CHAPTER 8 #8
He eyed them, saying nothing, and went to retrieve the s’mores ingredients. He found the extra-long chopsticks and tipped each with a marshmallow, passing one to Jannie as she settled cross-legged on the thick, round cushion.
“Thank you.” She didn’t look at him.
They extended the sticks, watching the flames dance and inhaling the sweet vanilla fragrance as the marshmallows turned color.
The orange glow of the crackling fire made her already angelic face look otherworldly beautiful. He cast her a glance, hesitant to speak, not wanting to disrupt the companionable silence.
For now, just being near her was enough.
She still made him feel something no other woman had, even after so many years, and he was determined to see where this might lead.
Whatever “this” was. Because he didn’t understand it.
All he knew was he had an overwhelming need to cherish and protect her, and he hoped she’d eventually come around and let him.
Wordlessly, he snapped a graham cracker in half, added a chocolate square, and passed it to her, smiling slightly as she slid in the gooey, perfectly browned marshmallow, assembling the s’more with precision.
She’d always been meticulous. A perfectionist. His mind wandered to what she’d be like between the sheets if he could get her to let go and let him take control, and he felt himself begin to stir to life as he watched her lick a bit of melted marshmallow off the edge of the sweet sandwich.
The memory of that tongue tangling with his made him swiftly grow to full mast.
“This is nice,” she softly said.
“Mm-hmm.”
He turned his marshmallow, which had charred slightly. He felt her presence beside him so acutely, and the breeze carried her scent to his nostrils every time it stirred. He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing her in.
“It’s burning,” she said.
So am I.
“I like it slightly blackened.” A moment later, he made his own sandwich, took a big bite, and motioned with his chin toward the bottle. “Do we need a corkscrew?”
She shook her head. “Twist top.”
He couldn’t hide his reaction; the wine connoisseur in him wanted to rebel.
She noticed. “Hey, I know these are the laughingstock of the wine community. But you can find some damn good ones beneath the cap.”
He’d never sampled even a half-decent screw-top wine. “They won’t age particularly well,” was all he could diplomatically say.
“This won’t have to.” She cracked it open.
He eyed the label. “Bourgogne Chardonnay. A screw-cap Burgundian Chardonnay? Never thought I’d see such a thing.” He watched her pour, the golden liquid gurgling as it filled the glasses. “But how does it taste?”
“You tell me.” Jannie handed him the plastic goblet.
He raised it. “To …”
“Old friends.”
“Old friends.” More than just friends soon, if I have any say.
They clinked, and Nick took a tentative sip. Fresh and round with flickers of key lime, pear, and flint, it possessed most of the qualities of a white Burgundy. He took a bigger sip, and Jannie smiled.
“Verdict?”
“Not bad.”
She smirked. “Too much of a wine snob to admit it’s good?”
“It isn’t good,” he said. As disappointment flickered in her eyes, he quickly added, “It’s very good.”
She nodded. “Told you.”
He watched her quickly drain her glass and grab the bottle by the neck to pour herself another. Part of him worried about her drinking too much too fast, but the other wicked part wondered if he would get some “in vino veritas” from it.
She set down her full glass and picked up a marshmallow, rolling it between her thumb and index finger in a way that made him need to adjust himself. He pictured her doing that to him, her slender fingertips sliding around his tip, and quickly looked away.
Fuck. The woman fondled a marshmallow, and he was hard.
They made small talk and shared high school stories until the sky turned the color of ink. The conversation flowed, but Nick did notice that they talked about everyone and everything but themselves.
At one point, Jannie got up and brought a second bottle, then raised a screen to allow Rolf to do his business. The dog returned with a blue rubber ball he’d found somewhere in the bushes. He sat politely beside Nick, tail swishing, his brown eyes bright and beseeching.
Nick looked to Jannie. “Should I?”
She shrugged. “Go ahead. He needs the exercise, and he likes you.” She shook her head with a fond smile. “Which is weird. He usually doesn’t care about strangers. People try to pet him, and the stinker blows them off as if they don’t exist.”
Nick stood, and the dog immediately sprang to his feet, tail wagging excitedly as he waited for Nick to throw it.
Stepping off the patio and carefully avoiding the edge of the pool, Nick moved onto the grass and indulged Rolf until he was worn out, and Jannie decided it was time to put an end to the game.
Taking the ball away, she opened the sliding door and pointed.
“Inside. Go to your place.”
Without hesitation, Rolf trotted in and flopped down on his dog bed with a groan so loud that Nick could hear it from outside.
