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“What kind of ice cream?” I ask, my eyes narrowed as I stare up at him.
He seems visibly shaken for a second, then he smiles and I know he’s caught onto my silliness. “Pistachio. Is there another kind?”
“At least you went with the healthy and delicious option.” I'm teasing him because pistachio ice cream is not healthy, even though it’s nut flavored.
“Exactly.” I can tell he knows that I'm kidding as we step into the kitchen and he makes his way to the fridge. He stops in front of the appliance and turns to look at me. “So meal or treat?” As he says the words, heat flares up inside me and I realize I might want something else... him.
“Are you on the menu?” I ask the question as a joke, and given the very real heat and desire in his eyes, I realize he's not laughing.
“I’d love to say that I am, but my mom is due to come over anytime, so we might want to wait.”
I nod a quick agreement with his assessment. “I think that's a good idea. You made the right call.” The last thing I want is for his mom to walk in on us in the middle of getting hot and heavy.
“But I'd like to enjoy some time together again soon, if you're willing.” As he says the words, he arches an eyebrow at me and I quickly agree with him.
“Oh, I'm willing and interested and want to.” With that I notice he's still waiting patiently for an answer, and I decide to put him out of his misery. “I think I could go for some ice cream.” I'm not one to eat my feelings, but in this particular instance, I think having a treat after a stressful situation is an absolutely acceptable way to manage the tension in my being.
How could anyone be so awful?
Charles grabs the ice cream from the freezer and puts it on the counter before getting the ice cream scooper out of the drawer. I follow suit, getting some bowls while he grabs a couple of spoons. Side by side in the kitchen, we work together. Maybe it's silly, we're just putting ice cream in bowls, but everything feels so fluid and effortless. Even without speaking, we seem to fall into comfortable roles and routines.
When we both have our bowls of ice cream, I lift mine and he touches the rim of his to the rim of mine.
“Cheers,” I say softly.
“Cheers.” He’s quick to put the ice cream back in the freezer and I admire his form as he does so. Not only is he incredibly attractive and handsome, but he's a good man. I don't think I've ever been around somebody as supportive as he is, with the exception of my mother. And it just feels natural with him, like neither of us have to try.
Like puzzle pieces, we simply fit together just right.
As we take our bowls back to the living room and stay close to one another, I realize I'm not super upset about the loss of Methew.
“You know, I'm starting to think you're turning me into a kept man.” Charles laughs as he says the words, popping a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth.
To be honest, I kind of like the sound of that. I love the thought of being with him; he's so loving and kind and gentle. “You know, I don't feel like you're the same man that you were when I met you.”
My words make him hesitate as he thinks for a few moments. “I agree. Maybe you softened me up.” His smile melts my heart, and I decide that since today has been a day of honesty for me, that maybe it'd be a good idea to be honest with him too.
“I really did think when you asked for us to spend more time together that you were asking me to work for you more, because I guess I’m just crazy, but I was also worried.” I struggle to get the words out and I stare down into my bowl, using the back of my spoon to push the soft ice cream around. “I'm worried about you being the hardest Club Red because I know what happens there.”
Methew was a perfect example that some men use the club to cheat on their wives... or soon to be wives.
“So I'll give it up.”
I jerk my head and stare into his eyes, trying to figure out if he's serious and he lifts a shoulder. “I don't even go there for the sex. They're just the only place in town that has my favorite brand of bourbon for the nights I don’t feel like sitting home and drinking alone.”
I almost burst out laughing and have to hold it back because that's the most ridiculous reason I can think of for somebody to go to a sex club. But it makes sense.
“You'd better kiss me now.” With that, I grab the collar of his shirt and pull him in close and press my lips to his, loving the contrast of cold lips and hot skin and the taste of sweet as we meet.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Charles
Only a few days have passed since she confronted Methew, and I’m staring down at my phone, typing out a quick response and hitting send.
Thank you, man. I appreciate it.
My text to Arson is quickly met with his support. No worries, man. See you soon.
