Chapter Eighteen
Appa
Robby said he could make better pizza, so the following weekend, we make plans for me to find out.
Am I nervous about going to his house for the first time?
Of course. But not in an ‘I’ll end up in your basement’ way.
More first-date, if you can call it that, jitters.
Going to his house feels so intrusive, ironically, and I’m not sure what kind of bachelor pad to expect.
As I get ready to leave, the past week replays in my mind. Robby came over Wednesday night after work with a bag of takeout in hand, and we watched a movie in the living room.
He winced when he walked past the high-backed chair in my living room. The same chair I dug my nails into when he robbed me of my innocence. I feel pride when I walk by it as it’s a reminder that I feel like a real woman now. Finally in touch with my sexuality.
“You okay?” I asked as I opened the containers of Chinese takeout.
Robby glanced back at the chair as he plopped down on the couch next to me. “Yeah, just that…” he trailed off and rubbed the back of his neck. I knew differentiating between himself and Rook would be challenging as we tried to balance both sides, and it had only been a few days.
“I can get rid of it? Or put it in storage?”
He shook his head. “I’ll get over it.”
I nodded, but I didn’t really believe him.
After gorging ourselves with takeout, we spent the evening watching a movie that led to another movie…that we didn’t really watch. It was background noise as we found out we had the self-control of two horny teenagers.
“Fuck it, neither of us is watching this,” Robby said abruptly.
He ripped his shirt off. I was pinned under him within two seconds, and I could already feel him straining against his joggers.
“Why are there fucking shorts under this skirt?” he complained when he found out my slutty little tennis skirt was actually a skort.
“Patience, mister,” I teased.
He pressed his lips hard against mine and gave my bottom lip a little nibble.
“Patience? We haven’t fucked since Sunday, and you do this to me.
” His tone stayed playful, but I knew he was more than eager.
He sat up and slipped his fingers under the waistband of my skort. “Lift,” he said, referring to my hips.
But sex was still as Robby. He was more aggressive than Saturday morning but not at the same level Rook would be, and I quickly came to terms with wanting it rough.
When I felt comfortable that I could ask for more without tapping into the Rook side of him someday, I would.
I wasn’t afraid of Rook and was excited for his next appearance, but after so much time obsessing, it was time to let Robby shine.
Truthfully, I don’t think I would have ever fallen for Rook, but Robby has potential.
For the past couple of days, work has kept him busy, but we had some private sexts.
Robby, on Thursday: Wish you and that mouth were under my desk right now.
Me: Sure about that? I bite.
Robby: That makes me harder.
I rolled my eyes at his response but smiled, despite myself. I might have to try carefully grazing my teeth down his length; he might like it.
Robby, yesterday: You’re gonna fall asleep with me still in you and wake up in my bed with me back in you this weekend.
Me: I’ll pack my birth control. He-he.
Robby: Good cuz your coffee isn’t the only thing that will be full of cream Sunday morning.
My jaw dropped. I even glanced over my shoulder, like someone could see, but I was alone at home.
Me: You’re supposed to be a good Catholic boy, sir.
Robby: Sir? Fuck, I’m hard now.
It’s fast, but technically, we’ve been sleeping together for weeks.
And he felt safe. It was a newfound turn-on that this nerdy, yet ripped guy was perfect enough to bring home to the family…
and would wreck you after. I had wet panties for the past two days thanks to him.
Finding myself rewatching Rook videos, I tried reliving my experiences with him…
and Robby. I avoided the comments section, though.
I used to laugh, but now, I’d only cringe.
For tonight, I keep my makeup light and loosely put my hair half up, leaving some of my curls coiled at my shoulders. I throw on a simple light blue crop T-shirt with a pair of linen short overalls. Maybe it’s too casual, but it would be fun to watch him strip the overalls off me.
Should I pack an overnight bag?
I’m not opposed to finally being that girlfriend who casually wears her boyfriend’s boxers and tees.
Not that it was official. But it’s deeper than that.
How many guys would wait six years for a girl they met once for two minutes?
It’s all very storybook if I look past how things started between us.
Anyway, yes, an overnight bag would be good.
At least to have my own toiletries, but I wouldn’t put it past Robby to have stocked my essentials. Fortunately, I had a couple of brand trips earlier this year, so my toiletry bag was ready with travel sizes.
