“You’re here!” The front porch door was thrown open, then the screen, Gren nearly tumbling down the first step. Straightening, smoothing his hands down the front of his shirt, I got one good look at him showcased from the glow pouring from inside the house and my eyes widened. “Perfect timing!” he announced, pushing his glasses back up on his nose.
“You look so fancy,” I blurted, eyeing his neatly pressed looking dress slacks and freshly iron-creased formal, long sleeved black dress shirt. The loafers he had on had little tassels on them and looked like he’d just cleaned them. Hair neatly combed, fancy clothes… “Are we going out to eat?” I thought he’d said we’d be staying in at his place. Frowning, white knuckling my cream soda to my belly, the tiny black, polka dotted white skulls purse that barely held my phone and keys clenched under my arm digging in, I felt so underdressed and kind of plain in comparison.
“You look breathtaking,” he breathed, meeting me at the bottom of the steps, standing on the second to last one to hug me to him.
I blushed at the compliment, my gaze darting away quickly to shyly drag up towards his face to meet his warm, smiling eyes and the sweet smile on his face. He was genuinely happy to see me. My limbs felt a little jelly-like as I swallowed past the nervous lump in my throat and the look he was giving me alone eased the knot in my belly.
As if he couldn't wait a moment longer, his lips met mine and he planted one on me that had tiny flowers springing up all over my arms, the bones in my toes morphing until my shoes were tight. “I’ve missed you,” he murmured, pressing a quick kiss to my nose, then my forehead, to inhale deeply at my hairline as he snuggled me close, enveloping me in affectionate warmth. I felt loved in his arms, wanting to wriggle closer. A grunt left me as the soda clutched in my arms dug harder into my gut, pressing between us.
Gren pulled back and glanced down between. “What’s this now?”
“It’s cream soda. I brought it from- ah- From before. I don’t drink alcohol,” I blurted out anxiously
“Oh. Alright,” he said slowly, his head dipping in a bob of a nod. When his gaze lifted from the soda and my death grip on the carton, something like chagrin, remorse, flashed in his eyes. “Can I take it for you, put it in the fridge?”
“I- Uhm.” Why was I suddenly so beyond nervous and sputtering? “What did the wind tell the coconut tree?” I burst out in a soft whisper.
“Uh… I dunno.” Gren cocked his head, hands hovering but not touching the cream soda I was grasping like a lifeline. Amusement warred with confusion, something else on the periphery threatening to eclipse both emotions in his expressive face. His gaze kept going from the soda to my face.
“Hold on to your nuts. This is no ordinary blow job.” The words just flew from my mouth, bubbling out of me.
Gren looked startled for all of two seconds before he chuckled, grinned, and leaned in impulsively to kiss me again. “Tell me you thought of that one just for me.”
“I- I don’t say that one at work,” I felt the need to tell him.
“No.” Clearing his throat, he sobered. “I can’t say I could picture you repeating that in polite company.” His hands smoothed up and down my arms in a way that, while polite, had an entirely different meaning when you added in the heated look he was giving me and the wonderful scent he was giving off.
“You’re polite,” I insisted quickly, scowling until I realized that was not quite what he’d meant.
“I’d like to think I’m considerate,” he murmured, brushing his hand over the side of my face, tucking a twisting vine wriggling towards him as if it wished to be stroked by my male. His voice was laced with innuendo. He could have tried to take me on his front lawn and I probably would have let him, his voice all deep and sexy, husky with intention—in the most perfectly impolite ways possible. My leaves felt all aquiver. I’d gladly let him shake my tree.
MINE.
Licking my suddenly dry lips, I opened my mouth but nothing came out.
Gren started to look as nervous as I felt as my face paled, reading the situation wrong, as if my anxiousness was wearing off on him, or he felt like he had something to feel nervous about, which just amped up my own.
I was mucking this all up! But once I’d started, I couldn't stop. My mind was spinning with worries and warring wants.
Swallowing thickly, scrambling for something to say, anything, wanting to brain myself for feeling so flustered about our re-date as our last date and my date-crash on him flooded me like a bad smell I couldn’t shake, I blurted, “I brought pineapple-orange soda, too. I know you said you like it. I had some at home. I like it too, I- Uhm. Here.” Needing a moment, I shoved the cream soda at him and made a run for it. “Be right back. I’ll go and get it.” Turning, I practically ran back to my car.
It was deja vu as I trudged back up the front walk, noting noises, like someone moving around out back.
Ignoring the noises beckoning from the side of the house, I walked up the front porch steps and marched right inside. This would not be like those other two times. This was going to be- The smell of tomato sauce hit me. “Please tell me that’s not-” I started to whisper, to find I was not alone.
“Not skettied toads,” Gren called out. His voice was close. Expecting him to be outside, I jumped as he popped into view from where he was kneeling in front of the open fridge.
A shriek of a squeal erupted from me, my throat pinching in my fright. More noises left me, fingers fumbling for the twelve pack of soda in my hands. “Oh. I didn't see you there. I-”
“I’m sorry, dearest. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“It’s okay,” I said quickly. I loved the endearments, but I watched too many horror movies and the Norman Bates-esque-ness of his remark in the situation had me tittering with poorly suppressed snorted half laugh. Even accidently creepy, I was smitten. My butt was gone for this guy. So freaking gone. Ugh. I bordered on pathetic but couldn't find it in me to care.
His eyebrows rose as if he didn’t quite believe me, his gaze frank, open. Trembling anew as he steadily regarded me, eyeing me from head to toe like he liked what he saw, eyes flashing brilliant and bright, he let out a deep rumbling noise that had warmth coiling low in my belly, spreading. The carton slipped from my fingers then as vines started to erupt all over him, writhing beneath his dress shirt. The hefty package slammed to the hard, tiled floor with an awful clatter. The cardboard box burst open and cans went flying everywhere.
A sharp gasp left me as several exploded, spraying me and the floor. “No-no-no,” I whispered in horrified mortification. Dropping to my knees, I scrambled for them, trying to catch the hissing cylinders as they spread, but all I got for my efforts was sticky and wet.
Gren popped up from where he was kneeling to put my cream sodas on the bottom shelf in his refrigerator.
