He laughs and I get a little thrill that I can make him do that.
Him. Mr. Calvin Klein. Laugh. At something I said. Squee. Seriously, Noemie, get it together.
“No, I am not that evil. I was wondering if you’d have lunch with me. Or, I could just eat what I have and you can have the green/orange gloop concoction but still eat together. I hate eating alone.”
“Well, it all depends on what you have there. I can’t choose without having all the information.”
“Let’s see.” He comes over and sits down by the couch pulling container after container out of the paper bags.
The smell is making my stomach rumble and I try not to just snatch one from him.
“This is… a roasted pumpkin and garlic soup. With parmesan croutons, of course.” He opens another container, and the smell almost makes me faint. “This one is a roast duck salad with quinoa and something else that looks greenish and healthy.”
“Arugula?”
“Gesundheit!”
I guffaw and let out a little snort, and cover my face with my hands. I pray he doesn’t say anything. And he doesn’t.
“… and finally, oh, dessert is a tiramisu. All homemade of course.”
“Where in the hell did you get this from?”
“Emily, my ban-, er, my friends’ fiancee is a pretty good cook. Which is totally wasted on him because he could live off a diet of microwave hot dogs, which he doesn’t bother to microwave, and soup eaten straight from the can. While he’s sitting on the toilet.”
I wander over and sit down next to him on the couch, emboldened by the food.
Shifting over to make room for me, he hands me some cutlery and I practically snatch it from him. He just laughs and pushes the soup container toward me, “I guess the gloop will have to wait another day.”
“Oh, my god, my mouth is having an orgasm,” I moan as I take the first sip of soup. It’s still hot and sweet and rich and I lick it off my lips, not wanting to waste a single drop.
“I think it’s actually supposed to go the opposite way,” Jez says, and stabs his fork into one of the other containers.
“What do you mean?” I say, not even bothering to cover my mouth as I talk.
“I mean,” he says and waves the forkful of duck in front of my face, “your mouth is what is supposed to be giving the orgasm.”
His eyebrows lift as he gauges my reaction. Which is, to lunge forward and take a bite of the food on his fork.
“Hey!” he protests, trying to pull the fork away. But I have it trapped in my mouth as I pull the food off it, chewing as it melts in my mouth.
“Mmmmm…” I moan, releasing the fork as he stares at me, his jaw dropped.
“You little minxy food thief!
“Totally worth it,” I mumble, my mouth half full.
He laughs and tries a forkful of the food for himself. “Damn. That is good.”
“Told you.”
He reaches past me for the container of soup and then stops, his eyes locked on my face.
When he doesn’t look away, it becomes awkward and I can feel myself squirming under his gaze. Does he not like the way my hair is? Did I put too much blush on?
“Um…” I say, not knowing how else to break the silence. But he just lifts his hand to my face and his thumb brushes over the corner of my mouth.
“You had a little something…” he says, his voice deep, and husky. Then he moves his thumb to his mouth and sucks off the drop of soup collected there. The action is so unexpectedly intimate, I feel something in my groin constrict, and then a dull thumping between my legs.
“Um, thanks,” I mutter, hoping he can’t see his effect on me, but not wanting to tear my eyes away from his.
His mouth curves into a smile, showing just the barest flash of teeth as he reaches over, his eye still on me, and feeds me another forkful of food. Involuntarily, I lean forward and my mouth wraps around it, each tiny movement playing out in slow motion in my head. He pulls the fork away and I chew on the food, barely tasting anything.
He leans in and his face is barely inches from mine. My jaw stops moving, as does every part of me, and I hold my breath.
I don’t know what’s happening, but I can’t think right now.
I can just wait.
Please kiss me, my brain is flashing in neon lights, but all I see is his face. His rugged, handsome, impossibly chiseled, sexy face right in front of mine.
He leans in, that last few inches, and I feel the tip of his tongue brush against my top lip. So lightly, I think I might be imagining it.
I feel something catch in my throat.
And it might be a moan.
He pulls away just far enough so that I can see his whole face and he’s grinning.
“Tastes good,” he says, “just like I thought it would. I mean, I’ve only been thinking about my tongue running along your lips since we got interrupted last night.” He ends with a wink and I think that if a woman could climax from a wink alone, it would be me, in this moment.
Then he leans back and spoons soup into his mouth, like nothing just happened.
I sit there, frozen, not sure how to react.
What just happened?
It wasn’t a kiss. But it’s wasn’t not a kiss.
He licked my lip! That usually comes after a kiss. How do you know you HAVEN’T kissed before? My brain presses. Aw, fuck.
This is going to be more complicated than I thought.
The sound of a fork clattering to the ground makes me force myself to focus on what’s going on outside of my brain. Jez reaches over reaching under the coffee table, and then flinches and cusses under his breath.
“I got it, don’t worry,” I say, and reach under the table, feeling for the fork and placing it on the edge of the table.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to swear,” he says, and there’s darkness flooding his eyes that makes my heart clench for him. He’s obviously still in a lot of pain. And I’m not sure how far along he is in his recovery, but the frustration is so apparent. What a pair we make. I wonder if I offered him the chance to lose some of his memory and yet have full control of his hands, if he would take it.
I feel like I’d make that trade in a second, but I guess the grass is greener on the other side of the hospital bed.
“Hey, eat up, or it’ll get cold,” I nudge him, with the back of my spoon. He sighs and nods and takes the spoon from me, and I try not to let him catch me watching him.
“I’m… I’m still working on it. Sometimes it’s okay, and sometimes, it just gives way completely. Gripping is still a little hard, probably have to hold off on the chopsticks for a bit.”
“No shame there. I could have use of a hundred hands and still not be able to pick up a single egg roll with chopsticks.”
“Well, you know what IS easy to pick up and eat?” he asks, relaxing a little, and I can read the cheekiness in his eyes enough to know what’s coming.