Page 11 of Bliss

Gym bag hanging from my shoulder, I paused outside of Bliss’s apartment, coffees in my hands once again. Hitting the doorbell with my elbow, I waited for her to swing the door open. Her glare was the tiniest bit less frosty as she snatched the travel mug out of my hand.

I’d brought her a latte every morning on my way to work for the past two weeks. The second day I’d done it, she’d slammed the door in my face hard enough that the neighbor’s Cane Corso had gone crazy at the other end of the hall. But I was undeterred and knocked again. With an exasperated huff, she’d opened the door, taken the drink from me, and slammed the door once more.

“Have a good day, meleğim,” I had called through the wood, a smile on my face the entire drive to work for no reason other than I’d gotten to see her.

The third day, she’d told me to stop making this a thing. I didn’t stop. On day four, she told me to thank my housekeeper for the orgasms in a cup. That was when I learned to work the espresso machine myself. If anyone was going to give my angel anything resembling an orgasm, it was going to be me.

Day five, she took the coffee and shoved a tote full of travel mugs at me. “I washed them. You’re welcome. Or rather, your housekeeper is welcome. You can go fuck yourself.”

And then she’d slammed the door, which I was labeling as her new love language.

“You look beautiful today, hayatim,” I told her now, hungrily taking in her messy hair, the pajama pants that were dragging on the floor, and the tank she wore with a bralette. Most mornings, she was ready to start her day.

Whether that was to hang out with her sisters on Wednesdays or mentoring high school students or attend a meeting for one of the many charity boards she sat on. Bliss didn’t stay still much during the daytime hours. It was when the sun went down that she wanted to slide into her pajamas and crawl onto the couch with a book and something decadent.

“Get out of here with that bullshit,” she grumbled, only to moan when she took her first drink of her latte. “That housekeeper of yours puts crack in this. Don’t deny it, Kavanaugh. It’s all part of your devious plot to get me addicted to things only you can supply.”

“I learned how to work the espresso machine last week, bebeğim,” I confessed.

“But you’re not denying putting drugs in it.” She poked me in the chest twice. I made the mistake of groaning from the euphoria of having her touch me, and she dropped her hand like I’d burned her. It took ultrastrong control not to grab her hand and put it on me again.

Things had been moving slower than I’d hoped, but at least they were moving.

“The coffee is kind of a bribe,” I told her, leaning my shoulder against the doorframe so she wouldn’t be able to slam the door in my face yet again. Honestly, though, having my nose smashed by the heavy thing was the highlight of my days.

She paused with the cup halfway to her mouth again, blue-gray gems narrowing in that dangerous way that warned me to tread carefully. “What?”

“Ted Hawkins has a gala thing coming up this weekend. He’s apparently been planning it for a while now, but he only told me yesterday that I have to be there with the team.” I rubbed at the back of my neck, more nervous than I’d ever been in my life. “I was wondering, if you’re not busy Sunday night, maybe you’d be up to going with me?”

Her mouth dropped open in surprise for a quick moment before it passed, and she pressed her lips together. Standing up a little straighter, she gave me a long appraisal, as if looking for a sign that I was joking. “You… You want me to go with you. To a work-related event. As a…date?”

“Please.”

Teeth sinking into her bottom lip, she remained silent, her face going blank. That was what she did when she was thinking hard. When she got like that, it was hard to read her.

Sweat began to bead and roll down my back, nervousness twisting in my stomach.

“You realize we’d be in public, right?” she finally asked. “Ted Hawkins’s annual gala is huge. Which means that there will be cameras everywhere. Every sports journalist and gossip columnist in the country, perhaps the world, will be there. There’s even a red-carpet entrance.”

“I’m familiar with all of those details, yes.”

“And you still want me to be your date?” A flicker of doubt crossed her lovely, makeup-free face. “You actually want to risk being photographed with me, linked to me in every tabloid? Whoever you take to that gala will be the talk on every morning sports show Monday morning.”

“The only person I want on my arm that night is you, meleğim.”

Another full minute passed before she finally put me out of my misery. “I normally have dinner at my parents’ house on Sundays. But I think I can make an exception this one time.”

It was my turn to be surprised. As much as I’d hoped she would say yes, I had been prepared for her to turn me down.

Elation coursed through me with the same strength as pure adrenaline. She’d accepted. My Bliss was going on a date with me. I felt like I could lift a bus. A hundred buses.

Unable to help myself, I reached for her. Catching her off guard, I cupped the back of her head and dipped down, fusing my mouth to hers. She gasped, then moaned, her lips parting. Deepening the kiss, I thrust my tongue inside, getting a full taste of her, mixed with coffee and almond milk.

A whimper left her as she gripped my shirt, twisting her fingers in the material and drawing me closer. I lost track of time. There was only Bliss, the kiss, and how desperate I was for more of her.

She was the first to pull away. Breathing heavily, she stared up at me with glistening, kiss-swollen lips. “I… Um…” She shook her head, as if to clear it. “One date, Noah. That’s it. I want to see how you react to us being in public together before this goes any further.”

“Okay, aşkim,” I readily agreed. “Whatever you need.”