Dr. Stud
“Okay, this is bananas,” she says through a mouth half full of biscuit.
“Bananas?” Chef calls out. “Right there, love. Next to the pomegranate seeds.”
“Oh, he’s just showing off now,” I sigh. “Breakfast isn’t usually quite like this. Close… but not quite.”
“What’s it usually like?” she asks. Her eyes wander out over the harbor, toward the other boats and then Lake Michigan itself. I see her smiling, drinking it all in.
“On a day-to-day basis? I’m lucky to get a cappuccino. When we really make an effort… it’s a little more diner food. Eggs, bacon, that kind of thing. Denver omelets.”
“Hash browns?” she asks me delightedly.
“Basically my favorite saying,” I admit. “I don’t love all the carbs, but… potatoes are basically the most perfect food in the world, right?”
“Right!” she exclaims. “I mean, as long as you can keep up enough exercise to work them off. I could eat potatoes fifteen different ways every day. That plus a nice ham and cheddar omelet, some rye toast?”
“Oh my God, yes,” I groan. “When I was wrestling, I could eat an entire loaf of rye bread. The whole thing. Butter and everything.”
Chef comes over to deliver the crêpes, scowling at me like I am betraying him by talking about something as humble as rye toast and hash browns. But he doesn’t even realize, that shit is delicious.
“You used to wrestle?” she asks me, intrigued, as she chews. “Yeah… I can see that. You’re a pretty big fellow. You must be pretty intimidating in business meetings, huh?”
I hold up my hands, showing her just how big they are. “I usually get my way,” I joke.
She rolls her eyes and purses her lips coquettishly. “My, Sully, what big paws you have!”
Chef swoops back toward the table, delivering me a petite slab of grilled ham. Before he walks away, he makes sure that I see his expression. There’s not a word for what he is trying to convey. The closest I can explain it is that he is saying something like, Damn, brother, are you okay?
We finish our breakfast with a little conversation, some laughter, and a lot of smiling. The longer we are together, the easier it is. I find myself trying to make her laugh, trying to impress her. If we were in high school, I probably would’ve done several flips across the front deck by now. Good thing I am a grown adult male and not prone to such demonstrations.
“Oh, that was so good!” she groans, leaning back in her chair with a satisfied smirk on her face. “So, are we going to go anywhere? On the lake I mean?”
“I couldn’t scramble a crew this fast,” I explain. “But we will certainly go another time.”
She pouts a little bit. “Oh, of course… you told me that already, didn’t you.”
“But… would you like a tour? It is a pretty big boat.”
“Oh, yes! Totally!” she agrees, standing up and clapping her hands lightly.
The chef and captain ma
ke themselves scarce as I guide Bunny into the interior cabin. She rushes immediately to the curved wall of windows to look out over the harbor, dragging her hands along the glossy walnut paneling.
“I can’t believe this room is on a boat!” she exclaims. “I mean, it’s the size of my third-grade classroom!”
“We have smaller boats,” I shrug. “I could take you on a smaller boat next time.”
Her smile widens and she winks.
“What? What did I say?”
She points a finger at me. “You said next time,” she answers triumphantly. “You weren’t sure you liked me… but you did say next time.”
I scrub my hand over my jaw, wanting to laugh. “Yeah, I guess you got me there. That is what I said.”
She saunters over, swinging her hips dangerously from side to side. Her lips are pursed and she licks the lower one, wetting it. Her fingers drift out and glide across the front of my trousers, tracing the outlines of my hard cock.
“Oh… actually it seems like you really like me,” she murmurs.