Chapter 7
the seventh chapter
AMOS
I’m rinsing an empty jar of peanut butter when my phone buzzes on the kitchen counter.
It’s late afternoon, the day after the launch party.
The city outside has settled into that strange in-between hour where traffic thickens and creates a steady hum from the street below.
My shirt has been tossed over the arm of the couch.
A sketchbook lies open next to it.
I’ve been working on a new design.
Drying my hands, I scroll to read my messages.
Unknown sender.
That rules out work immediately.
I never gave this number to clients.
Only people I know personally.
Staring at the notification for a moment, my pulse quickens.
Could it be…?
I open the text.
Thought I should probably text you before your phone number washes off my arm.
A slow grin spreads across my face.
Mr Adams.
Leaning my hip against the counter, I read the message again.
I’ve been thinking about him all day.
How could I not?
Marco’s mouth on mine.
That hand grabbing my belt buckle.
His voice low and urgent in my ear, the electricity between us.
And most of all, the confession we both made afterward.
About wanting something deeper.
I feel giddy at the possibility of one day having him sit here next to me on this couch.
As more than just a flirty fling.
As my boyfriend.
“Don't get ahead of yourself,” I laugh. “You'll scare him away.”
Still smiling like a fool, I type back.
Been thinking about you today x
I hit send and toss the phone onto the cushion beside me.
A few minutes later, it buzzes again.
Been thinking about you too. I'm wearing your tie.
I release a breath.
Marco is bold, and I like it.
I type again.
Send proof ;)
The reply comes quickly. A JPG file.
I click to open it.
Fuck.
He’s naked, but has cropped the photo just above his cock.
A sexy glimpse of dark trimmed hair between his bare hips catches my attention, as I’m sure he hoped it would.
The green tie hangs in a loose knot around his neck.
His hair is freshly washed as though he’s just stepped out of the shower.
I lay back against the cushions.
Jesus.
My fingers move across the screen.
Such a fucking tease, I send.
Soon, another message.
Marco: Like?
Amos: I like it a little too much.
I watch the typing bubble appear.
Marco: Been thinking about your kisses. How good they felt.
Amos: Let me remind you.
I exhale slowly as the memory returns.
Marco pressed against the towel pile.
The heat of him.
The way he’d kissed me like he meant it.
His reply pings.
Marco: Are you asking me on a date, Mr Vale?
I roll onto my side.
His confidence is such a huge fucking turn on.
Amos: Would you say yes if I did?
Marco: I dare you to ask...
Damn. I can feel myself falling so hard.
Amos: Marco Adams, I would love to take you on a date. Will you go out with me?
It feels like being a teenager again, in the sweetest possible way.
Marco: I'd love to. And I promise to wear more than just this tie.
Amos: Disappointing. I was planning to wear just a tie so that we matched ;)
Marco: Keep talking like that, and I'll have to type with one hand.
Amos: *devil emoji*
I sink back into the couch again, trying my best to be good.
Amos: Do you have a sweet tooth? I know an ice cream parlor that will change your life.
I hit send.
Marco: I definitely have a sweet tooth. And I know you do, the way that Porter's blueberry tarts were disappearing on Friday.
Amos: I was just making sure the flavour was consistent. For my guests.
Three dots flicker.
Marco: Ohhh, for your guests ;) I need to keep an eye on you.
Amos: Please do.
Another message appears.
Marco: Couldn’t stop looking at you if I tried. You should see the camera reel from the party.
Should I be worried?
Amos: Why? What did you do?
Marco: I don’t know, it’s a bit of a mystery. I set the DSLR to 'A' and for some reason you're in every photo. Does 'A' stand for Amos?
I pace around the couch, barely able to contain my smile.
Amos: Or... you're crushing just as bad as I am.
And I secretly hope he is, cos I'm in pretty deep.
Marco: Might be ;)
There are so many things I want to say to him.
Some of them are soppy.
Some of them are dirty as fuck.
But it’s way too soon.
Amos: How's Friday for our date?
Marco: Friday is perfect. Meet me at your studio. 7.20pm Amos time = 8pm Marco time.
Amos: You're a cheeky one. But I definitely deserve it. See you on Friday xx
Are the kisses at the end too much?
I rest my phone on my chest and stare up at the ceiling.
The thing that surprises me most isn’t the flirting.
Or the photo.
It isn’t even the way he kissed me last night.
It’s the peace I feel about letting someone close again.
And that peace speaks volumes.
I pick up my phone again.
I really can’t help myself.
That photo is weakening my resolve.
Mushy feelings aside, this man makes my body yearn like nothing else.
I’ll just have to get used to doing everything with one hand from now on.
Friday suddenly seems so far away.
◆◆◆
Marco arrives at my studio exactly when he said he would.
I try to make it look as though I haven’t been waiting by the door.
But that would be a lie.
I watch him cross the street.