He laughed. “He’s done.”
“He should be good for the night.” Jannie added a log to the fire, then gracefully sank down on the cushion.
“I’ve never seen a dog so well-behaved. Did you train him yourself?”
“Yeah. With lots of help from YouTube and an online German Shepherd forum.”
“I’m impressed.”
“You should be. He’s my first shepherd. They aren’t easy dogs. I did my research and thought I knew what I’d signed up for, but it took a couple of years of hard work. In the beginning, he’d launch at me and bite my butt. Repeatedly.”
Nick laughed, picturing that.
“Yeah, funny,” she said with a little smile, “but he was like a furry piranha. Those sharp puppy teeth hurt, even through jeans. One time, he nailed my arm. I still have scars.”
Don’t we all, he thought.
The sky was now pitch-black, dotted with stars, the moon edging the few scattered clouds with silver.
Across the lake, bright lights glowed from the distant row of homes, reflecting on the water.
It was quiet, but Nick felt anything but peaceful.
A low-voltage undercurrent between them kept him on edge.
It didn’t help that he could smell Jannie’s fruity shampoo and something uniquely hers that had him sporting a perma-semi.
An aircraft approached, flying high overhead, and Nick looked up. “Helo,” he murmured.
“You sound just like my brother. He’s the king of identifying random flying objects.”
Nick frowned a little. Fuck no, he didn’t want to remind her of her brother.
Nothing was brotherly in his feelings toward the woman sitting beside him.
He felt her gaze upon him and continued looking up, watching the helicopter until it disappeared.
Jannie picked up her phone, tapped the screen a few times, and suddenly the patio and pool glowed with soft amber mood lighting.
She was studying him; he could feel it.
“Why are you really here, Nick?”
Ah, here we go.
He picked up his glass and took a deep swallow. “I already told you.”
“Try again.”
“Try?”
“Yeah. The truth this time.”
“I wanted to see you.”
“You”—she caught his gaze and held it— “wanted to finally fuck me.”
Good thing he’d already swallowed that mouthful of wine, or it would have shot out of his nose.
What could he possibly reply to that? “Well …”
She nodded. “Thank you for not denying it. You’ve been eye fucking me since eleventh grade.”
Well, then. Busted.
“Guilty.”
“I always felt you staring. You never made a move. Why?”
He tilted his head. “Would you have countered the move?”
A pause. “You did look very different then, but there was always something about you …” Her voice trailed. She shrugged. “I don’t know. Looks are only part of the equation.”
“So is age. You were far too young.”
She snorted. “You do realize all the girls were doing it? And more?”
“More?”
“They normalized blow jobs. Most of the girls were giving them. In fact, they said it didn’t even count as sex.”
“And what did you think?”
Her mouth twisted. “I thought that taking a guy’s cock in your mouth was more intimate than intercourse.”
Were they really sitting here discussing teenage sexual practices? How the hell had that happened? Nick sought another subject because this was not at all what he’d had in mind, but before he could think of anything, she spoke again.
“When did you lose your virginity?”
Shit. This was reverse “in vino veritas.”
But if that was what she wanted to discuss, he’d humor her.
“Late,” he said.
“How old were you?”
“Twenty-one.” Before he could stop himself, he added, “It was my birthday.”
“Wow.” She poured herself more wine. “Your first legal alcoholic drink paired with your first lay.”
He tensed, expecting her to ask for details, but she didn’t.
He wasn’t about to tell her that he’d visited the Blonde Bombshell Bordello near Reno, intending to pay for just one night, but ended up staying at the brothel for the whole week.
Nor that what he experienced there shaped his view of sex and intimacy forever.
Looking back, he realized the striking Nordic woman he’d chosen looked a lot like Jannie.
She must have read something in his expression because her eyes gleamed, reflecting the fire in the pit. “What have you learned in ten years, Nicholas?”
Oh, you have no idea.
Ropes, cuffs, blindfolds …
Wait, had she just called him by his full first name?
“What did you learn?” she repeated.
She wasn’t dropping it.
He thought a moment. “Self-discipline.”
“That’s evident.” Her gaze lingered on him so intensely that he became fully aroused, and it struck him that this was happening without the usual setting and trappings.
He couldn’t recall the last time he’d gotten hard just because a woman was studying him.
And one who wasn’t tied up and on her knees, at that.
He watched her lick a bit of dried chocolate off her knuckle and resisted the urge to adjust himself.
“How often do you work out?”