Chapter 26 #2
I don’t believe that for one second. I also don’t believe that falling in love at first sight is as full of lust and emotion as people assume.
I would say I fell in love with Alis at first sight — at first reflection.
Was she beautiful? Absolutely. But her physical beauty, while undeniable, is not the same as her beauty as a person.
Her demeanor, her honesty — that is why I can say I loved her at first sight.
Love cannot be claimed without intimacy. Intimacy, in its purest form, is vulnerability, honesty. When I saw her reflection, I saw her. I saw in her something that cannot be described, explained, or formulated. My honest self recognized her honest self. Nos ames se connaissent.
The sound of Sunny and Otis running and playing in the backyard slowly reenters my periphery, but the spell I’m under with this woman is not broken.
However, it does serve as a reminder that we are not, in fact, alone.
I press a chaste kiss to her mouth and begrudgingly separate my body from hers, adjusting my erection to be less noticeable and praying it softens completely before Sunny returns inside.
I clear my throat and ask, “Would you like a tour?”
“Not right now, thank you,” she replies. Who has ever turned down a tour when visiting someone’s home? Returning my wandering gaze to hers, I see that her smile is mischievous and tantalizing, a beckoning strangely familiar, though an expression I’ve never seen from Alis.
“No? You don’t want to see the rest of my house?” I ask, perplexed.
“Sure, I do. But if you walk me down that hall, out of sight, and reach from that sliding glass door, neither of us will be able to control ourselves. Not after what just happened against that wall.” She nods her head toward where I, not three minutes ago, had her confined.
Here I was trying to escape the lust-filled haze overwhelming my senses, and my subconscious was busy scheming against my better judgment.
I exhale a laugh, shaking my head and running a hand through my hair. “You are not wrong,” I admit, then turn to the kitchen to start preparing lunch. “Let’s make something.”
“You’re cooking?” Alis asks, curiosity piqued. “We’re cooking,” I correct. “I asked you over to spend time with you and Sunny, to familiarize the two of you with my house, my space, Otis. I want you both to feel at home here. Part of feeling at home is knowing where everything is in the kitchen.”
“Sounds great,” she says, approaching the counter bar and leaning forward on her elbows. “What are we cooking?”
“We,” I say, emphasizing the word as I rummage through the refrigerator and pull out bacon, butter, and cheddar slices, “are making the best grilled cheese sandwiches you ever tasted.”
The sound of Alis’s genuine excitement confirms I made the right choice in deciding to spend the day at the house, low key, as if this was any typical Saturday in the home we shared. Pushing off the bar top, Alis walks around the counter and asks, “What can I do?”
—----------
It’s nearly 5 p.m. when Alis and Sunny prepare to head back to their apartment.
Sunny bids farewell to Otis, who whines and licks her cheeks in protest. Today has been everything I’d hoped it would be — relaxing, entertaining, and comfortable.
Alis hands off her keys to Sunny and says she’ll meet her in the car, and aside from her obvious reluctance to depart from Otis, she tells me goodbye and skips out to the car.
I envelop Alis in my arms, hands rubbing up and down her back.
“Thanks for spending the day with me,” I murmur into her hair.
I feel her smile against my neck, “Thank you for having us.” I look down and meet her eyes, her smile soft, content, happy.
I kiss her gently, planning to say goodbye but then remembering the upcoming faculty dinner.
I’ve been so wrapped up in playfully bantering back and forth with Alis and Sunny all day that I forgot all about asking her to accompany me.
“Has Abigail mentioned anything to you about a special J-Term class?” I ask, feeling out whether or not Alis is privy to the details I was so clearly instructed to keep to myself.
She thinks for a moment, and says, “No, why? Should I know about it? Does she need help with anything or for me to teach again? I don’t have anything special happening over the break so I can help if she needs it.”
And that’s one more reason why I love this woman. Her first thought is to offer assistance, to lessen someone else’s burden if she can be of service.
“Not that I’m aware of,” I say, tucking her loose hair behind her ear before kissing her forehead.
“I can’t go into too much detail because we’re still wooing the powers-that-be, but a few guest lecturers are flying in this week to talk details and Abigail is hosting a dinner reception at her place.
I’d like for you to accompany me. Not as a student, or as my grader, but as my girlfriend. ”
Brow creased, Alis considers my request and says, “A faculty dinner.”
“Yes,” I affirm.
“As your girlfriend.”
Again, I nod and say, “Yes. As my girlfriend.” For a moment I wonder if she will deny my request, but instead, she asks, “Who will be there?”
As much as I’d love to name-drop and brag about a possible collaboration between MPU and Jonathan Ryan, Abigail has yet to release that information. Not that I think Alis would say anything, but I gave my word. I decide to be honest, but vague.
“A handful of MPU faculty and the visiting potential collaborators for the class. It will be small, I promise.”
“And when is it?”
“Friday evening at 7. I’ll pick you up and we can ride together,” I say as I slide my hands down her back, palms stopping just above her ass as I lean closer and say, “And maybe, if Skye doesn’t have to work too early the next morning, you could come home with me afterward?
” I can feel the tension building in her body with every whispered word, and her arms tighten around me, holding me to her.
Her fingers digging into my back are all the confirmation I need.
We’ll attend Abigail’s dinner party. I’ll introduce Alis to the other L&L faculty and then to Dr. Ryan.
We’ll shake hands and I’ll hope to God he remembers meeting me and helping me when I was a lowly PhD student riddled with writer’s block.
Not that I need to impress her, but Alis will appreciate the surprise of meeting someone so revered in our field.
I’m sure she’s heard of him — you can’t partake in L&L Academia, particularly the French lit sector, without having heard of and even fawned over Dr. Jonathan Ryan.
He’ll agree to the lecture series, she’ll be high on the thrill of meeting Dr. Ryan, I’ll be high on the promise of a dream come true — a collaboration with the Jonathan Ryan.
Most importantly, we’ll both be taught with the anticipation of returning to my house, to my room, to my bed, where I will spend the rest of the night indulging myself in Alis’s body.
Friday night is going to be the best night of my life.