Small Town Big Man

First impressions are everything, and I really hope he hasn’t thought too much about mine.

But him, the first impression he left on me is indelible, and in the most perfect way. He brought me in from the cold, he took me to his place, soothed me to sleep, and then fucked my brains out the next morning.

Plucking at my lip, I stand awkwardly in the doorway.

He arches a brow and tilts his head. “So. . .” he says, drawing out the word. “Can I come in?”

“Oh, yeah, of course, sorry. Come on in,” I say taking a step to the side. “The bathroom is the first door on the left. Here let me—” I start to say but he quickly holds up a hand to stop me.

“Don’t worry about me. I can find my way. I don't want to distract you.” His eyes fall to the table that I've been using as my workspace. It’s scattered with sketches and pens and colored pencils.

“All right, well, if you need anything, I'll be right here.” I throw my thumbs to the table and start to walk toward it.

Calm down, Laney! You sound like a nervous wreck.

I am a nervous wreck. This wasn’t in my plans. Having him in my dreams is one thing, but now that he's right here in front of me, my world is upside down. My palms are sweaty and my heart is racing. My stomach churns like it's been hit by a swarm of butterflies, and my head is spinning.

Anders gives me a small smile as he adjusts the toolbox in his hand and heads down the hall. I stand still, watching him until he disappears into the bathroom.

Now I can relax, my body drops into the chair and I let out a heavy breath. Throwing my head back, I run my fingers through my hair, and stare at the ceiling, trying to get my focus back.

Except, I can hear him. I can hear him sifting through his toolbox and moving around in the bathroom. There's a little banging and some soft grunts as he works.

My brain starts to drum up images of his rock hard muscles and rough hands. The sweat dripping down his forehead and the way his muscles flex as he moves.

I could go watch him for a minute.

No, it was a one night stand, keep it that way.

“You can turn your music back on if you like,” he calls out to me. “It won't bother me.”

Oh thank you. This silence is too much.

Flipping on the stereo, I drop my eyes back to the paper, and pick up the pencil to force myself back to work. The banging and pounding, all the sounds of metal and his own verbal grunts or growls become intertwined with the music as I immerse myself back into the illustrations.

“Uh hm,” he says as he taps my shoulder. Jerking my head up, I let out a little noise as he startles me. “Sorry, didn't mean to scare you, I just wanted to see if I could use your microwave for lunch?”

“It's lunch time already?”

“Already one, actually.”

“Wow, I should probably eat something too.” Pushing the chair away from the table, Anders steps in and hovers over the picture.

“That's incredible. You drew that?”

“Yeah, I'm an illustrator for children's books.”

His eyes grow large as he leans in a little more. “This is really, really good.”

“Thank you.” My cheeks blush as he lifts his eyes to mine. The warmth flows down my neck until it hits my chest and makes it swell.

We stand quietly for a moment, in another awkward silence. Our eyes are locked on each other, and he licks his lips. It's the sexiest thing I've ever seen. The way his tongue softly runs across the surface makes my nipples hard and my belly swirl.

“So,” he finally says, shaking a plastic tub and breaking the trance he put me in. “Microwave?”

“Right, lunch.” Pointing to the kitchen, I divert my eyes from his and take the first step. “I'll whip up something for myself too.”

“You can share some of mine. It's tomato soup.”

“How about I make some grilled cheese for both of us to go with the soup?”

He gives me a full smile and strokes a hand down his jaw. “Yeah, all right, sounds good.”

Buttering the bread, I place it in the frying pan and start cooking two grilled cheeses. “How's it going in the bathroom?” I ask, glancing at him briefly as I flip the sandwiches.

“Good, it's coming along.” The microwave beeps and he pulls out the container. “Bowls?”

“Upper right,” I say, nudging my head toward the cupboard.

He divides the soup between the bowls, and I place the sandwiches on a paper towel. Pulling open a draw, I take out two spoons and sit next to him at the table.

Looking into the bowl of soup, I take a spoonful and blow on it to cool it off. I can feel Anders looking at me. All my senses are piqued, and a shiver runs through my body.