watching you.”
I pull the pillow from under his head and smack him with it. “You didn’t answer the question.”
In seconds he’s straddling me. The robe is open and his eyes gobble me up. “On Sundays, I like football. When I choose a movie, I like mysteries or action adventure. When I’m with you, I’ll watch anything you like because seeing you happy is all I really want to see.”
A knock sounds and Ripley is up and walking to the door. He looks back and motions for me to cover up. I scramble under the comforter and pull it to my chin.
Room service wheels the cart in and pulls off the silver dome from the pizza. Ripley pulls a bill from his wallet and watches the man leave.
“Pizza,” he sings out.
He places a cup of tea on each nightstand and sets the pizza between us on the bed. I pull a slice from the plate and sit back to watch Breakfast at Tiffany’s. I sip the tea and cuddle with Ripley, and it is the best night of my life.
When my alarm goes off at six, his side of the bed is empty except for a note.
Leaving you was the hardest thing I had to do. Room service is coming at six-thirty with coffee, but I’ll be waiting at seven. That gives you an hour to devour the chocolate croissants I’m making for you, and it gives me an hour to devour you.
Ripley
I don't know what I’m more excited about, seeing Ripley or eating his chocolate croissants that he’s making me. Definitely Ripley.
Today calls for something a little sexier than jeans and a T-shirt. He likes my ass. God love a man with poor taste, but I’ll give him my ass. Yoga pants and a tunic it is.
It’s five minutes to seven when my phone rings. I don't look to see who it is. I assume it’s Ripley, but when Malcolm’s voice fills my ear, I’m equally excited. I walk out of the hotel and make my way to the bakery.
“How was the first day of class?” There is no hello or nicety to start. Malcolm is a straight shooter except when it comes to his sexual preferences. That little tidbit he danced around for a long time. I give myself credit for his outing because I told him to be honest with himself and to fight for what belongs to him, and he did. I’m proud of him.
“Oh, you know. It was like every first day of class. I showed up and made a second place lemon cake, had dinner at the instructor’s house, and then when everyone left, I let him have his way with me.”
“Stop screwing around. Really, how was class?”
I stay silent and wait for it to all sink in.
“You’re kidding right?”
More silence from me.
