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Seven
Agatha
Ishuffled up to Arnold's front door, my trench coat swaying around me. My pulse hammered in my ears like a drumline gone rogue. Deep breath in, deep breath out. I was doing this. The whole trench-coat-with-nothing-underneath thing screamed confidence, but my stomach twisted into knots. Maybe this was too much. If he was a virgin, like I suspected, he would probably run.
"Here goes nothing," I muttered and rapped my knuckles against the wood.
The door swung open, and there stood Arnold—Adonis of the bookstore aisles, with his sandy hair tousled just right. Tremors crept through his fingers as he brushed a stray lock out of his eyes. We locked gazes, and heat flushed to my cheeks.
"Hey, Angel." His voice cracked a little, endearingly so.
"Hey yourself, Adonis." I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "Nice day, huh?"
"Perfect for... um, you know. Coffee. And stuff." He gestured awkwardly inside.
"Definitely perfect." I stepped past him, our shoulders grazing. Electricity zipped down my spine. This was it. We were really going to do this.
I stepped through the doorway, my heels clicking on the hardwood floor. The room was bathed in a soft glow, shadows dancing along the walls. A jazz tune hummed low from a corner speaker, wrapping around me like a warm blanket.
"Nice place," I said.
"Thanks." Arnold's gaze flitted around as if he was seeing it for the first time, too. "Music's not too much, is it? Did... did you still want to go to the park?"
I'd completely forgotten he wanted to go to the park... "Uh... let's stay here for a bit."
His lips twitched into a smile; then he turned toward the kitchen. "Drink? I've got wine... or something stronger?"
"Wine sounds great." My stomach did a little flip-flop. Alcohol might just smooth out the edges. I've never had wine at 10 am on a Saturday morning, but I've also never fucked a client.
He bobbed his head, fetching two glasses and a bottle. His fingers fumbled at the cork, the pop echoing too loudly in the quiet.
"Sorry, I'm usually not this—" He poured the ruby liquid, spilling a few drops.
"Clumsy?" I teased, trying to lighten things up. Looking into his kitchen, there were pans in the sink, leftover eggs stuck to them. God, this was so weird. Sex in the morning. Wine in the morning. We should have done this at night.
"Exactly." He handed me a glass, our fingers brushing. Sparks, like tiny static shocks, climbed up my hand.
"Cheers to..." I searched for the right words.
"New experiences?" His eyes met mine, a question hanging between us.
"New experiences." I clinked my glass against his, the sound crisp in the charged air.
Sipping the wine, I let the rich flavor settle on my tongue. This should be easy, right? Just rip off the band-aid—or trench coat, in my case.
"Agatha," he began, then paused, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Do you want me to take your coat?"
Sweat broke out on my palms. "Nope... no. That's okay." I took another gulp of wine, hoping it would drown the butterflies, staging a rebellion in my belly.
The couch felt like an island in the ocean of tension between us. I curled my legs beneath me, sipping wine to steady my jittering nerves.
"Nice place you've got," I blurted again, eyes darting around the room—anywhere but at him.
"Thanks." He pulled at a loose thread on a cushion. "I like it cozy."
"Cozy's good." My laugh echoed too loud before I snorted. Just shoot me now.
We both reached for our glasses, hands knocking. Wine sloshed over my fingers.
