Chapter 11
CHAPTER 11
MIKAEL
I didn't want her skin to blister, so I blew on her finger. She was surprised by my touch. I was surprised at the electricity that ran up my arm. It was like touching the metal on a car door on a cold day and getting zapped.
I could beat myself up for making her uncomfortable.
How could I have been so forward?
I survey her with hooded eyes.
She nibbles on a cheese stick and avoids eye contact.
“I'm sorry,” she murmurs when we go for the same cheese stick and our fingers brush each other. I’m about to jump when another jolt zaps me. What the hell is happening? “It's my fault. I'm all thumbs tonight,” she adds nervously.
Why am I nervous? I'm never at a loss for words or a smooth pick-up line.
Kenzie is open, and her reactions are authentic. I find it refreshing.
“Are you a sports fan?” I ask. Even though she is wearing a sweater, the rise and fall of her breasts is noticeable.
“Not particularly. Why?”
“I love sports and hanging out with my friends. I play pool, and I like cigars.”
“Really?” Her eyebrows raise as if to say “bullshit.” I bet she can’t imagine a buff man like me smoking.
“Football is my favorite pastime. When I’m not spending time with my parents and younger brothers, I watch a football game huddled in front of a giant TV on the weekends with my every week team mates.”
“That sounds nice. How many brothers do you have?”
“Two. You?”
“I have two also. They think I'm the favorite.”
“Me too. I mean, y'know.”
What is wrong with me? Why am I sharing this?
“I get it. I disagree with them, of course,” she adds sheepishly, and I wonder if she is the favorite. Her long bangs cover one cheek, and I resist an urge to move it aside.
“Of course,” I reply. “I run with it and tell my siblings how I'm the favorite to piss them off. Sibling rivalry is alive and well. Hell, it’s a family tradition.”
Her eyes light up when our entrees arrive.
“Wow. This looks fantastic,” she exclaims as we both reach for the freshly grated parmesan cheese, and our hands collide.
“Ladies first,” I say. I notice her blushing as she reengages with the spoon.
I watch her take her first bite and when her eyes close, and picture her over me having an orgasm, and her face is one of euphoria. I decided I’d like to make her pleasure last and salaciously think of her bouncing on my hard cock. Is it possible to have an orgasm over food?
“This is incredible,” she moans, flicking her long eyelashes open and straightening her back on the padded backrest.
“I'm happy you like it.”
“This is the best cordon bleu I've ever eaten. How did you find this place?”
“It was a rainy day when...” I intend to mimic Stephen King's lengthy chapters, filled with too many descriptives.
“No. Really,” she presses me.
“I fell into it. Have you ever done that? Just lucked into something?”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m the person who pissed off Cupid, and you're asking if I'm lucky? Decidedly not!” she chuckles.
“Right,” I reply as I stuff my mouth with chicken. Mamma outdid herself tonight, and nothing makes me happier than sharing a perfect meal with Kenzie.
“This pasta is rich. Is it homemade?”
None of my dates would notice their food unless it's cold. At times, I wondered if they even had taste buds. Perhaps Kenzie is a great cook as well as a fantastic baker.
“Some is. I think this is. I know she uses sour cream in the pasta dough.”
“No kidding,” she muses and sips her wine. “That explains the rich texture. I never thought about adding sour cream.”
“Do you cook?”
“Yes, but like you, I prefer to cook for someone. Food is meant to be shared. I'm a firm believer that food brings people together.”
“That's a great sentiment. I never thought of it that way, but you're right!”
“What do you do for work?” she inquires.
“I do a few things: investments, and I travel. I work out all the time.”
“It must be your favorite hobby,” she comments as she adds more cheese to her pasta, then twirls it like a pro.
I also add more cheese to my food in light of this observation. I've been told Parmesan is a garnish, but it's evident we both view it as a food group. I don't have to be embarrassed when I use more than is deemed proper.
“What are your hobbies?”
“I would love to play pool better. I like to dance. Bo and I go to the new club, Inferno.”
I chuckle.
“What?” she asks.
“I don't want to brag, but I'm a great dancer.” Her eyes are as wide as saucers. “What?” I implore her to enlighten me.
“I'm surprised. Very few men can dance. Many think they can but don't have any rhythm.”
