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I don’t want to be paranoid but there is only one reason I can think of that he’d hide his phone from me for the first time in our entire relationship and I doubt it’s because of a surprise party. If it was a text message, I’d understand his hesitancy to let me see it, not that I’d try. I’ve never tried. But because it’s a phone call, surely if it was my mother calling to discuss a secret that I’m unaware of, she’d act natural so as to not make me suspicious.
Unless it’s a venue calling and not somebody we know. In which case I can understand his hesitancy to allow me to answer the call.
My head hurts. Nothing about this is right.
“So, I thought we could go and grab a quick bite to eat before going to see that movie you’ve been going on about for months.”
This perks my mood up a little bit, though not enough for me to fully get excited as my mind is a torment of questions. I don’t want to be the type of woman that searches his phone, destroying his privacy because of my own paranoia. I should trust him. If I can’t trust him then I shouldn’t be with him.
“That’s great. I’m starving.” I force a smile, not that he sees it as his eyes are on the road.
“Good.” His hand leaves the wheel and finds his phone in the hollow pocket. I hear it beep as he turns it off and the panic in my heart sets a deep scar. “Let’s go.”
“I want popcorn.”
He frowns; he has such an aversion to it. “Fine.”
“And nachos with melted cheese.”
“Really?” His disgust amuses me.
“Yep.”
“Your funeral.”
I blow out a breath and stare out of the window for a long moment. “Who was on the phone?”
“Nobody, as I said.”
I give him a sideways glance, hoping my disbelief projects onto him. “So why’d you turn your phone off?”
“Because I don’t want our evening to be disturbed. I turned yours off too.”
He did? I pull it from my handbag and stare at the black, unresponsive screen. “When?”
“Back at the house.”
“What about the kids? Jeanine?”
“They’ll be fine. I have my secondary phone on vibrate.” He pats the breast of his jacket. “Against my heart.”
My panic dissipates as I recognise my ridiculousness. He wasn’t doing it to be sneaky. He was doing it purely because he didn’t see anything wrong with it. It’s me making an issue.
He walked through fire for me. I remind myself and allow the worry to lift from me like a wet blanket from my skin.
“I’m sorry for creating. I’m such a drama queen. I have no reason not to trust you.” I place my hand on his thigh and trail my fingers up to his crotch. He shudders and shifts in his seat. “I’ll make it up to you later.”
For a few seconds he says nothing. I put it down to the fact I’m teasing him whilst he drives, definitely not the safest move, so I stop groping him through his trousers. His groan of disappointment makes me laugh. The slow speed with which his cock grows along his thigh makes me laugh harder.
“You’re dealing with this before we eat. You know I’ll be hard for hours otherwise.”
“I might give you a sneaky hand job in the cinema if you’re lucky.”
“So romantic.” He takes my hand and places it back on his solid groin. “Ugh, that feels great.”
“I’m hardly touching you.”
“Well, it still feels really good.” I slap his thigh and cross my arms, smiling with mischief when he hisses through his teeth and rubs his thigh with his fingertips. “I forget sometimes what a bitch you can be.”
“Don’t insult me. I have the vagina, remember?”
“Please, you couldn’t deny me sex even if you wanted to. I’m too good at persuading you.”
He’s not wrong. “I’m so happy we’re getting to do this.”
“Me too.”
We share a smile.
“So, where are we eating?”
“There’s a deli place open around the corner; we’ll just grab something quick. The movie starts in half an hour. Unless you want to eat afterwards?”
“Hell no!” I cry, his suggestion abhorrent. “Then I can’t have popcorn.”
“Oh dear,” he remarks sarcastically. “How tragic.”
“What is it with you and popcorn?”
“What is it with you and broccoli?”
“Broccoli is vile.”
“You’re a chef. You shouldn’t hate broccoli. I’m certain that disliking such a basic vegetable is against the rules.”
“Good point. I won’t tell Kerim.” I shudder at the thought that he’d find something else to yell at me about.
“How are things going at work? We’ve not had chance to speak much this week.”
“Great.” I know I moan about it a lot but my answer is honest. “I love it, all of it, even the stressful parts.”
“Are you learning a lot?”
“I’m trying, though it’s hard to learn when you’re constantly stuck in one area of the kitchen.”
