Chapter 11 – Dylan
Chapter Eleven
DYLAN
“ S o you’re okay with prenups?” My elbow is propped on the white linen tablecloth. Between Nat and me rests a ramekin with a half-eaten molten lava cake. It’s our second. We destroyed the first one in record time, which led Brooks to deliver another one which hadn’t been baked to his exacting standards. Something about the crust of the cake was off. It tasted the same to me and Natalie. Her lips are red from licking the chocolate off of them, and her cheeks are rosy from the wine.
I’ve eaten a 10 course meal, but my hunger isn’t satiated. No amount of food is going to make that empty feeling in my gut go away. It’s a good thing we’re sitting just a few feet away from Brooks’ kitchen staff or the plates would’ve been on the floor and Nat would’ve been on the table. I don’t know if she’s ready for that.
“I don’t know if I’m okay with them, but I see their usefulness. I’m sure you do too. A lot of divorces are smoother if there’s a contract in place. I’m more surprised that you don’t like them.”
“Because I’m a man or because I’m a lawyer?”
“Both. Most of the time I’m drafting a prenuptial agreement, it’s at the request of the man, and it’s not because he has money. He’s just planning his escape route, but I advise women to negotiate good terms and sign it.” She shrugs, somewhat fatalistically, as if the end of a marriage is a foregone conclusion.
“Do you do a lot of divorce work?” I wonder where the pessimism comes from.
“Not really, but I have a couple friends who practice family law. Divorces are what keeps them in business.” She digs the spoon into the chocolate.
I watch in fascination as it disappears between her lips and comes out clean. My pants grow uncomfortably tight. I’m going to have to die in Brooks’ kitchen because if I stand up, my massive erection is going to send this girl screaming.
“Do you have a lot of friends who are married?” she wonders.
“Not a single one. They’re all bachelors.”
“Then where does your confidence about marriage come from?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I guess hope? Lack of actual experience with breakups, too, Julie aside.”
“Is that because you have gone out with a number of women but never believed you were dating them?”
I open my mouth to protest and then shut it because did I date a lot of women without realizing it? Rather than admit this, I ask her a question. “Do you date a lot?”
“Feeling like we’re at the Lyceum and you’re Socrates as you answer my questions with more questions, but I’ll bite. Not a lot. I had a somewhat serious boyfriend in law school but realized that was fueled more because I needed a study buddy than because we had anything in common.” She dips the spoon into the dessert again.
I stiffen, and this time it’s not because I’m turned on. It takes me a moment to figure out that the emotion swirling through me is jealousy. I’m upset she had a boyfriend, especially a serious one. “What’s this boyfriend do now?” The word boyfriend comes out like a curse.
Nat is sensitive enough to catch my inadvertent intonation. She arches her eyebrows. “Are you jealous?”
“I’m curious.” I don’t want to reveal I’m an idiot on the first date. I need to build up a reservoir of goodwill before that comes out.
“Because you want to know my body count?” Her gentle tone turns sharp.
“No. I don’t care.” I stop and run a frustrated hand through my hair because I do care a lot, but not for the reasons she’s thinking. “Scratch that. I do care, but not because I think it’s some measure of your morality. I don’t care about the purity thing.” I’m going to have to admit my true feelings without that goodwill reservoir. “It’s that I’m jealous. I don’t like the idea of another man touching you, being with you. I want to be the one and only.” I place a hand on her wrist because I’m concerned she might run off. “I get that you might not be in the same place and that these aren’t exactly normal things coming out of my mouth, but better to be crazy and honest than just crazy.”
Her surprised look doesn’t go away, but it softens. “I said we were serious, but that’s only because I spent time with him every day, not because we did anything about it.”
“Okay.”
She licks her lips nervously. I brush a lock of her caramel-colored hair over her shoulder and lean closer. “Unlike your other guy, I want to do things.” Dirty things. Naughty things. Things that could get me thrown into prison in some countries.
“The other guy wanted to do things too, but I didn’t.”
The green monster in my head roars. I clench my fist in my lap. “And what about now? Do you want me to take you home and say goodnight, or do you want me to come inside?”
Her breath comes out fast. Her breasts rise and fall in rapid succession. My cock grows harder. My hands itch to touch her, to lift her shirt, to fall on her tits, to suck her nipples into my mouth. I want to scrape my teeth against the artery in her neck that is standing proud. I want to peel off her clothes with my teeth, map her frame with my hands, brand her with my cock.
My eyes are probably red as a demon’s right now. My thoughts are certainly swimming in a lust-filled hell. And then with four words, she ignites my whole world.
“You can come inside.”