Page 30 of Wine & Dine

13

An act of appreciation

[Dolores]

He can trust me, but I want a real shower that will leave me smelling like myself and not the scent of him. The fragrance is too much because it makes me crave him. My body hums from his swat to my backside and the too-quick kiss. Waking in his bed seemed surreal and a bit déjà vu. When I woke a week ago after dog sitting, I’d had the same restful sleep and peaceful comfort—something I hardly experience alone.

We agree I should change clothes. I can’t spend the day in his underwear. I’ve already moistened the center because of the soft, worn material rubbing against my core. I need a rub myself, or I’m not going to make it through the next few hours without throwing myself at him.

When I return to his place, I find him unpacking grocery bags. A small turkey. Boxed stuffing. Potatoes. Cornbread mix. I typically wouldn’t use products from a package, preferring to make things from scratch, but I won’t complain. Again, I feel guilty he missed his flight home.

“I’m sorry about you missing your family.”

He spins to face me. “I’m not.” The sentiment shocks me, but he’s smiling as he speaks.

“How can I help?” I ask, wanting to make myself useful. Then I pause. “Are those Target bags?”

“Yeah, there’s one a few blocks from here.”

Silence falls between us as he realizes what he’s said.

“You liar.” I laugh. Stepping toward him, I reach for a spatula on the counter and wield it like a weapon as I approach him. Raising his hands in defense, he laughs as he steps around his kitchen island. “You said you didn’t know of a Target within fifty miles.”

I’m still chasing him as he jumps over the back of his couch. Wally joins in, yipping and barking at the chaos in his space. Garrett is full-on laughing as we shift left and then right with the couch as a barrier.

“You didn’t need Target. You needed an overhaul.”

“Ah,” I gasp, attempting to head over the couch like he did, but I don’t have the same stretch as him nor are my legs as long. One leg gets stuck over the back of the furniture before Garrett reaches for my arm. He yanks me forward, my back falling until I hit the cushions, and then he’s over me, straddling my stomach. My wrists are cuffed above my head as Garrett leans forward.

Kiss me, he said when we went to the movie.

Kiss me, I beg.

But he stops himself like he did last night.

“Are you saying I look drab?” I mock.

“I’m saying you had potential.”

“That’s so mean,” I pout.

“Yet look at you now.” His eyes roam over my body. Flannel shirt rolled to the elbows, unbuttoned enough to reveal a cami underneath. A pair of skinny jeans. Flip-flops because we’ll remain inside. “You’re stunning.”

“I’m a mess, remember?” I snark, losing steam.

“A beautiful mess,” he says, his voice catching on the comment.

Kiss me.

He’s lowering, and I swallow, my mouth watering for another taste of him. A real taste of him. His hold on my wrists above my head no longer seems playful but seductive. His thumbs stroke over the sensitive skin. I want him to keep me like this—his captive.

Instead, a loud buzzer beeps, drowning out our panting breaths.

“Oven’s hot,” he mutters, pressing off my arms and shifting off my body.

Me too, I think, but it’s probably for the best I not mention it. He’s allowing me the honor of spending the day with him, and I shouldn’t mess it up by adding anything sexual to the mix.

He lowers a hand, offering to help me stand, and I reach for his. As he tugs me upward, our eyes meet in the way they do, where we seem to be looking, searching, digging for something inside. Then he releases me and scrubs at the back of his neck as he walks toward the oven.