“That was fucking hot.Was it … what you expected?”It was the first time I’d heard her as anything other than confident.
“I think the results speak for themselves,” I said with a lighthearted laugh.“Really makes you wonder why sodomy isn’t more popular.”
The mattress shook with the rhythm of her laughter, and the still relaxed state of my mind had me reaching over to pull her closer until she was draped over my side.
I breathed in the soft, floral scent of her hair, running my fingers along the shaved side, the feel of it fine like fur, and heard her sigh softly.Her warm breath ghosted along my damp skin as she spoke, “Religion ruining it for the rest of us.”
“That’s a rather pointed statement.Bad memories?”
She hummed.“You could say that.I spent years going to Sunday school.”
“That explains so much about you.And now you don’t believe?”
“Oh, I believe there’s something out there, but they’re probably an asshole.”
“Why do you say that?”
“They created this incredible thing, the planets, the universe, mountains, animals, people, and then what?They got bored and fucked off, or even worse, are just up there watching all this fucked up shit happening and not doing a damn thing to stop it.”
“What if it’s a lesson in humility?In human redemption?”
“Catholic?”she asked.
“On my mother’s side.”
“Funny,” she chuckled.“Does that mean I have to call you Saint Sam now?”
“Absolutely not.”
There was a teasing scoff.“Where’s your sense of fun?”
“I’m fairly sure you swallowed it in the shower.”
Watching her gape at me in shock was almost as satisfying as the raucous laughter that followed.
Our stomachs rumbled, and I joined in her laughter.“Not a word,” I said as I reluctantly swung my legs off the bed and pulled a pair of loose sweatpants on.I hadn’t eaten in hours and could only imagine Tiffany was in the same position.Padding softly into the kitchen, I mentally checked off our options.I was far too tired to cook and was sure we’d both fall asleep before any form of take-out arrived.
Blinking against the bright light of the fridge, I cataloged a handful of items that would work—dates, strawberries, prosciutto, a few cheeses.After piling a generous amount on a plate, I added a handful of cashews and crackers and walked it back to the bedroom, where Tiffany sat propped against the headboard, the bedside lamp casting ethereal shadows across her sharp features.
“Eating in bed, Sam?You rebel.”
Climbing in beside her, I leaned over to place a teasing kiss on her lips, careful not to jolt the plate in my hands.“Maybe you bring it out in me.”
Her lips chased mine, and we kissed once, then twice more before parting.Tiffany passed a wry glance at the assortment.“Nice spread.”
I moved to stand.“Should I whip up a lasagna, then?”
Her grip around my wrist halted any further movement.“Don’t you dare.Get back here.”
We ate, passing stories of our childhoods, our families, our first experiences in bartending.Tiffany had a wonderful way of crafting a story, embellishing with a natural flair that would make a comedian jealous.I’d known a number of entrepreneurs take courses on public speaking to learn the ease with which she spoke.
“Then, there was the time Audrey caught me in the storeroom with the Don Julio delivery woman.”
“Please tell me you’re joking.”
“What?I cleaned up afterward.”
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”
