Jewel Ann - Idle Bloom

Standing tall, I cock my head to the side. “Are you implying I’m a stray animal?”

He shakes his head and offers his hand. “Come on, stop reading into everything I say.”

Staring at his hand for a brief moment, I place mine in it and let him guide me across the street. I’m trying hard not to read into the myriad of physical sensations that his touch evokes. My pulse pounds, heart gallops, and butterflies awaken in my stomach as the warmth from his hand sends a tingling sensation up my arm. Rarely do I not feel tall and lanky, like I want to slouch down to keep from standing out in a crowd, but right now I feel petite and feminine in his lofty presence. He grabs a brown bag out of the back of his car before we head inside.

“Would you like a glass of wine?” he asks while spooning out food onto a plate.

I smack my lips together. “No, I’d better not. I’m kind of a lightweight and there’s the long trip home and all …”

I love the sound of Oliver’s laugh; it’s genuine and spontaneous, like he’s trying to hold it back but can’t. “Water, then?”

“Yes, thank you.”

He sets my plate on the woven gun metal gray placemat and pulls out a chair for me.

“This is weird eating by myself. Are you just going to watch me?” My lips set into a grim line.

“Nope.”

I hear the bag rustling, then he sits down across from me with a square glass container and a spoon.

“What’s that?” I ask after swallowing a bite of the best fish I have ever tasted.

“Strawberry-rhubarb cobbler. I was full after dinner so I took my dessert to go.”

“Mmm, looks good.”

“It is. My mom is an amazing cook,” he mumbles behind a napkin while wiping his mouth.

“I’ll second that.” I gesture to the plate with my fork. “This is the best Tilapia I have ever had.”

We eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, both of us enjoying the culinary orgasms in our mouths. I sneak nervous glances at him while he spoons bite after bite of the cobbler into his mouth, releasing a few humming sounds. Finishing the last bite on my plate, I give him my best puppy dog eyes as I notice there are only a few bites left of the cobbler.

He grins. “Looks like you enjoyed it.”

“Yes, it was very good.”

He nods. “God, this cobbler is amazing. It’s still warm, too.”

“It must be good, you’re really hogging it down.” My comment comes out a little harsher than I intend.

He scoops up the last big bite and lets it hang in the air a few inches from his mouth.

My eyes tighten as I glare at him.

“Oh … did you want to try a bite?” he asks with a devilish smirk.

“No, that’s fine. It’s yours not mine.” I scoot my plate to the side and rest my elbows on the table.

He shrugs. “Okay, then.”

Never before have my eyes felt so close to popping out of their sockets. My mouth falls open as I gasp. “Oh my God! I can’t believe you ate the last bite!”

Oliver’s brow tenses as he inches the spoon out of his mouth wiping it clean with the tight seal of his lips. “What? I just asked you if—”

“I may have said no with my mouth, but my eyes were begging you for just one bite! Jeez, you can’t go on and on about how good it is and make those ridiculous sounds and not think that maybe I might want one little taste!”

His laughter cracks through the air and I fight my impending grin.

“Here.” He shoves the container in my direction. “You can lick the bowl.”

I roll my eyes. “Like I’m really gonna lick the bowl.”

“Suit yourself.”

He reaches for the bowl, but I snag it and pull it closer to me, wasting no time swiping my finger inside and sucking it off with my own heavenly moan.

“My God! You sure are a handful, woman.” He scoots back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest watching me clean the bowl like a starved animal.

I flip the switch as if I didn’t bite his head off two seconds ago. “So can you cook?”

His gaze stays on my mouth and he looks like he’s starving too, but not for food. It’s the same look he had at the doughnut shop. I’m not sure why he gets so captivated watching me eat. Weird .

He clears his throat and takes a deep swallow. “Yes, I can cook. My mom made sure both Chance and I could cook, do laundry, and sew on a button.”

“Wow, had I known all this time what a great catch your brother is, I might not have shot him down so many times.”

“Says the girl who doesn’t date.”

“Says the guy who doesn’t date.”

“Touché, Vivian.”

“So do you have dinner with your parents often?”

He nods. “Once a week since I moved back from Portland.”

I tap my fingernail on the table. “Maine?”

“Oregon.”

“Oh, how long did you live there?”

He purses his lips to the side. “Three years.”

“Why’d you move there?”

He clears his throat, diverting his gaze while adjusting his sitting position. “I took a job with a law firm there.”

Digging my teeth into the corner of my bottom lip, I wait for his eyes to meet mine. “I’m being nosy, I apologize.”

Oliver stands and grabs our dishes, clinking them together with wavering control. I sense it’s time for me to leave so I stand and follow him to the kitchen.

“Well, thanks for dinner. I feel like a mooch. Tell your mother it was wonderful … or not. It’s possible you might not want her to know you fed her leftovers to stray neighbors.”

His back is to me, hands pressed against the counter and head bowed. The air feels thick, almost suffocating. This isn’t how I saw the night ending.

“Okay … so I’ll just––”

“Stay.”

I’m not sure I heard him, so I wait for confirmation. My inner voice chastises me for not acknowledging the absurdity of this situation. I’m drawn to this man and I can’t give him what other women can, but every look, touch, and soft laugh makes it difficult to not want him. Maybe, just maybe he could be what I need––a relationship based on emotions without the need for physical gratification.

Oliver

My mind said “go” but my mouth said “stay.” Vivian has this innocence to her that is not of this world, and when I’m with her neither am I. We’re transported to some alternate universe where the past doesn’t exist and the future doesn’t matter. I need her to leave because I don’t trust myself around her. The hunger I feel for her touch is painful. When she placed her hand in mine I had to fight every urge to throw her in the backseat of my car, strip off her clothes, and taste every inch of her body. It’s possible I should be on meds or maybe I do need therapy. I wasn’t like this before. It’s just her, but I don’t know why. Yes, she’s beautiful—stunning actually—but it’s more and I don’t have a word for the more .

Maybe, just maybe she could be what I need––a physical release without the emotional investment.

I face her, allowing my eyes to drink in her soft features: silky skin, full lips, emerald eyes, and black hair that flows in endless waves down her back and over her breasts. The image of those perky breasts peeking through the thick black layers as she sits naked astride me stirs my dick. If her eyes drift a few degrees south, she’ll know how I react to her. I should care and try to hide it, but I don’t.

“Stay. Have some wine or more water, just … stay.”

“Wine, but only if you promise to carry me home when I pass out after two sips.” She brushes her hair back and wets her lips with a nervous graze of her teeth over the top one.

I’ve become my brother, imagining everything she does and says is an invitation into her pants. I’m the “nice” guy; the kiss goodnight on the cheek, opening doors, lavishing with flowers and jewelry, waiting until the third date to kiss on the lips and a month before copping a feel. The old Oliver would insist that sex is at least six weeks out, but my dick hasn’t gotten the memo. This new, completely lost Oliver is ready to tie her up and spank her … I’m not sure why people even do that, but I think modern women like it, so sure, I’d give it a try.