Chapter 5 #2
“I love how close your office is to the barn.” The casual lick of his lips threatens to have me crawling into his lap. “Means I can swing by anytime before or after pracky.”
And so can I.
Could I.
You know…if I let this…go anywhere like my soul is screaming I should.
“Bronny actually is the reason I’m late.” A small cringe is flashed. “He jus’ up and moved in with me for the rest of the summer.”
“What?” Peering up at him is attached to thoughtlessly pushing myself into him. “What happened?!”
It’s impossible to deny the dark, delicious grumble that brushing my tits against him conjures yet thankfully, not impossible for him to continue. “He did some dumb shit to try to impress a girl.”
“Aw.”
“No, aw, would’ve been playin’ Peter Gabriel on a Bluetooth speaker on her front porch while she watched through her Ring camera, not breakin’ into some rich dude’s backyard to prove what a real man you’re not.”
One giant gasp is followed by me hissing, “Noooo…”
“Unfortunately, yeah.” He uses his free hand to reach for the small menu that’s parked beside the candle decoration.
“So, Grams – the woman primarily responsible for raisin’ him since our mom died a few years ago – had Dubs – my best friend that you didn’t see get married – fly him out to me for punishin’. ”
“Being with you is a punishment?”
“Only if you ask me nicely, Gillybean,” Thayne teases on a sexy wink.
Heat sprawls across my face as I force myself to bite the inside of my cheek.
I don’t know that I would like that.
I also don’t know that I wouldn’t.
I do, however, know that I have no clue how you even ask for that, let alone for it nicely.
“The idea is to treat Dalvegan like his own personal penalty box. Separate him from the opposin’ team, give him time to think about his choices, and ultimately, provide space for him to cool the F-town down.”
Once more, I snicker at the music reference, shake my head, and coo, “You love all music, don’t you?”
“No,” he says without hesitation, eyes lingering in mine, “but I think there’s somethin’ to love in all music.”
His insightful retort isn’t presented long to reflect on courtesy of a long haired, long legged, brunette placing cocktail napkins down on the table while greeting, “Evening, Groffee.”
“Breve,” he politely replies, tone nor body language changing, to my surprise. “This is Gillian.”
“Gilly’s fine,” leaves me more meekly than intended.
“You can call me Caffè Breve or Breve for short.” Her bright brown eyes find mine when she finishes her rearranging of the objects on the table. “Groffee always sits in my section.”
“She’s the only one who works here that seems to know the difference between ABBA and Air Supply.”
My purse free hand lands theatrically on top of my heart. “Those are vastly different.”
“And now you know why we’re sittin’ here.”
Light laughs are attached to her attention diverting back to me. “What can I get started for you, Gilly?”
“Give us a few, please,” Thayne respectfully requests. “I wanna be the one to let her know what she’s in for.”
“You mean other than a good time?” She sweetly sasses in return.
“Obvs,” is announced in a mirthful tone that feels friendly but not flirty.
Pleasant yet not provocative.
Cordial however kindly cocky.
How is that last one even possible outside of T.V.?!
Breve waggles her dark brows at us, playfully spins off to check on another table, and allows my date to clue me in on what to expect during our outing.
“They’ve got a full bar, but water is the only non-alcoholic thing you can order without coffee.
And they do desserts,” his finger lightly taps the tiny selection, “but like their specials and their password, they change daily.”
There’s no stopping my eyebrows from shooting upward. “Intense.”
“Unique,” Thayne smoothly counters. “Each night you come in, they want you to have a different experience, which mirrors-”
“What happens every time you have a cup of coffee,” I finish for him.
“Sure, you have your basic coffee profile; however, depending on where the beans are from, what they traveled with, where they sat pre utilization, how long they sat, how they were ground, when they were ground, who grounded them, and of course what – if anything – you add to it, will all ultimately effect your consumption journey; therefore making every cup-”
“Its own one-of-a-kind adventure.” One slow, tongue swipe of his lips is executed alongside his face craning closer to mine. “Exactly like bein’ with you, Gillybean.”
Blushing has me burying my face downward as well as my gaze.
Okay, I am so ill-prepared to deal with this in the real world.
If this were one of my spy shows, I would let him know that I know he’s really a con man here to steal my top secret plans that allow me to monopolize the dental industry and that all this flattery is to distract me from his main mission, or if this were one of my telenovelas I would tell him I know that he’s love bombing me only to get close enough to his actual love interest which would be my brother, a man he’s had a crush on since they were seven and playing in his father’s rose garden.
