From the Inside Out: The Compilation (Scorned, Jealousy, Dylan, Austin) (10 page)

He’s quite cute.

“I love Italian.”

I LEAN FORWARD
with a straight face, and say, “You must be tired because you’ve been running through my dreams all night.” I can’t hold a straight face any longer. “That line is so bad, but I remember a time that I actually thought that was clever.”

He laughs, struggling to keep his full mouth closed. His hand covers it, just in case. He’s all manners and etiquette. “You’ve got to stop, Jules. My stomach hurts from laughing so hard.”

“You sure it wasn’t from the large meatball you stole from my plate?” I’m kidding with him. It’s fun to eat so casually in his living room. It’s easy to feel happy around him. I need easy. I need happy. I need more laughter in my life. It’s been too long. Smiling feels good. Laughing feels freeing. “Okay,” I say, “I’ve finished my pasta. You finished my meatballs. Let’s dig into dessert.”

“You’re my kind of girl,” he replies, starting to stand.

I read his comment two ways and it makes me feel good. “No, let me. You’ve been serving me all night. Let me serve dessert.”

“No, you’re my guest.”

“Nope, you just sit there and enjoy the view.” I shake my ass, then walk into the kitchen. Peeking back out, I ask, “That wasn’t too forward, was it?”

The candle he lit on the coffee table earlier reflects in his eyes, or maybe that’s something else. “No, I liked it a lot.”

Opening the refrigerator, I spot the container of dessert. “Austin, I
loooovvvveee
Tiramisu,” I call from the kitchen. I bring the container out with two spoons in hand, no dishes. I sit down on the floor on the other side of the table from him. He smiles. “No plates?”

“I didn’t want to make a bigger mess than necessary. You know how to share, don’t you?”

“I do. Just forget all about the meatball stealing.”

“Already forgiven and forgotten.”

He digs in and then leans across. “You should try mine.”

“We’re eating the same thing.”

“I don’t know,” he says, eyeing his spoon. “Mine tastes so much better. You should really try it and let me know.”

I grin, leaning forward. Feeling flirtatious, I close my eyes and wrap my lips around the spoon seductively. When I’m finished, I open my eyes and catch him licking the spoon I just took my bite from.

With a contented sigh, I say, “I think you’re right. I think yours is better.”

“I’m not positive, but now I’m thinking it might not be the dessert. It might just be me.”

I’ll happily play along. “Come here then and let me taste you. You know, just to figure out if it’s you or the dessert.”

He crawls on his knees around the table, no hesitation, his body hovering over mine. My stomach tightens in anticipation as I rise up onto my knees. I want this. I close my eyes and let his kiss take me away.

AN HOUR LATER,
my dress is a mess. I frantically straighten it along with my wild hair in the bathroom.

When I walk out, I blush, not being able to look him in the eyes. This behavior is so unlike me and if we wouldn’t have stopped when we did… my mouth dries, knowing it’s time for me to go home.

My tongue runs over my bottom lip—a lip that’s swollen from kissing—his wonderful and erotic kisses. “I should go,” I say, wanting to avoid any major awkwardness. “Thank you for dinner and dessert…” I wave my hand around, definitely making it more awkward. “… And everything else.” Oh God this is embarrassing. Hopefully I’m not blowing it after such a great night.

“You’re a beautiful woman, but I think you’re pretty damn cute when you get embarrassed, Jules.” He takes me gently by the arm, halting my retreating body. “By the way, you have no reason to be embarrassed.”

“It’s been a long time. I don’t know what came over me.” I talk to our feet, avoiding his eyes altogether.

He pulls me to him, wrapping his arms around me, comforting me. “You were turned on. I was too,” he says, lifting my chin up against my will until I relax and look him in the eyes. “You can still see how much you turn me on.” He glances down between us then back up again. I don’t need to look. I can feel how turned on he is. “Do you want to talk about it? I don’t want you leaving here feeling bad about what we did or regretting it. I liked it too much for that. I like
you
too much for that.”

“I don’t want to talk about it, not tonight. I’m tired and that will take too long. I won’t regret it. It was amazing. You are amazing.”

“Then let’s talk about me and how inflated my ego is now that I gave you an orgasm from second base.” He chuckles, the sound is refreshing and when I start to laugh, I feel the weight of a long carried burden beginning to lift from my shoulders. He adds, “I haven’t made out like that since I was in college.”

I hit his chest in jest and reprimand lightly, “You are so bad.”

“I can’t have you taking things like tonight too seriously. We have enough problems in life. We don’t need to add embarrassed over having an amazing time with a handsome man to the list.”

