“This is it,” I announce, holding the door open for her. “My humble abode.”
She steps in and smiles at me in that way that hits me in the gut every damn time. I haven’t brought a woman here in a long while, and never one who meant this much to me.
“It’s as homey as I expected,” she says, looking around.
“Thanks.” It’s modest, nothing like the mansion she probably grew up in, but I’m proud of it. The plush sectional in the living room is perfect for lazy evenings, and the kitchen has clean white lines, lots of counter space, and stainless steel appliances. Along with my studio, it’s my sanctuary. Cooking after a long day relaxes me.
Miss Bethany, who cleans every two weeks, keeps it livable for two busy people. But this morning, I’d scrubbed the tub and toilet myself. Dice swears that’s the ultimate measure of how much you’re digging a woman. That, as well as stocking pads and tampons under the sink. Check and check.
“Can I pour you some wine?” I ask.
“Sure. I can help with dinner.”
“I’m good. Just keep me company.”
“That’s an easy job.” She grins.
I roll up my sleeves at the sink, wash my hands, and pour us each a glass. “It’s red with a hint of sweetness. Thought you might like it.”
She walks over to me and takes the glass, leaning against the counter for a sip. I watch the way her lips close around the rim, the way her throat ripples as she swallows. I’ve never been this attuned to anyone before. Lexie engages every part of me—my mind, my heart, my body.
“How is it?” I ask, picking up my own glass.
“I don’t often enjoy red wine, but this is really good. Not too heavy.”
“It should pair well with burgers.”
“You’re making burgers?” Her eyes light up.
“Yep.” I grin, liking how much she shares my joy for food. While I shape the ground steak into balls, stuffing them with jalapeño and cheddar, Lexie insists on making the salad. I select an old-school R&B playlist full of love songs by the greats, including Luther Vandross and Teddy Pendergrass. We fall into an easy rhythm, working side by side.
“If I didn’t know better,” she teases, bumping her hip against mine, “I might think you’re trying to seduce me.”
“Was it the burgers or Luther that gave me away?”
“A little of both. But for the record, it’s your voice that gets to me,” she says, setting the table with a flirty smile, and I wonder who’s seducing who.
God, I’m obsessed with this woman.
Over dinner, we get a message from Sophia raving about the first day of her conference. She texted us in a group chat she created, titled:Me, My Bro, & His Boo. Lexie laughed at the name, taking it in stride.
We’re never short on conversation, and the small lulls in between feel natural. After the meal, we tidied up the kitchen. Lexie stretches her arms above her head, her sweater riding up just enough to expose a sliver of smooth skin. “Do you mind if I shower and get into some comfy clothes?”
“Not at all,” I say, trying to sound casual. At the first sign of invitation, I’d be stripping to join her, but I sense she just wants to wash the day away and get cozy. That’s good with me too. This time with Lexie isn’t about getting her into bed; it’s about making her a part of my life.
Grabbing her bag, I lead the way to my room.
“So this is your space,” she says, taking in slate-blue walls that give the bedroom an intimate feel.
Dimmable overhead lighting casts a soft ivory glow over everything. The built-in shelves hold vinyl records and display my most prized comic books. Each cover is framed and arranged just so, respecting the artistry. Lexie steps closer, her fingertips ghosting over the edges of a few frames. Her smile lights up as she discovers another part of me.
The guitar in the corner catches her eye, its polished maple wood gleaming faintly in the low light. She gently strums the strings, the sound soft and resonating, before her gaze drifts to the bed.
The platform king dominates the room, its upholstered headboard matching the walls for a simple, monochrome look. The dark gray comforter is offset by sheets of pale sunshine. The rest of the furnishings are in brushed slate tones.
But it’s the artwork hanging above the bed that surprises her. It’s one of her photos I had enlarged and printed on canvas: A black-and-white shot of the harbor at night.
“I can’t believe you did this.”