It was going on four, so I had to head out.
Copying Robby’s address into the GPS on my phone, I was relieved to see it would only take about half an hour.
It’s funny how close Rook was to me this whole time.
It wasn’t walking distance, per se, but only thirty minutes in LA makes us practically neighbors.
My stomach flutters as I near his place.
I’m surprised to find that he has neighbors only on either side with the start of a hill opposite of the house.
It’s a secluded hideaway and very different from my street of many houses.
His blacked-out Tesla is in the driveway, and I park next to it, assuming the Jeep is in the garage.
I unplug my phone from the car and grab my designer tote bag filled with an outfit for tomorrow and a few toiletries.
I didn’t bother with pajamas because if pizza night goes well, I won’t need them.
Robby’s house seems older than my house with a mid-century vibe, framed by a neatly trimmed lawn and shrubbery. It also looks like it’s only one story, but these houses in the hills are sometimes built into the hill and are deceptively big.
Walking up, I grin at the bright red door, which is something I always dreamed of having, but my damned HOA would never let me. But my feet pause. On that beautiful red door lives the same smart lock I have. His lock appears new, untouched by any signs of weather.
That clever bas—
Robby opens the door before I have time to knock. “Hey, you,” he says. A big smile is plastered on his face, and my chest warms, fading the chills about the smart lock away.
“Oh, hey.”
Real cool.
Do I let this go? How did he know I had that lock at home?
“Moving in?” Robby teases about my bag. He studies my face when I don’t react. “You okay?”
I blush and tighten my grip on the handles. “Just prepared, Robert,” I tease back. I walk past him into the house.
He laughs and shuts the door behind us. “Ouch, that’s my dad.”
Weekend Robby is my favorite look on him.
Relaxed, dressed in an old concert T-shirt that had the sleeves cut off and basketball shorts.
His toned biceps are exposed, and I let the lock thing go because he’s too damn hot to care about much else.
I know it’s my infatuation and lust clouding my better judgment.
Stepping into the foyer, the air is chilled, but as warm as Robby runs, I’m not surprised he keeps his AC turned lower.
I expected out-of-date wallpaper and carpet, wood tones, and other signs of the house’s age.
Instead, the walls are painted a crisp cinderblock gray with warm-toned flooring that has clearly been recently redone.
Sure, his furniture was more masculine to match the updated yet somewhat industrial feeling of the house, but it was tidy, too.
Tastefully decorated with no video game posters in sight. A huge green flag.
Then, the smell of herbs and tomatoes hits my nose. “Something smells amazing,” I say, dropping my bag on the entry table in the foyer.
“Pizza sauce. Come on.” He nods in the direction of the kitchen.
I follow Robby down a hallway where the tomato scent grows stronger. His kitchen is updated, too, with a white subway tile backsplash, cool gray stone countertops, and dark brown cabinets. It’s so cohesive without being all white like my newer home.
“Was your house like this when you bought it?” I ask.
Robby shakes his head. “No, no way I could afford that. It was a fixer-upper, but after being here about three years, it’s almost fully renovated. The guest bath needs to be finished, but I keep putting it off.”
“I love the colors. Everything at my house feels so sterile and cold,” I say. “Yours feels so lived in.”
“Are you calling me messy?” His tone is light, even teasing.
“Not at all.” I take in the sight of the counters: Small bowls of cheeses, veggies, and meats are scattered around a round, rolled-out piece of dough. “This looks like it was a lot of work,” I say.
“Nah, it’s fun, but we’ll be eating a lot of pizza,” he adds with a laugh.
“That’s fine. I’m sure it’ll be amazing.”
“Want to try making your own?” Robby asks.
I bite my lip. “Okay.” I wash my hands and then stand in front of the counter where a clean slate of dough is rolled out, waiting to be decorated. “Did you make the sauce?”
“Yep, been simmering all day,” he answers, standing behind me.
I reach for the ladle and spoon sauce over the slab of dough.
I use the back of the ladle to spread the red sauce around like I’ve seen in movies.
“And the dough?” I ask. He sweeps my curls to the side and kisses the back of my neck, setting off tingles that shoot down through my torso straight between my legs.
“Of course,” he murmurs against my skin, his hands finding my hips.
“God, what can’t you do?”