CHAPTER SEVEN
brYCE
My job teaching and watching the love of music reach children is a pure joy.
A loud, unharmonious crashing joy, but something I love.
Today was no different yet I wasn’t fully there as thoughts of Avery filled my mind all day and now, she’s standing before me, a vision in sleek black pants and a purple shirt that teases at the curves that lay beneath her clothing.
The bouquet of long-stemmed pale pink roses in my right hand is forgotten, as are my intentions of not rushing things, when her eyes lock on mine. I’m helpless to everything but the crushing need to have her in my arms.
Once I’m holding her, her soft lips parting beneath the hungry pressure of my mouth, rational thoughts cease, and I just feel. The softness of her body against mine, the light floral scent of her that I draw deeply into my lungs, and mostly just the rightness of having her here with me.
Stroking my tongue along hers, exploring the hot recesses of her mouth, my cock fills to straining hardness against the soft mound of her pussy and it’s so easy to imagine thrusting up into her silken depths.
Far too easy as I feel the slippery heat of pre-cum welling out and coating the head of my dick.
My balls pull up tight in their sac and that brings me back to reality.
Coming in my pants isn’t something I’m eager to do, and I truly want to give time for our relationship to grow before we have sex.
Years ago, I would have rushed, but I’m older and wiser now and there are parts of my life I have to share with Avery so she can decide whether to continue with this or not.
With a sigh, I end the kiss.
Avery’s tiny mew of disappointment pulls at me strongly and unexpectedly leaves me feeling happy that she wants me as badly as I do her.
My eyes drop to the slightly battered bouquet still clutched in my hand, and I fluff up the baby’s breaths before extending the flowers to her.
Back in my twenties, I would order dozens of flowers delivered to girlfriends and one-night stands.
It was just something to do. These I went to the florist and picked out myself and the smile of delight that breaks out on Avery’s face as she accepts them warms me in ways I never knew I could be touched.
I’ve done a lot of things wrong over the years, but I think I’m finally getting things right.
Leading me into the apartment, Avery hurries to the kitchen and pulls out a vase to put the roses in. As she arranges them, I glance around at her place.
Her apartment is the end unit of a squat, dirty brown building across the street from other, equally ugly, apartment buildings.
It’s small inside, but everything is clean and orderly.
Having talked with Avery for a while, I didn’t expect anything less.
A place for everything and everything in its place is the type of woman Avery is.
I’m more an organized chaos embracer, hence the need for Mrs. Davis and also for her to stay out of my office, where I let my creative nature explode.
“Thank you so much for the flowers. I’ve never gotten flowers before. Well, other than from my parents and brother.” Her blue eyes flare wide and a stain of pink, the same shade as the roses, blooms on her cheeks.
I cannot believe her past boyfriends never gave her flowers. I’m sorry I was the first, only because she deserves to receive them daily, yet I can’t help a bit of possessive pride at being the one to forever now hold that distinction in her memories.
She rushes on, “And sorry, dinner is takeout. I’m not much of a cook.” She gets plates out of her cabinet and opens the white Styrofoam boxes on the counter, their spicy aromas filling my nose and warring with the dainty floral scent of the roses.
Moving alongside her to help, I grin at another thing we have in common. “It’s fine. I’m not a great cook either. Usually, my housekeeper takes pity on me and leaves me meals.”
Avery stills. “Housekeeper?”
I continue scooping broccoli and chicken onto the plate and keep my voice even. “Yes, I don’t particularly like doing housework either, so I have a housekeeper that comes three days a week to keep the place from becoming uninhabitable.”
She doesn’t have a dining room, so we take our plates and glasses of water over to a small kitchen table shoved up against a wall. “Or we could eat in the living room?” she offers glancing at the tight space.
“Here is fine,” I say, putting my plate down and moving around the table to pull out her chair for her.
“Thank you,” she murmurs, biting down on her lower lip. Slipping into the only other seat, my feet ram into hers and I pull back.
“Sorry. Long leg problems.” Color fills her face, and she darts her eyes from my gaze. Without another word, she picks up her fork and eats.
I give her a few minutes before asking, “How was work today?”
Avery freezes, her blue eyes wide like a startled fawn’s. “It was work,” she finally says, lowering her eyes again.
“No,” I say, pushing back in my seat.
Her head jerks up.
“We’re not doing this,” I say, my eyes never leaving her. “If we’re going to date, we need to communicate, and that means not glossing over things. Something obviously happened today.”
I watch as my words sink in and the way her features shift from the internal debate raging within her. Her eyes narrow and, to my surprise, she laughs. “You don’t pull any punches, do you?”
Grinning, I scoot my chair back in. “I’ve learned not to.
Yesterday we touched briefly on my temper.
Years ago, I let it get the better of me, and simple communication would have prevented a lot of the mistakes I made while having a temper tantrum.
I really try to limit those types of mistakes now. ”
She leans over her plate, a teasing glitter in her eyes that I haven’t been treated to before. “Somehow, I can’t see you as the sort to throw yourself on the floor, kicking and screaming.”
“Try stomping out of a multi-million-dollar contract negotiation. How’s that for an epic fit?
” I ask, raising my eyebrows and smiling.
After all these years I can now laugh and joke over it, but if I spend too long thinking back on the spoiled, immature brat I once was it leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
Her fork clatters to the table, a puddle of orange sauce forming under it. “No way band teachers make that much!”
“This was before my band teacher days. Something I want to tell you about.” I raise a finger and point it at her. “But only if we’re on the same page here about being open and honest with each other.”
Avery picks up her fork and dabs up the dripped sauce. “I’ll try,” she says, not meeting my gaze and poking at her food. After a moment, she stops pushing her food around and shyly peeks up at me. “You might have noticed that I’m not the best at this people stuff.”
“People stuff,” I repeat, giving her a nod and trying not to show my excitement that she’s opening up about this already. “We are people, and we do stuff.”
Her expressive eyes roll, and she fights a grin, the reaction I was hoping for as I don’t want her to stress over this.
“People stuff as in this.” She gestures between us. “Sitting and having a meal and a conversation. Here in my apartment, just the two of us isn’t bad. Last night was manageable as well, mostly because we’ve chatted before. I’m a happy introvert and don’t let a lot of people into my space.”
“I’m honored.”
Avery’s lips dip down in a frown.
I’m on my feet and around to her side of the table in an instant, my hand on the back of her chair as I loom over her. “I’m not being sarcastic. You’re letting me into your world, it’s one of the highest honors you can give someone. So, thank you.”
Her mouth parts as she stares up at me, emotions flying across her face. A flash of heat in her blue eyes is all the warning I get before she says, “Fuck waiting.”