God, I missedthis.
35
Jesse
He givesme that appetizer I asked for before we take a showertogether.
In each kiss we share, I can feel how much he missed me. I like that he’s about as incapable of keeping his hands off me as I am with him. It mirrors how I feel about not having seenhim.
As we kiss beneath the showerhead, the water streams between us and webs across our faces. The warmth mixes with our collective body heat. He sets his hands on my cheeks before leaning back, holding mygaze.
I’m waiting for him to smirk or smile, but his expression remains stoic.What are you thinking, Eric? About the same things I am? About how complicated all this is? About all those things we haven’tdiscussed?
In a way, we haven’t escaped the fantasy that was our experience in Puerto Vallarta. It’s just changed places. Now it’s in his shower. Our own private bubble where we share space, but only with oneanother.
“Thank you for coming over tonight,” hesays.
“Thank you? I’m not doing you a favor. I’m over here because I want to be withyou.”
“I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed this…how much I’ve missedyou.”
I can tell he means more than the way it feels when we’re messing around in the bedroom. It’s the real reason I’m here. I feel the same way abouthim.
When we finish showering, we return to his kitchen, where he works to recover dinner. Fortunately, his chicken really was cooked through, which makes the rest a lot easier tomanage.
While he puts on a pot to boil water for the pasta, I ask, “What can I helpwith?”
“You can just sit at the table and lookpretty.”
“Uh-uh. None of that shit. Clearly, you need help making the sides.” I spot some broccoli he’s laid out on the counter. “Here we go,” I say as I approach it. “Now, I can do something withthis.”
“I was going to steamit.”
“Steam it? Oh, no, no, no. We’re baking this. Where’s abowl?”
I dig through his cabinets for a moment before he laughs at my efforts and directs me to the correct cabinet. Once I have a bowl, I continue exploring his kitchen, fetching some olive oil, pepper, and garlic salt. I wash the broccoli and cut it before mixing it with the olive oil in the bowl, adding seasoning with some salt and pepper. I spread aluminum foil in a pan before putting it in theoven.
“See? I can be useful in the kitchen too. I may not be the best cook in the world, but I could surprise you with some of my mad bakingskills.”
“I’ll have to remember that,” he says while he continues preparing thepasta.
We work together to finish the meal, and when we near completion, I grab the plates off the table so that Eric can put the foodon.
Soon, we’re both sitting at the table, Eric pouring us each a glass of Chardonnay from the bottle he’s chilled in the ice bucket. As we eat, I appreciate I was able to helpout.
“This is really good,” I tellhim.
“I figured it would be a nice first-datemeal.”
“Technically, it’s not our first date. We’ve discussed this. We already had our first date. We’ve actually been on afew.”
“Those don’t reallycount.”
“And why isthat?”
“We were just messing around, having fun. I think we both assumed that when we got back here, it was going tostop.”
“A date only means we were getting to know each other, which we were doing,” I remindhim.
