I really like him in a month-long way.
At least.
Maybe even in a several-months way.
I know my liking seems a little presumptuous, a little naive, but you know how some men have that thing? A presence? That thing that sucks the air out of the room when they walk in, when your eyes gravitate towards them even before you should know they're there? That pull isn't normal—it cannot be, because I've met lots and lots of men during my lifetime and I've only ever felt it with Rhys.
I don't know how long that thing lasts. Obviously this is my first time experiencing that thing, but it can't possibly just flip off or extinguish in a month. It's already been a month since the first time I felt it, that first night in the bar when he was with his drunk British friend (who I've since pieced together is the CEO of Sutton Travel and Rhys' cousin, so I should probably stop referring to him as the drunk British friend in case I ever meet him) and the thing is not diminishing. The thing has only gotten stronger. And now I have feelings for him as a person in addition to the thing, which is clearly some kind of voodoo sexual pull.
But maybe this is the moment that Rhys realizes he's not feeling the thing. Maybe at all, or maybe not enough to want me here. Maybe he had his fill of me and that's that. There must be a reason he doesn't have a girlfriend, right? A reason he prefers dancers, strippers, whatever his normal preference is. Maybe he likes the variety.
"No, I don't want you to sneak anywhere. Come and go as you please. I'll take care of the office in the morning."
I poke at a piece of shredded chicken in my salad, which is delicious, way better than when I have to make it myself, and contemplate what ‘taking care of it’ means. I want to ask questions about that, but he's turned his attention back to the television and his expression didn't really bode well for questioning. Plus I trust him when he says he'll take care of it. The questions are really just for my own nosy interest so I decide to let it drop until tomorrow.
We watch the rest of the episode in silence. The kitchen wall comes down, but it does require a thirty-five-hundred-dollar support beam to make their dream kitchen a reality. Then they get hit with an unexpected roof leak and the contingency budget is blown. It all ends well though, when they find tile for the renovated master bath on clearance and call in a friend to help them lay it themselves in order to stay on budget. The renovation finishes on time and seven thousand dollars over their original eighty-thousand-dollar budget.
"What did you think?" I ask him when the episode ends.
"Hmm," he replies, as if he needs to mull it over. We've finished our dinners and somehow—I really could not explain how it happened—sometime in the last ten minutes of the episode I ended up with my head on Rhys' chest, both of us reclined on the sofa. "What is it about it that appeals to you?" He's running his fingers through the strand of my ponytail and it feels just as good as the mini-foot massage I got earlier. I decide Rhys is good at the touching too. It's very comforting, reassuring in a wordless way. Also, there might be a thirty percent chance I'm falling for him.
"I love seeing what's possible. At first glance that house was so dated and dark. But it was a hidden gem, you know? It just needed the right person to come along and uncover its potential. With just a little bit of effort, relocating the laundry room and renovating the kitchen meant suddenly the house was a bright spacious home the way it was always meant to be."
"A lot of effort is more like it."
"Sometimes the effort is worth it." I say it softly, a bit more to myself than to him. I'm playing with the loop on the waistband of his jeans, running the material between my finger and thumb, my eyes on the television.
"They could have just bought a move-in-ready house and skipped the hassle."
"Maybe. But maybe they really wanted that particular home and none of the move-in-ready homes turned them on." He stills beneath me, his hand pausing in my hair. "Maybe they had a real-estate fetish for that lot or something. Never mind," I finish in a rush. I think my real-estate analogies might be too revealing, yet I can't stop. "Plus every episode has a happily-ever-after."
"A house-hunting happily-ever-after?"
"Yes. It's a very rewarding viewing experience. You know they're going to pick one of the three houses because they always pick one of the three houses. You are virtually guaranteed at the end of each episode one house will be living its best life with a new family."
"What about the two houses that didn't get picked?"
"I don't like to think about them."
"Of course not."
"I'm sure they got picked," I add, after a minute, because it is a bothersome detail. "Off screen. Just because it didn't happen during the episode doesn't mean it never happened for those homes."
"Maybe the other homes were too damaged to deserve a family. Maybe they were filled with mold and needed to be leveled." He's playing with my hair again as he talks.
"Nope. Mold can be remediated. They just needed the right buyer to see their potential."
A new episode starts and Rhys doesn't make any move to get up from the couch. This time it's an episode of Beach Hunters, in which prospective homeowners are searching for their dream homes with beach access.
I've never been much of a beach girl.
"Do you have more work left to do tonight?" I ask, glancing up at him under my lashes. I'm not sure how much time I have with him or how to go about asking for what I want.
"Did you want me to get back to work?"
"No." I shake my head against his chest, the fabric from his t-shirt soft against my chin.
"I'm done working for the night."
"That's great."
"Why is that?"
I smooth my open palm against his chest and wonder how I make the sex happen again. "Maybe we can work on our AST," I offer.
"AST?"
"Average sex time. Remember we need to work on our efficiencies because you're so busy."
His eyes close for a moment and a small groan emits from his lips. I can't decipher the groan though. Is it interest? Exasperation? Arousal? I'm not at all sure. I eye the clock, wondering what time he's planning on starting work in the morning. Maybe it's time for him to go to bed, I have no idea.
"We could be quick, to bring the average down," I add in case he's considering skipping half an hour of sleep to have sex. "Or I could give you a blow job. I don't think that would count towards the AST average though. But I think I read something about blow jobs helping with sleep so it would still be a very efficient use of your time, don't you think?"
He expels a breath and his eyes open, looking at me with a sense of bewilderment.
"Have you ever given a blow job, Lydia?"
"No." I shake my head. "I gave an ex-boyfriend a few hand jobs but he came pretty fast without me really doing much. That's why I thought that seven to thirteen minutes was a reasonable goal because it only took that guy like two minutes to come."
Rhys stops playing with my hair and uses that hand to rub at the lines on his forehead so I fear I might be losing his interest.
"I know how to though," I add quickly. "I watched a few videos to get the gist and I'm a quick learner." I've always been proud of my ability to catch on quickly. "I haven't forgotten that you want me to choke on your dick, but you'll have to teach me that part because none of the videos I saw explained if the women were simply born without a gag reflex, or if not, how they were able to overcome it. Also some of them just swallowed the penis without a sound and some of them were very noisy about it and I wasn't sure which you were looking for."