“I’ll figure it out.” I laugh and shake my head.
“I’m sure you’ll try.” But enough about the rules. “So, was the meal to your satisfaction, good enough to fall in love?”
“It was pretty good, but I’m not stupid enough to just fall in love with you because you can cook.” Her voice tells me she’s lying. I peep at her out of the corner of my eye. Her eyes move hungrily over my torso and land on the bulge in my pants. Unconsciously my dick stirs. She slaps a hand over her mouth and her eyes bulge out. So fucking innocently sweet.
“You’re staring and it’s creeping me out.” She jumps, hand still over her mouth, knowing she’s been caught out in the middle of a dirty daydream. Heat flushes her face a brilliant red. Sweet and cute. And beautiful. To me, she’s the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen … and I’ve seen my fair share.
I know she doesn’t like her light skin and the freckles on her nose. She also doesn’t like her toes because one is slightly crooked.
Ironically, it’s exactly these ‘flaws’ that enhance her attractiveness tenfold. No wonder men drool over her without her even noticing. That’s why I had to keep those horny teenage boys from her.
But it’s not just her natural girl-next-door beauty, but also the way she acts, the little things she does unknowingly, together with her fierce spirit and cuteness – that’s what I love the most. Actually, I just love everything about her. For me, she’s perfect just the way she is!
“It’s not creepy!” She sits up straight. “I was just thinking.” I roll over and sit to face her, curious about what story she’s going to come up with. She was seriously checking me out, but I know she’ll never confess to it.
“Okay, I’ll bite … what were you thinking about while staring creepily at my hot body, drool dripping from your mouth.” She rolls her eyes and I smile when she wipes her mouth with her hand without thinking.
“I was not drooling.” Little liar. “Okay, maybe a little … but I was wondering what exactly the main point to all this is? The kisses, the food, the nice act … ” I ready myself, knowing another yakking is on its way. “Are you going to fuck me and leave? I think I’m all for that … maybe … yes … at least my first time would not be blah …” Blah. I don’t do blah sex. Agreed, some encounters are better than others … it’s normal.
“But I’ve been thinking and I’m not sure I’m the hit-and-run type … I don’t know for sure, cause I haven’t pumped or dumped … but I think I might be a cuddler … and I know I’m a romantic … so I’m looking for something more … if you get my gist” She comes up for air. I get her gist. She wants answers. Something concrete – to hold onto, because, hell knows we’re drowning fast.
“A white picket fence?” I say to give all my sheep time to get into the pen so I can think.
I want some answers, too. But I haven’t been able to give myself those answers in all this time. But maybe . . . maybe that is the problem. I need to figure it out.
“I don’t like a white picket fence. But I can settle for a colorful one.”
I’ve been stalling – not because I don’t know what I want – I’m cocksure I want her. And I’m confident she wants me to. I’m positive we’ve passed the you-fucked-up mark, well on our way to the point-of-no-fucking-return. But …
The thing that holds me back is – me. The demons hiding in my closet. Just my life in general. Is it selfish of me to pull her into my hell? I’ve listed all the cons and pros, but I still can’t decide.
Maybe it was time to try something new.
Like, ask her. Honestly.
“Care to do a little experiment?” My voice is husky with need.
“I’m not a lab bunny,” she chuckles primly, but her nipples push against the fabric of her T-shirt – or rather, my T-shirt on her body – like 2 plumb ripe berries ready to be eaten – suggesting otherwise.
She follows the line of my nipple-piercing stare and draws in some air. She lifts her head, eyes stark, expression bare. “I’m not sure I want to be experimented on.”
“I just need your honest opinion on something?”
She stares up into my eyes, her own knowing and warm. “My honest opinion?” she says softly. “I can try, as long as it’s not nipple related.”
“Nope, nothing physical for now.” But depending on her answer, it will definitely turn physical at some point.
“Would you think it’s fair for a guy like me to ask you out knowing it can … and most possibly will … destroy your world?” I don’t move. Hell, I don’t even breathe.
She blinks and then frowns and then smiles, looking pretty darn beautiful while she’s at it.
“You need to clear it up a little, what do you mean with a guy like you? And how will it destroy my world?” Her eyes meet mine and hold. The tiny speck of hope in there not going unnoticed.
“Fine, let’s start with a guy like me … broken with a past and a shitload of baggage enough to fill a cargo plane.” I pause to make certain she’s with me on this. It’s important.
“Broken and baggage. Got it,” she grins and I swear it’s melting the bones in my body.
“As for destroying your world … I’m pretty sure I will do something stupid -”
“For sure … it comes with the testicles,” she interrupts. “But please continue.”
“My life … it’s rather … public … and the paparazzi like to twist every little detail into ugly knots of lies and deceit …” I take a shallow breath. “You would be in the middle of it.”
I hold my breath, waiting anxiously for her answer. She waits as if expecting me to say more. When I don’t she takes a deep breath and grabs one of the cushions, hugging it to her chest.
“Damion, listen … and listen carefully ’cause this needs to end today.” My heart drops and a demon is stretching one long finger up my throat.
“So, I need you to, for once, be totally honest and sincere with me.” I nod eagerly. I can do that. It won’t come easy for me, but I need to do it.
“There are a lot of factors here to consider. The biggest one is what asking me out involves. Is it a pump-and-dump or something more?” Her eyes turn a dark blue, like a stormy ocean.
“More.” My voice is a rusty croak. “A lot more.”
“Okay, and the baggage -” I stay silent and deflated waiting for the blow to come.
“Is any of it immoral or a danger to my life?” I frown. Not what I was expecting. “Like for instance do you have multiple personalities of which one is a psycho axe-murdering serial killer?” I flash her a crooked smile. I love the way she makes me laugh without actually trying.
“No.” Still with the frog voice.
“Will you be able to share it with me?” Will I? Will she hate me when I do?
“Maybe … one day.” She bites her lip and mulls it over.
“Okay, I can wait.” The long finger scratching my throat halts and slides back into the shadows. “As for the press, I’m pretty sure I won’t like that.”
“Will you hurt me and crush my heart again?” This time she seems to be holding her breath, her eyes still stormy. And there went the little hope I had left. Of course, I will hurt her – it’s fucking in my blood. So this is where I scare her away and we go on pretending none of this ever happened. Like we pretended the zoo never happened, or the boardwalk, or the haunted house. We’re pretty good at pretending it seems.
“I’m sure I will hurt you,” I start and see her swallow. “But it won’t be fucking intentional. But I will never crush your heart again.” And that’s the truth.