But this isn’t perfectly scripted plot twist binge bait.
It’s reality.
And in reality?
Men rarely pursue me for more than a peek at my exclusive patient list.
“Tonight’s dessert specials are affogato al caffè,” he announces, his unexpected Italian accent intoxicatingly delectable, “and espresso chocolate semifreddo.” Hazel eyes I’m ready to give up more than just my last name for casually cut over to my brown. “You know what those are?”
I wordlessly shake my head.
“Affogato al caffè is gonna be a scoop of vanilla gelato topped with espresso while espresso chocolate semifreddo is kinda like ice cream too but has more a mousse texture with the espresso mixed into it.” Thayne presents another warm, inviting smile prior to inquiring, “Which one are ya thinkin’?”
“Either,” is attached to an innocent shoulder shrug. “I’m easy.”
An almost contemplative hum is accompanied by a slow nod. “Then pick.”
“You pick.”
“No,” he resumes his upright position, arm removing itself from where I was comfortable with it nestled, “you pick, Gillian.”
“But-”
“You say that ‘you’re easy’ so that you don’t have to actually decide anything.
Now, whether that’s fear of pickin’ ‘wrong’ or bein’ ‘bothersome’ or ‘unliked’, doesn’t matter to me.
” His large palms rest together in his lap.
“What matters to me…is your voice. That you get a chance to be heard. That you get a chance to be seen. That you see that you matter in anything and everything, even if it’s jus’ dessert. ”
Discomfort over the notion pushes me to bite back, “Why don’t your wants matter?”
“They do,” my date rebuts without reluctance. “And I always speak on ‘em. I always act on ‘em.” Mirth takes prevalence in his tone. “Sometimes irresponsibly…”
Intrigue slightly tilts my face, silently insisting on details.
“Gettin’ ‘Death Before Decaf’ tatted on my back may have been more responsible than the goalie stick made out of coffee beans I got tatted on my foot, but neither were completely thought all the way through unlike the music notes on my arms, which represent my family since music has always kept us together no matter how far apart, we’ve been. ”
Melting in place mindlessly occurs.
Cavitiesandcrowns, how does he basically turn me into a human milkshake?
And just to be clear, I don’t want all the boys to come to my yard.
Just him.
Only him.
Part of me wants to make that song reference out loud knowing there’s a high probability he’ll get it.
Appreciate it.
Reward me.
And I can’t explain it but…I wanna be rewarded.
That sounds much more enjoyable than being punished.
“Both,” bravely propels its way past my lips, “and I would like you to put your arm back around me, Jukes.”
Thayne instantly repositions it to where it was, although this time it actually dangles across my shoulder rather than the furniture.
“Both it is.” The sudden lengthening of my spine swiftly becomes temporary thanks to his lips brushing against the shell of my ear.
“You’re extra fuckin’ sexy when you tell me what you want like that, Gillybean… ”
Air not only seems to abandon my lungs, but the entire building.
A lot like my ability to speak.
And think.
And blink because apparently being paralyzed by salaciousness is a thing that can actually happen to a person when it’s not scripted to.
Post a cool down session – graciously granted by our coffee labeled waitress providing ice cold glasses of water upon her return – Thayne does the ordering and polite dismissing that leaves us alone yet again.
Between the dim lighting and spaced-out seating arrangement, there’s certainly an air of romance.
One that easily keeps us pressed tightly together.
Exchanging looks and bashful lip bites.
Leaning in towards one another rather than raising our voices, not wasting the opportunity for our mouths to gravitate closer during our discussions on lyrics and musicians and instruments.
Despite being in a room with at least forty other people – forty other people talking and laughing and singing loudly – it somehow feels as though it’s just us.
Like no matter where we are or where we’ll be, it’ll always be just us.
Ohforcryingoutloud…I’m turning into a fucking Mariah Carey ballad.
Dessert is smoothly slid onto our table at the same time Thayne informs, “I’m really glad it’s Queens of the Diva Age tonight.
” He casually removes his arm in order to better face me.
“They cover a wider variety than like Corretta Clyn or Felton Don or Noiseplanting – who I’ll admit does jam a top cheddar kazoo. ”
Disbelief has me instantly leaning forward. “I’m sorry, did you say…kazoo?”
“I did.”
“Like a…a…” my clutch gets close to my lips to assist in my loud, odd noise, pantomiming, “kazoo?!”