“Oh, it’s a fundraiser?” I sat back, allowing Carson to fill his plate first. He quirked an eyebrow and looked across the table, his fork hovering over the phyllo cups. “The orange ones are a buffalo dip cup and the other is spinach and artichoke. They’re not much, but they sounded good. The flaky phyllo shell pairs nicely with the creamy, rich filling. The square ones are curry puffs. They probably wouldn’t work well for an event with kids, but they sounded so good I couldn’t resist. You’ll have to tell me what you think.”
His eyes widened as the blend of curry-spiced potatoes and peas flooded his senses. The taste was a complexity of flavors—spicy, aromatic, a little sweet—all intermingled in perfect harmony.
“So?” The anticipation was killing me almost as much as the little moans that passed his lips as he savored the first bite.
“These are extraordinary,” he finally said. “It’s like you’ve packed an entire Indian feast into a single bite.”
“Mission accomplished then.” I smiled, pleased that my curry puffs had passed the test. I hesitated for a moment, holding the tray of miso-glazed eggplant bites before setting it down between us. The little cubes were dark and glossy, covered in a glaze that shimmered under the light.
“I thought we’d try something different tonight,” I said, trying to read Carson’s expression. “Ever had miso-glazed eggplant before?”
Carson looked intrigued but cautious, his eyes flicking from the tray to meet mine. “Can’t say that I have. Is it good?”
“I think so.” I shrugged, my heart pounding a bit. “But it’s one of those dishes you have to taste for yourself to decide.”
He chuckled, picking up a tiny fork and skewering one of the cubes. “Here goes nothing,” he said, bringing the eggplant to his lips.
I watched nervously as he chewed, my stomach twisting in anticipation. The aroma of miso and roasted eggplant filled the air between us. It was a complex, earthy scent that could go either way, depending on individual taste. I wouldn’t have been offended if it was too far of a departure from meat and potatoes for someone like him.
After what felt like an eternity, Carson’s eyes lit up, and my heart soared. “This is really good,” he exclaimed. “It’s got this rich, savory thing going on, but it’s also a bit sweet. It’s complex but not overwhelming. You really know how to pick ‘em.”
Relief washed over me like a warm tide. “I’m glad you like it. Cooking for someone is a bit like baring your soul. It’s always a risk, but when it pays off, it really pays off.”
Carson’s gaze met mine, soft and warm. “Well, consider me impressed. Both with the eggplant and the man who made it.”
I felt my cheeks flush at the compliment, but I couldn’t have been happier. “Then I consider tonight a rousing success,” I said, my voice tinged with newfound confidence and affection.
We both reached for another piece of eggplant, our fingers brushing briefly. The simple touch sent a shiver down my spine, and I couldn’t help but think that the evening had just gotten a little more delicious.
The better part of the next hour was spent sharing food. He listened intently as I geeked out over every dish, going into the most minute details. When he didn’t like something, he wasn’t afraid to say it wasn’t his taste, which made the praise he gave that much more meaningful.
After dinner, I wasn’t sure what to do. He didn’t strike me as the video games sort of guy, and if he was, he was moreGrand Theft AutothanWorld of Warcraft. Unfortunately, it seemed he was just as lost as I was.
The conversation petered out, leaving both of us staring off into space, an uncomfortable tension building between us. I was the host. That meant it was my job to break the ice. I cleared my throat. “We could watch a movie if you want. Or maybe just a TV show? I’m sure you’re probably tired after working all day and have things you need to get done. If you need to go, don’t feel obligated to stick around for my sake.”
My body tensed when Carson put a hand over mine. “Relax, Ezra. I can’t say I’ll be very good company, but I’d love to hang out for a bit. Maybe we could turn on some music and get to know one another a bit better?”
“Oh, right.” Dinner had been comfortable, and he’d made it easy to forget we were little more than strangers. I’d felt that way every time he was around, other than the whole inconvenience of my stomach twisting in knots because he was someone unattainable. But then, I’d found out he wasn’t. And now, he was in my apartment.
Life was officially crazy.
“What kind of music do you like?” I asked as I got up and started clearing our dishes.
“Anything but Christmas songs,” he responded.
I was sure he hadn’t meant anything by it, but the way his lip curled like he’d tasted something sour got my attention. This wasn’t the first time he’d expressed his dislike for the season, which made zero sense given that we’d first really interacted because of his involvement with the Christmas party. He sat at one end of the couch, and I curled up in the corner. Sitting on the other end felt too far away, but I couldn’t sit right next to him either. That would have been presumptuous. Finally, my curiosity got the better of me. After all, he was the one who’d said he wanted us to get to know one another better. “What’s the deal with you and Christmas?”
Carson shrugged. “There’s no tragic story if that’s what you’re thinking. I just don’t like it.”
“But why?” I pressed. It bugged me that he was such a Scrooge. Walking down Main Street to check out the displays in the shop windows put a smile on my face, even on the gloomiest, grayest days. It was strange to think something that only happened six weeks out of the year could be a deal-breaker, but I wasn’t sure I could ever be with someone who grumbled at the sight of carefully curated Christmas villages complete with cotton batting to simulate snow and fairy lights.
“It’s so overdone,” Carson explained. He held up a finger and rose, crossing the room to grab his drink.
The interruption gave me the perfect opportunity to watch the way his thick thighs and sculpted backside flexed as he walked. He was truly a glorious specimen. When he relaxed back at his end of the couch, he bent one leg on the cushion with the other hanging over the edge. That was dangerous because the faded jeans he wore didn’t only mold themselves to his thighs. My mouth went dry as I caught a glimpse of the outline of his penis. My butt clenched as I imagined what that thing would feel like pressing into my hole.
Carson cleared his throat. My lips parted, and I pulled my knees up to my chest when our eyes met and I noticed him watching me intently. It wasn’t until he cocked his head to the side that I realized he’d said more I hadn’t processed. “Sorry, I got distracted. What were you saying?”
“As long as you weren’t drifting off because I bored you, I think I’m okay with being your distraction,” he teased. “What I said was that the holidays lost their meaning for me when I realized there was no time to enjoy the very things the season’s about.”
