Forget Me Not

d you so fucking much.”

She smiles, the tears forming in her eyes and sliding slowly down her cheeks. “I know.” She rubs her nose against mine. “What’s with all this heavy? I thought you were going to make love to me?”

“Nice place.”

I watch as Olivia Warren walks around my apartment, her fingers touching everything and leaving her scent everywhere. Tonight, was our third date and despite the handsy makeout session we had on our first date…and second date, we hadn’t gone much further. But the way I’m feeling, I’m ready to take things all the way tonight if she’s ready. My eyes follow her around, like if I take them off of her, she might disappear. She’s wearing a black dress that comes to just below her knees with heels that make her legs go on for miles. Even with the shoes, she only comes up to my shoulders and I love how short and petite she is. I run my gaze up her legs, wondering how they’d feel wrapped around my waist as I slipped in the space between them.

“I like it.” I smile as she takes a sip of the red wine I’d poured her. She sets her glass on the coffee table before taking a seat on my couch, sliding her heels off and putting her feet under her behind.

Shoes off. Good sign.

I move towards the couch and sit next to her, pulling her feet into my lap and rubbing her soles. I note the white polish on her toes and press a kiss to the top of them.

“You have some sort of kinky foot fetish, Clarke?” She pulls her hair over one shoulder and twirls her fingers through it. I smile, because I think it means she’s flirting with me.

Remembering her question, I shake my head. “I think I have an Olivia Warren fetish.”

She cocks her head to the side. “You must say that to all the women.”

“No,” I tell her honestly. “Just you.” I raise an eyebrow at her and she raises one back.

She studies me, her eyes looking all over me before she speaks again. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything. I’m an open book.” And that’s true. I’ve never been as open and honest this early with someone as I’ve been with Olivia. I’ve told her about my childhood, my adolescence, my rocky relationship with my mother. All of it. We’ve exchanged war stories on our second date, and although she doesn’t have much, I had told her about the only woman I’d dated seriously.

“Have you ever been with a black woman before?” she asks, and my eyes widen. I hadn’t anticipated that this was where this conversation was going when she sat on this couch. Quite frankly I figured she’d be sitting on my dick.

“Why? Have you ever been with a white man before?” I ask her.

“Maybe.” The thought makes me irate. Not that she’d been with a white man, but any man. It pisses me off that anyone has touched her before me. I suddenly feel the need to brand her so she knows…so everyone knows she’s fucking off limits from now on.

“Ah, so I won’t be your first.” I shrug, like I’m not already planning out how I will also be her last.

“I was just curious. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” she says as she removes her feet from my hands and moves closer to me.

I pull her hand into mine and run my lips over her knuckles gently. “You didn’t, but to your answer your question, no. I have not.” I shake my head.

“My mother says that white men date black women to satisfy a deep rooted curiosity.” I don’t know her well enough to read the look she’s giving me, but I feel like she’s hiding a painful memory behind her eyes. Like someone had proven her mother correct.

“Is that what you think I’m doing?”

“I don’t know yet…” She narrows her eyes at me.

“The guy you potentially dated before me…do you think he was curious?”

“Yes.” She rolls her eyes. “And I don’t know…when you said you had an Olivia Warren fetish, it just reminded me of something he said.”

“I meant because I’m into you, Olivia. I’m thirty-three years old, I’m far past curious. I’m looking for…more than a fuck. Or something to satisfy…some kind of experiment.”

She nods. “You’re looking for the real thing.”

“More or less.”

“Someone who sets your soul on fire,” she adds. She’s not looking at me, she’s staring straight ahead, but her hands fidget in her lap.

“What do you think that feels like?”

She turns towards me. “I guess…I guess I’ll let you know when I know.”