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I make my way to the kitchen, where I find Angela setting out plates and bowls. She’s dressed in loose fitting white pants and a light pink tank top that keeps slipping off one of her shoulders. Her nipples are showing slightly through the thin material, hard and round, and my mouth goes dry at the sight.
“You look nice,” I tell her.
“In my pajamas? Please be serious,” she says, rolling her eyes. She looks down at her outfit as if to assess it and must notice that her nipples are showing because a blush flashes across her cheeks. “Um, sorry for being so casual. I would have gotten changed if I’d known you were coming over.”
“I wanted to surprise you,” I say, shrugging. “And your pajamas are cute. You look beautiful no matter what you wear.”
“Well, I’m pretty sure you’re the only person who would say that, but thank you.”
“I’m going to tell you that you’re beautiful every damn day of my life,” I say to her.
She blushes again, and busies herself getting glasses and napkins out. Warmth settles into me, because it seems like Angela is finally starting to realize how serious I am about her.
I open the bottle of wine I brought and place it on the table, and then unpack the food. Within minutes we’re digging into pasta, focaccia bread, and eggplant parmesan. Angela immediately goes for the pasta with clams, and I suppress a smile.
“This is so good,” she says. “And the wine is nice, too.”
“As good as Shaky Jane’s?”
“Shaky Jane’s doesn’t serve pasta, which is one of the most important food groups.”
“Noted,” I say. “I’ll cook it for you some time. I have a pasta machine.”
“You make fresh pasta?”
“Why the shock? I told you I can cook,” I say.
“I know, it’s just that fresh pasta contrasts with the whole, you know.” She waves her empty fork up and down at me. “Mountain man vibe you’ve got going on.”
“What?”
“You know. Flannels. Hiking. Man buns. Biceps. Carrying extra rations with you. All of that.” She laughs as she says this, her turquoise eyes twinkling, and the strap on her top slips down again, revealing the top of her breast. I quickly avert my eyes and hope she doesn’t notice.
“Carrying extra rations is what saved us,” I say, but on the inside I’m panicking. Maybe Angela is more into clean cut guys. I’ve honestly never given my style much thought aside from thinking that flannels, boots, and jeans are just comfortable. And I really haven’t thought about it in terms of whether it’s appealing to women, because if they’re not Angela, then I don’t really care.
“I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” she says, smiling slowly, and looking me up and down again. “Mountain man is definitely your vibe, but it looks good on you.”
Okay, crisis averted. Angela is definitely appreciative of my mountain man look. I mentally throw out all of the plans I was making to get rid of my flannels, get a haircut, and buy an entirely new wardrobe.
As soon as we’re done eating, she eyes the white box I left unopened on the table.
“What’s that?” she asks.
“That is a single piece of plum pie with crumb topping from Beth’s,” I tell her, and watch her eyes widen. Beth’s plum pie is legendary.
“Oh my god,” she says. “Let’s split it, right now.”
“Nope, I’m not testing my luck,” I say. “That’s all for you.”
Angela gives me a slightly confused look, but digs into the pie nonetheless.
“This is so fucking good,” she says. “I forgot how good. I haven’t had Beth’s in months.” Her tongue darts out and licks a piece of plum from her lip, and all I can think about is that same tongue swirling around the head of my cock.
“Have you had the chance to do any painting since getting back?” I ask.
She sets her fork down and crosses her arms. “Not really, no. I need to get new supplies because my old paint is kind of gross and dried up now, and I ran out of canvases. But I have a few days off now, so maybe I’ll do a sketch or something.”
“Has work been okay?”
