Chapter 4 #2
"Doesn't matter. I'm picking you up properly."
After he left, I finished my coffee and tried to process what had just happened. I'd slept with my neighbor. My incredibly hot, mysteriously evasive neighbor. And now we were going on a date.
Jenna was going to lose her mind.
I texted her: Remember the neighbor?
Her response came immediately: What about him?
We slept together last night.
My phone rang five seconds later.
"Tell me everything," Jenna said without preamble. "And don't leave out any details."
I told her most of it. The fire alarm, the kiss in the hallway, what happened after. I left out some of the more intimate details because even I had limits.
"So he's good in bed?" Jenna asked.
"Really good."
"And you're seeing him again tonight?"
"He's taking me to dinner."
"Sam. This is huge. You haven't been on an actual date in over a year."
"I know."
"How do you feel about it?"
I thought about Brandon in my kitchen, the way he'd looked at me like I mattered. "Tentatively optimistic."
"Okay, I’ll take it. What are you going to wear?"
We spent the next twenty minutes discussing outfit options. By the time we hung up, I felt slightly less panicked and slightly more excited.
The day passed in a blur of usual work stuff. I tried not to obsess over tonight. I left work on time for once so I could get ready. Shower, hair, makeup. I tried on four different dresses before settling on a dark green one that hugged my curves without being too obvious about it.
At six fifty-five, there was a knock on my door.
I checked the peephole. Brandon stood in the hallway in dark jeans and a button-down shirt that made his shoulders look even broader. He held a small bouquet of flowers.
I opened the door. "Hi."
"Hi." He handed me the flowers. Daisies and some purple things I didn't know the name of. "You look beautiful."
"Thank you. You clean up pretty well yourself."
"These are for you."
I took them, smiling. "Thank you. Let me put these in water."
He waited in the doorway while I found a vase and arranged the flowers. When I came back, he offered me his arm.
"Ready?"
"Ready."
He took me to a small Italian place six blocks away. The kind of restaurant with checkered tablecloths and candles in wine bottles and food that smelled incredible. We got a corner table, and Brandon held my chair for me before sitting down.
"Is this place okay?" he asked. "I wasn't sure what you liked."
"It's great. I've actually been meaning to try this place."
We ordered wine and appetizers, falling into easy conversation. He asked about my work, and I told him about my week. The client who'd finally hit six months sober. The teenager whose parents were in denial about her using.
"That must be hard," he said. "Watching families go through that."
"It is. But when someone makes it, when they turn their life around, it makes it worth it."
"Your brother would be proud of you."
The words caught me off guard. "You think so?"
"I know so. You took your pain and turned it into something that helps people. That takes strength."
I had to look away, blinking back sudden tears. "Thank you."
He reached across the table and took my hand. "I mean it."
Our entrees arrived, and we ate while talking about everything and nothing. He was careful with his answers when I asked about his work, but less evasive than before. I learned he'd grown up in Boston, that his mother was a teacher, that he'd always wanted to help people.
"Is that why you became a consultant?" I asked.
"Something like that."
I let it go. For tonight, it was enough.
After dinner, we walked back to the building slowly, taking the long way. He held my hand the whole time, his thumb tracing circles on my palm.
"I had a really good time tonight," I said as we climbed the stairs to the third floor.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
At my door, he backed me against it gently, his hands on my waist. "Can I come in?"
"I was hoping you'd ask."
He kissed me there in the hallway, slow and deep. When he pulled back, his eyes were hungry.
I unlocked the door and pulled him inside.
This time, we took our time. He undressed me slowly, kissing every inch of skin he revealed. When I tried to rush him, he pinned my hands above my head.
"Slow," he said. "I want to make this last."
He did make it last. Took me apart with his mouth and hands until I was begging. When he finally pushed inside me, the relief was so intense I almost came immediately.
"Look at me," he said, moving in long, slow strokes. "I want to see you."
I met his eyes, and the intimacy of it, the connection, made my chest ache. This was more than just sex. More than just physical release.
This mattered.
When we both came, it was together, his name on my lips and mine on his.
After, we lay tangled together, sweaty and satisfied. He kissed my shoulder, my neck, my jaw.
"Stay tonight?" I asked.
"I'm not going anywhere."
I fell asleep with his arm around me and his breath on my neck, feeling happier than I had in years. And yet a little voice in my head said, “This is the first time since Jake died that I've let someone in. Please don't make me regret this.”