How is it even possible that this guy is more of a smoke show when he dresses casually, than he was in his suit? Blue jeans. A soft grey t-shirt that clings just enough to hint at the well earned contours of his body.
No jacket. No earpiece. No checklist.
Just Marco.
Relaxed. Human. Sexy as hell.
Suddenly shy, I turn around in my chair to rearrange the brochures and business cards on Vonnie’s desk.
Even though they’re perfectly straight.
I’ve left the door unlocked for him.
It might seem too eager if I open it, so I pretend not to notice that he’s walking in.
He really has no idea what that subtle hint of fragrance is doing to me.
Or maybe he does.
Maybe that’s exactly what he had in mind.
Either way, I’m a willing captive.
Familiar hands ease across my shoulders as he leans down to give me a slow sensual kiss.
“Mmm…”
I’m in trouble already.
That smile. That smile does dangerous things.
Especially after several days of feeling horny.
“Hey you,” he nudges my legs apart with his knee.
“Hey yourself.” I pull him down to sit on my lap.
My final client for the day left almost an hour ago.
But with windows this wide and tall, I always have an audience.
Let them look, I decide.
Every time I kiss these lips I feel the world dissolve anyway.
Somehow sitting in this chair with Marco on top of me is just as arousing as our shirtless rendezvous.
Each kiss feels deeper than the last.
And reluctantly, we come up for air.
Probably for the best if we’re gonna keep our clothes on.
“So this is where the magic happens?”
He’s never seen the studio on a work day.
“Something like that.”
“It looks so different from the other night when we had all the promo stuff and fancy lighting everywhere.”
“Your fancy lighting made me extra flirty.”
“Yeah?”
“I ended up shirtless with this really hot guy in the back room.”
“Wicked, wicked man,” he teases.
“Occasionally,” I wink. “But tonight, I'm on my best behaviour. Clothes staying on, mine and yours.”
“Such a gentleman,” he says, tugging me to my feet. “Lead the way, Sir.”
◆◆◆
The ice cream parlour is only a few blocks away.
We stroll through the crowd holding hands.
I like the way it fits so comfortably in mine.
The simplest touch feels so intoxicating.
People spill out of restaurants and bars, music drifting from open windows.
There’s such a gentle intimacy about walking with him in public.
I’m a little flustered standing next to such a cutie.
We reach the counter and lean down to marvel at all the flavours.
Caramel fudge with swirls of chocolate.
Marshmallow and cookie ice cream.
Banoffee pie or black forest.
The cabinet seems to go on forever.
“My shout,” I offer.
“Then the next date’s on me,” he says.
A second date? The thought fills me with elation, but I try to play it cool.
“What would you like?” I ask.
“Banoffee, please.”
Forever the planner and organiser, he equips himself with extra napkins and spoons.
“I'll try the triple chocolate brownie with a smidge of toffee on the side, thanks.”
“I might sneak a spoonful of yours,” he teases.
Every table is full downstairs.
“Follow me.” I take him by the hand. “There's a garden out the back. It's more peaceful.”
We carry our dessert beneath a grove of trees that are strung with fairy lights.
Candles flicker in little jars on round wooden tables.
Plants loop from every corner in woven baskets.
“This is the sweetest little place,” he grins.
I pull out his chair for him.
Across the table, he tastes his first scoop.
I divert my gaze quickly.
Marco is licking a streak of melted chocolate from the spoon.
And he’s taking his time.
I bite the tip of my thumb.
He gives a small, knowing smile.
Flirt.
Conversation flows between us so easily.
He’s switched completely out of event mode.
No rushing. No corporate vibes. No deadlines.
Tonight he is warm and present.
We share stories about funny clients.
Tattoos of lawnmowers on partially shaved heads. One of my customers who cried as their ex’s name was inked into the shape of a rose.
Marco tells me about a wedding where the bride insisted every napkin be rotated exactly forty five degrees using a ruler. And an end of year function where the CEO had so much to drink that he jumped off the boat in the middle of the harbour.
His eyes light up as he mentions it.
I sit back in my chair, observing him in all his glory.
There’s still an insane physical yearning between us.
That much is obvious.
Every time Marco’s tongue touches the spoon, my imagination goes places it absolutely shouldn’t.
Yet every time he smiles, I feel myself smile too.
Beneath the chemistry, something else is stirring.
Something I’m not used to.
It feels strangely vulnerable.
Finishing the last bite of ice cream, I set the spoon down.
We sit here for a moment in comfortable silence, holding hands across the table.
He looks so peaceful and happy.
Completely different from the man I first met.
I’ve spent years building walls.
Carefully, brick by brick.
Protecting myself from people who only want the public version of me.
And I know it’s still early days.
I probably shouldn’t even be entertaining these thoughts.
But sitting here tonight, watching Marco in the candlelight, I wonder what it might feel like to lower these walls.
To let him in just a little more.
To one day maybe open myself to the possibility of love.