Эбби Луби - Nuclear Romance

So far, there were no complaints from “upstairs.”

“Everything okay, Boss?” Lou asked Owen, trying to show some allegiance.

“So far, everything’s peachy. I think we’re cool.”

“Great. By the way, I got the night off. The kid will turn in a brief about the high school lacrosse game.”

“Gotcha.”

It was Friday, and primping was in order, especially since she told him to bring a toothbrush.

“Is there anything else I can bring besides my toothbrush?” he asked her, just to make sure the offer was still good.

“How about a nice bottle of wine and some flowers?”

“Uh, I was going to bring those anyway. What else?”

“Oh. Well how about bringing your very wonderful self. By the way, my anti-nuke group is buzzing about your story. I assume you are still gainfully employed?”

“Seems so.”

The night before he told Diana that the story could anger ALLPower enough for them to pull their advertising, and that he had locked horns with his boss.

“Everyone hating the nukes loves you. Hope you’ll keep up the good reporting.”

“Thanks. But this isn’t my beat. Really.”

“You may be mistaken about that, Mr. Padera. Looking forward to seeing you this evening.”

A few hours later when he got out of his car, Lou could hear Diana’s dog, Lin, barking. The frisky little dog guarded the house from the outside stoop. She scurried over and sniffed his feet.

“Hey Killer.”

The dog’s tiny tail wagged like a motor had turned on. Lin rolled over for a belly pat.

“She really likes you. Interesting.”

Diana held the front door open. She was wearing tight-fitting jeans and a soft peach-colored T-shirt. Her hair was pulled back, accentuating her smiling eyes.

“You look lovely. And why is it ‘interesting’ that your dog likes me?”

He leaned over and kissed her lightly on the lips.

“Subconsciously, I think I trained her to dislike men. But you…”

“Yeah, dogs and babies—they all love me. I’m just your all-around guy.”

He handed her the wine and an elegant bouquet with a dark, purple tulip in the center.

“This is exquisite. Very tasteful.”

“A florist down the street from my apartment is more artist than a flower arranger. Glad you like it.”

She invited him to sit at the eat-in counter that separated the kitchen from the combination dining-living room. He opened the wine and filled two goblets. After a few sips, he came around into the kitchen and offered to help. He stood next to her while she was chopping vegetables.

“You like to cook much?” he said.

“Not much. I know two or three dishes without the cookbook.”

“And what are we cooking tonight?”

“Curried tofu. Hope you like Indian food, or are you strictly a meat and potatoes man?”

“Oh come on. A gal like you wouldn’t be caught dead with a simple meat and potatoes man, would you?” he winked at her.

“Oh, I don’t know. Meat and potatoes can get pretty complicated.”

She giggled, and he asked “How can I help?”

“Let’s see. How about beating an egg for the rice dish?”

He held the egg in his right hand and deftly cracked it with a swift press of his thumb and his index finger, the yoke cascading in the bowl.

“Wow. Am I standing next to a gourmet chef?”

“Nah, not me. I learned the one-handed egg crack ’cause it gets points with the women.”

“Well, I guess it worked.” She looked at him sideways, smiling.

“Glad to hear it. I’ll take as many points as I can.”

They stood side by side at the counter as if they had been cooking together for years. She felt pulled to him, like a magnet, and as he beat the egg, she stepped behind him and wrapped herself around him and pressed into his back, her fingers running along his strong, solid arms. She pressed her cheek between his shoulder blades. He paused, feeling her breathing.

“I was brought up on corn beef and cabbage and sushi,” she said suddenly, pulling away and getting the flatware out.

“Sounds a lot more interesting than pasta fagioli and chicken cacciatore.”

“No way. I love Italian food. Maybe you’ll cook dinner for me sometime.”

“Absolutely. I’m planning the menu right now. You like spicy?”

“Sometimes. Except for curry and wasabi, my palate has been hiding out in the world of bland.”

“Too bad. If you hang out with me, you might become more adventurous.”

“With food?”

“With anything. Why limit it to food?”

Damn. Cool it with the sex stuff. We haven’t even gotten in bed.

She lit some candles on the round, hardwood dining table that took up most of the space in the cozy dining nook. They sat down and she extended her hands to him, and he graciously took hold.

“Thank you for having dinner at my modest table. Bon appétit.”

He wanted to know everything about her—where she grew up and what her parents were like, why she chose teaching and how she ended up in Westchester. Who were her friends? And… when was her last love affair?

“Last affair? Who knows? I never remember stuff like that,” she shrugged. “You?”

“It’s been quite a while since anything serious.”

“How come?”

“I was—how do they say?—left at the altar? I guess I have a few trust issues.”

“Yeah. I hear you.”

“But some of my guy friends say the real issue is keeping things alive after two years.”

“Two years? Is that some kind of male bewitching hour? The testosterone switch turns off?”

“I guess. They say that’s when everything gets ho-hum, routine, no sex.”

“Sounds like some weird setup—having a relationship by the clock. Is that your cut-off point?”

“I… I don’t know. Maybe—I mean, actually, I never really got to the two-year point.”

“Hmm. How is the curry?”

“Oh, really, really good. You’ll have to give me the recipe.”

He had stopped eating during the brief cross-examination about relationships, so she switched gears.

“How did you learn to write so well about sports?”

“Does this mean you are reading my sports stories? I’m flattered, Ms. Chase.”

“I am. And I must say I’m gaining some appreciation for sports—just because of the author.”

Now in his comfort zone, he told her about his love for “the game,” how his deep sense of failure after rejection by the pros made him persevere to write about sports as a way to stay in the arena, even if on the sidelines.

“Words can never replicate what it’s like on the court, but I was determined to make it work.”

“And you’ve truly succeeded. You have a special talent, Lou.”

They chatted, ate, and sipped wine, and when their plates were clear and the wine bottle empty, he stood up and nodded to the love seat across the room.

“Shall we?”

She nodded, smiling. But before she rose, he reached down and held her face in his hands and gently kissed her. When he pulled her up to him, she didn’t hold back. It was a timeless kiss, and her lips parted slightly as he skirted his tongue on her lower lip and suddenly found her tongue entwined in his.

In bed, she became another woman—unleashed, lust driven, aching to be sated. He was attentive and wanted to explore every part of her body. He kissed her neck and breasts, brushing her nipples, sucking them longingly, playfully teasing her. Soon she was begging to have him in her, but he resisted and pleasured her with his fingers. Her mouth found his hard shaft and he fell back in ecstasy, trying not to lose control, until he took her head in his hands and pulled her up to him, looking deeply into her wild, dark eyes. They couldn’t get enough of each other, and they both rode wave after wave of pleasure.