“Stop it!” I playfully reply, squirming in his arms. “Next time I’ll resist just so I can deflate some of that ego of yours.”

Gripping me tighter, not wanting to let me escape, he takes me by the waist and swivels me. After kissing me lightly on the head, he says, “Never. I don’t want you to ever hold back. You don’t have to with me. Outside of our apartments you can be who you need to be to feel comfortable enough to face reality, but in here, I want the real you—the you I saw tonight. The you that laughs, and recites cheesy pick-up lines, and spontaneously orgasms when a guy grabs your boobs. That’s the you I want when it’s just the two of us.” He kisses me on the corner of the mouth. “Now please tell me that I get to spend more time with this you sometime soon.”

I nod, wanting this, wanting to spend more time with him because I like this me too. I like the me I am with him.

“Yes, I want that.” I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him slowly down to me. “I’d like that a lot.”
Kiss
. “Even the spontaneous orgasming part.”
Kiss
. “Especially the spontaneous orgasming part.”
Kiss
.

I step back from him, grabbing my purse and head for the elevator. “I hate to orgasm and go, but I have an early morning meeting.”

“I think your embarrassment is now called bragging. Ms. Braggy Braggerton, how’s Sunday night for you? Can you fit me in?”

I glance down at his erection that’s straining against his pants, then back up and reply, “That remains to be seen… or should I say felt, but I’m free that evening. My place. I’ll text you directions.” The elevator doors open and I step in.

“I’m too much of a gentleman to reply to that, but I want you to know that I think you’re pretty damn fantastic.” He leans his shoulder against the door that is trying to close on him.

“Also,” he says, stepping back, but I finish his sentence, “I owe you one.”

I see him fist-pump just as the doors close. I laugh aloud because I’m happy, because no one is around to judge me, or take away how perfect this night was.

“I’M SORRY,” AUSTIN
says, “I didn’t expect it would be this long until I saw you again. I’ve had some words with my corporate accountants over this last minute tax bullshit.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve been busy anyway.” I fist his shirt in my hands and pull him closer. “I’ll forgive you on one condition.”

Our lips meet.

Not shy.

Possessive.

Reciprocal.

Smiles interrupt before we go too far. The newness of the relationship is exciting. “That was the condition,” I say, “so we’re all good here.”

His hands go to my sides and he whispers, “I missed you if that matters.”

“It matters a lot.”

More kisses from him. More giggles from me
.

“Show me around your place.” He walks away, letting his fingers linger on my hip as he passes. Studying the room, he turns. “You just have the one piece?”

I follow his gaze to the painting that hangs above my couch. “Yeah.”

“I thought you’d have an apartment full of art, putting mine to shame.”

Although I could have bought all the pieces he did, I don’t treat myself that way.
A touchy subject. A complicated one too.

“I apologize.” Worry graces his face, his forehead wrinkling as he approaches. “I didn’t mean to insinuate that this one isn’t enough—”

“I know. It’s okay, Austin. You didn’t offend me. This painting is the only one that struck me enough to hang it.”

He kisses the side of my head, his hand finding my waist again before he turns to stand in front of it. “It’s an extraordinary piece. The streaks making it unique. Was water used on it?”

“Something like that.”

“Oil, not acrylic?”

“Yes.”

“I can give you a tour, but it will consist of: here’s the living room, this way to the bedroom, and the bathroom right through there, and then we’d be back in the kitchen.”

He must have noticed the lack of furniture, the lack of décor, the lack of life because he asks, “I like it, Jules. Have you lived here long?”

“Yes, a while now and thank you, but you’re being too kind. I know it’s small, but it is what it is and about all I can manage to maintain with the amount of hours I put in at the gallery.”

“It’s great. Now,” he says, rubbing his hands together. “How can I help with dinner?”

I laugh because like him, I ordered food. “You can help me unpack the bag. Hope you like spicy. I ordered Thai.”

Thirty minutes later, he sets his plate down on the counter. “That was great. I haven’t had Thai in a few months, maybe a year. Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” I clear the plates, putting them in a sink of soapy water, and offer him another beer.

We ate standing up in the kitchen. Austin makes himself more comfortable by moving to the couch. With a devious grin, he says, “You know I always crave something sweet after eating something spicy. Can I treat you to an ice cream?”

“Make it a froyo and you got yourself a deal.”

He stands and stretches. “Froyo it is.”

The night is warm, no sweater needed, but I stand close to him anyway. “Oh my God! This is unf!”