“I'm an anomaly,” I joke. “I attend numerous weddings each summer, and the boys are up on the latest trends. It’s our thing to show off our fancy footwork and everyone expects hip gyrations.”
“Interesting. I’ll be the judge of that. Until then, the jury is out,” she teases.
“What? You want to have a dance-off?” I banter.
“Oh, no!” she chuckles. “I'm just saying we’re new to each other and I have no idea if you're all that,” she replies.
Her full lips are painted a soft pink and look so kissable. Kenzie is different than the women I usually date. She’s also the first woman with whom I can be myself. There are no uncomfortable silences with her. I am attracted to her but my fear of our relationship changing and leading to a breakup would be unacceptable. I can’t risk what we have.
Besides, I’m the breakup king.
We finish our meal, and I discover she's from Portland and has lived in Maine her entire life.
The server returns to clear our plates. Judging from the empty plates, she either enjoyed the food or was starving.
“You don't have any out-of-state family or traveled outside Maine?”
“No. However, I’ve been to New York City.”
I nod. It takes less than six hours to drive to New York.
“What did you do there?”
“We did the tourist thing. I love the Field Museum.”
“Dinosaurs and relics?” I tease.
“Yes. I love history.”
“I'm into the Viking shows. They were wicked on the battlefield.”
“I think they're exceptionally hot,” she murmurs. “And good warriors. Bo and I watch that show, too.”
Her veiled eyes are fixated on stroking the stem of her wine glass.
“I’m of Norwegian descent,” I add.
“That explains your pretty eyes,” she replies.
The server offers us dessert.
“I don't know,” I say looking at the server. “This one right here makes the best cupcakes. You have competition.”
“Really?” the young female asks.
“Oh yes. The shop is Le Petit Patissier.”
“Wow. I know it. In fact, the owners are looking for a local place to provide desserts. Do you sell to restaurants?” she inquires.
“We can—sure,” Kenzie says after a brief pause.
“Let's try the chocolate cake with raspberry sauce,” I say, winking at Kenzie.
“Very well,” the server replies and disappears.
“I'm so full,” she complains, taking the last sip of her wine. I noticed that I drank most of the bottle.
“Look at this dessert as market research. You’ve never been a vendor for restaurants?”
“No, but it’s a great idea. I never thought about supplying local restaurants.”
“It could be another revenue stream,” I suggest.
She nods in agreement.
“You should buy that shop before someone else does,” I state.
“That’s a great idea,” her face beams with the smile of a Cheshire Cat.
The dessert is great, but I have a feeling Kenzie’s would be better. I pay the bill and leave a tip in cash.
“Where did you grow up?” she asks when we get in the car.
“Wisconsin.”
“The land of cheese!” she exclaims.
“Yes. We’re actually dairy farmers.”
“No way!”
I nod and start the car.
“That's fascinating. No wonder you love Parmesan cheese as much as I do,” she adds.
“I do,” I glance her way and smile. “Can anyone ever consume too much cheese?”
“No! My weakness is cheese puffs. I could live off them.”
“It was my favorite snack when I was a kid!” I marvel over the fact that we both love the same snacks and cheese.
“Me too!” She shrugs. “Well, I still love them!” she confesses. “I hate the orange stains they leave on my fingers but I’m addicted.”
I chuckle—finally, a woman who isn't opposed to cheese based on its fat content, or orange fingers.
I drive her home and walk her to the door.
“I had a great time,” she says as she unlocks the door.
“I did, too,” is out of my mouth before I think about it. I’m so close I can smell a hint of vanilla lotion on her skin. I’m enthralled with how down-to-earth she is. It would be so easy to cross the friendship line and take her into my arms for a passionate good-night kiss.
“Maybe,” she murmurs. She pauses for some reason. Then she says, “Good night,” before she slips inside.
I return home and toss my keys on the counter.
I text her. Sweet dreams, Kenzie.
Kenzie: Good night. Thank you for dinner.
I’m smiling as I call Finn. It's still early, so I flip the TV to the sports channel.
“Where have you been?” he asks.
“Out to dinner. What's up?”
“The guys want to watch the football game tomorrow. Wives included.”
“Great. Where?”
“I'll host. Everyone is bringing something.”
“I'll bring sandwiches.”
“Oh, by the way, Bella has a girlfriend who wants to meet you.”
“Great.”
I'm always open to casual dating.