Elbowing him, I say, “I almost was,duuuuuude.”
He laughs at me before snatching and taking a sip ofmydrink. “I’m sorry. I had to handle something in the kitchen.”
“What happened in the kitchen?” I snatch my drink back from him and sip on it, hints of coffee and mint hitting my tongue from where his lips just were. Finding it oddly addicting, I keep the edge of the cup at the tip of my mouth until the taste fades.
“Here are those appetizers!” The perky waitress returns, her eyes lighting up like fireworks at seeing Malcolm. Our mutual comradery is obliterated in an instant.
“It’s nothing, just some accommodations that needed to be addressed,” he whispers to me then glances up at the waitress and says, “I’ll have the vegetarian plate, please.” He gives a quick, cordial nod before turning back to me.
“I’ve told you, you don’t have to do that,” I say, lightly swatting at his arm. He dodges and proceeds to poke me in my arm. I rest my chin in my hand and soak up the crisp blue that sparkles at me. “You can eat meat around me.”
Shrugging, he sneaks a sip of my drink again. I pretend to be annoyed at this, but the taste of his lips lingering on my cup beckons me as I take a drink quickly after him. After a few moments, I look at the table and realize there are only vegetarian plates on our table.
No meat anywhere.
“What is happening?” I ask as everyone digs into their food, sans animal products.
I’m ignored, either intentionally by refusal to respond or unintentionally because the food is really that good, and they can’t stop shoveling it into their mouths. I suspect the latter when I take a bite of the grilled pineapple rice and am transported to another planet, piloted by my tastebuds. I moan and groan in delight as I shovel food in, all my childhood table etiquette lessons thrown out the window.
Sorry, Mom.
Actually, no, not sorry. Call me back, and maybe I’ll care a little more.
“Do you and that dish need some privacy?” Malcolm’s voice is almost a growl as his hot breath hits my cheek.
I blush at the sight he must see—my cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk’s—before slowing down and maintaining my composure with a light thump of my chest.
“Please…don’t stop.” His words stop me dead in my tracks. They’re like a seductive whisper, sending a wave of heat down my body.
I can’t look away from him, the sensuality in his eyes and playful twitch of his lips pulling me in like a magnet. And as if he feels it too, his body heat starts to hit me as he leans in closer,our thighs resting against each other. I can’t tell if I’ve fallen into a food coma and am now hallucinating, or if this is really happening, but he leans in so close that we’re breathing the same air, planting his hand on the ground directly behind me. His other hand slides slowly across the table toward me, and I feel myself wanting him to wrap it around me and pull me against him.What am I thinking?My heart beats sporadically in my chest, and my breath hitches as his body gets closer, everything around us slowing to a stop. Even the music. All I see is Malcolm, and for a tiny moment, he’s all I want to see. I involuntarily close my eyes in preparation for something, anything. Whatever he’s going to do, my body wants it.
A crowd behind us erupts, ripping me away from the moment. Malcolm’s eyes beam at me, and before I know it, he snatches a big piece of charred pineapple from my plate and retreats back to his seat to eat it.
“How dare you!” My attempt at snatching the piece back is thwarted by the shielding of his massive arm. “Get your own,” I whine in defeat and scoot my plate farther away from his grabby hands.
His big, strong, grabby hands.
The grabby hands I was just wishing were all over me.
If I don’t stop, I’ll keep envisioning my best friend's hands as little playthings all over my body. I can’t go there.
This might not be the best solution, but if I want to maintain my friendship with Malcolm, I need to get out there and go on some dates. I need to accept a few of these matches. Surely, then the confusing thoughts about Malcolm will fade with time. If not, these daydreams will manifest themselves, and I’ll lose all control.
I can’t lose control. Not with him.
The only way I can avoid ruining my friendship with Malcolm is if I find other grabby hands. But not too grabby. No creepy clingers around these parts. No.
“What is going on in that curious brain of yours?” Malcolm asks as he eats the last of my pineapple.
“Oh, just everything. You know me.” I chuckle uncomfortably, taking another bite of rice.
“I do.” He says it like he’s proud, like knowing me is such a great thing. I instinctively roll my eyes at his tone, internally guffawing at the wonder that is me. “It brings me great joy knowing you, Katherine Stanley.” His eyes are honest as he says this, and I have to look away. He’s the most kind and honest man I know—sometimes painfully honest—and I wish I could believe him when he says kind things to me. I just…can’t.
Maybe there’s a root cause to this self-doubt.
My mind quickly detours down a path that is my mom, and I shove the thoughts deep inside a box and lock it up tight. Letting Malcolm’s words replay like a symphony in my head—great joy—I let it play as I stuff the locked box in the corner of my mind.
“One of these days,” he says around a mouthful of rice, “you’ll believe the compliments I give you.”
