Continuing our deflation of the last ten minutes, we say nothing. But she finally opens her mouth and in a plain tone asks, “Pizza?”
“Sure.”
“Good. Because the pizza that I ordered before your arrival should be here any minute, and I need you to open the door while I clean up.”
I smile, but she can’t see it. “Ah, you need my services. Give me a second.”
Which means that neither one of us is storming off like last time.
7
ESME
Splashing water onto my face, it doesn’t help get rid of the flush in my body. In the mirror, I face my own astonishment.
Keats and I did it again.
This time, he had me in a trance that keyed into my inner inhibitions. Shamelessly, I submitted to him without much persuasion needed. Every little thing intrigued me, and I wanted more.
Cleaning up, I scold myself internally that we let the moment get between us, though I don’t regret it.
It’s when my feet land at the bottom of the stairs and the smell of pizza fills the air that I straighten my shoulders and take a deep breath. How are we going to play this?
Walking through the living room to the kitchen, I find Keats opening the box and then his gaze lifts up.
“Look at us being cordial and sharing a pizza.”
It causes a short laugh to leave my mouth. “Or I just need carbs and think irrationally when in this state.”
His sexy mouth smirks. The mouth that tastes of me, and the mere thought causes my pussy to pulse.
“You are a BBQ sauce on pizza kind of gal, I see.”
Shrugging, I approach the counter. “With shredded chicken, onion, and maybe some corn and pineapple, it’s perfect.”
“Respect.”
Our eyes linger for a few ticks, and it makes me nervous but not in a negative way; it’s the I’m-afraid-I’m-blushing way. “Plates?”
“Not sure they’re needed after I just fucked the snark out of you,” he deadpans.
A warm wry smile spreads on my lips. “What a Keats thing to say.”
To my surprise, he doesn’t say anything and instead turns the box to offer me a slice.
“Your pictures?” He tips his head up to the wall behind me near the window.
Fondly, I smile. “Yeah, memories really. My Labrador dog growing up. Family from the rare times we spend holidays together. Places I love. I did a whole photography trip around Maine two years ago. That’s what photos are for; to trap memories in a frame. It’s like a cage of stilled time.”
“That’s… a good way of looking at it. Does that mean you keep pictures of your ex somewhere here?”
That entertains me. “Hell no. We ended like a year and a half ago. He wasn’t very good in certain departments.” I wince. Nor was it exciting to see one another even for dinner. I mean, he was a nice guy, just not riveting, and it was a short-lived relationship.
Keats huffs a laugh. “Wow. You have my admiration for being honest about that. Now I’m curious about your scoring methods.”
I pick up a crumb of chicken that fell to the counter andthrow it at him. “What about your ex? Seeking treatment after her time with you?”
A half grin forms on his mouth. “Well, she was delusional, so maybe. It was like two years ago now. Suddenly, she had this idea that we should backpack around the world and both get tattoos. A total 180 from me. No way was that ever going to happen. My office and laptop are my haven, and tattoos on myself are not a thing that I would ever consider. I cut the leash on that one quickly.”
