“Oh. Sorry. I thought this might be amalefriend’s house.”
“It is,” I slide the plate across the island to her.
“OH!” Cat’s eyes go wide. “OH! I assumed…”
“Assumed what?”
“Assumed you were, you know,” she gestures to my midsection and crotch. “You know, straight.”
“Why is everyone so obsessed with my sexual orientation all of a sudden?”
“All of a sudden?”
“Never mind,” I pass her a fork and knife. “Eat. It’s been a long day.”
She pauses and stares at the plate. “This smells so good. What is it?”
“It’s a wild rice, greens, and pork stir fry,” I scoop up a forkful. “Easy dish.”
Cat snorts. “Easy for you, maybe.”
I take another bite. We’re sitting side-by-side at the island, and I can practically feel the heat from her. It’s making me hard again. And hard to concentrate on what she’s saying.
“I’m sorry for earlier,” Cat pushes her food around the plate but won’t meet my eye. “I’m a little sensitive to men telling me to calm down.”
“Water under the bridge,” I turn toward her. “Well, sugar.”
She faces me with a quizzical look on her face. “Sugar? Here I was just getting used to you calling me Kitten.”
“No, not sugar, like you’re my sugar,” I swallow. Where was I going with this?
“I’m not your sugar, but I’m your Kitten?” Cat raises an eyebrow at me.
I shake my head. “Uh, yes. I mean, no. I mean - it’s sugar under the bridge. Crap. Some joke. I guess if I have to explain it, it’s not that funny.”
Cat slaps the island and throws back her head, laughing so hard I worry she’ll fall off the stool. The laugh rolls through me, over me, and around me. The sound of her laughter reaches deep inside my soul, and before I can help myself, I’m grinning at her like an idiot.
She wipes a few tears from her eyes as she calms then stops laughing. “What?”
I shake my head.
“Seriously? Did I spit on you or something? I tend to go a little overboard with the laughter,” Cat grabs a napkin and wipes along my shoulders and down my arms.
“Kitten,” I warn.
“I’m sorry,” she continues to brush her napkin down my hands and works her way toward my thighs and knees. “I get a little carried away.”
“Stop,” I choke out.
“Why? Can’t handle the heat?” Cat gives me a saucy wink and looks down at my crotch. “Oh. I guess you can’t.”
I can’t speak.
“But, I thought you were…”
“Never said I was.”
Without another thought as to how bad this was, I’m off the stool, standing between Cat’s legs, reaching for her. My hands move straight to either side of her face as if they were pre-programmed for that. I lean closer, taking in her heady sweet scent. It drove me crazy for years, trying to figure out what that perfume was. What she smelled like. The first time I tasted salted caramels, I knew. That was it. Caramel.
