I froze with my wine glass mid-air. Her eyes lowered, veiling those soft brown eyes with thick lashes
“Oh,” I said. “Joanna must have told you about me.”
“She did,” was all she said, her lashes still lowered.
We talked about the city, some of the restaurants we had been to, the Tigers, the urge to hibernate that set in too early in the evenings as we moved out of fall and into winter. We talked about her work and how she’d gotten a job as an account manager at a local ad agency. I talked a little about my job and the small financial planning firm that I owned, how it had done well. Even commiserated about a recent setback – the loss of an account.
She was full of interest and sympathy. The only time she seemed reserved was when we broached the topics of her childhood, and I soon learned to avoid it. If it was a nasty time, no need to bring up bad memories.
After dinner, I drove her home feeling full of accomplishment. We’d had a good date. I should expect something along the lines of, “This was nice. I’ll call you,” and then to never see her again. But even as I told myself that, my pulse quickened in anticipation. Because there was always the chance that she wanted to see me again. And if there was a chance of that, then there was a chance of a kiss tonight. And if there was a chance of that, well, then there was a chance of everything. Hope springs fucking eternal.
I pulled to a stop in front of her place – slowly, slowly, just to drag it out.
“I had a great time,” I said. “I’d really like to see you again.”
“Oh,” she said.
That didn’t sound good.
I tried to give her an out. “Well, listen, I’ll just leave you my number and –”
“Do you want to come in for coffee?” she rushed out in a whoosh of a breath.
Coffee. Coffee meaning sex, right? My dick perked up, well-versed in the coffee-sex synonymy. That’s what coffee means, but did she know that? She was awfully young, no matter her few years of working after college or her fancy new job title.
“Yes,” I said cautiously. “I’d love to.”
“Great,” she breathed. Her brown eyes blinked delightedly, as if her sole goal in life were to serve me coffee. I fucking hoped not.
Melissa led me into her apartment, a cozy place, though small and full. But then, she’d only recently moved in. I stood in the middle of the living room, taking it in. I felt her presence behind me and turned.
“I’m sorry,” she said, looking stricken as she came out of the kitchen. “I don’t actually have coffee. I’m more of a tea person, myself, so I don’t keep it. And when I asked, well, I wasn’t thinking about it.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I didn’t really want coffee anyway. Tea is fine.” The first part of was the truth. I didn’t care about coffee one bit. The second was a lie. I had no desire to drink tea, but I’d do it.
“Okay, perfect,” she said, then hurried back into the kitchen.
She returned a few minutes later with two steaming teacups. I took a sip and struggled not to gag.
“Too sweet?” she asked.
“No,” I choked out. It was too tea.
“Oh, here,” she said, taking the cup from my hand. “You don’t have to drink it.”
“No,” I protested half-heartedly. “I can drink it.”
“Bother.” She waved her hand. “I don’t care about the tea. If you want something to drink, I hav
e soda or water or something. That’s not even why I asked you inside.”
My body tensed. “Why did you ask me inside?”
“Well, I… I suppose I wanted to…”
Say it, say it. “Yes?”
“To sleep with you.”