Calm the fuck down. I talked to myself sometimes, more than I preferred. I took a deep breath and tapped to open his email.
Zane: I have your phone number, but I didn’t want to be rude and use it without confirming it was okay with you. I’d like to pick you up at 7pm on Friday. How does Thai food sound?
This was followed by his official email signature.
And then, p.s. I can’t wait to taste you again.
I felt a throb between my thighs at his comment. He wanted to taste me?
My hands trembled as they hovered over the keyboard. I told myself I should tell him I couldn’t go to dinner.
Instead, I typed, I love Thai food. 7 sounds great.
My finger hit send before I could make it stop. The moment I heard that little whooshing sound, like a cartoon plane taking off, I muttered, “Oh, my God. I’m such an idiot.”
Within seconds, my email pinged again. My head whipped up to see his reply already waiting in my inbox. Practically frantic, I tapped the button to open it.
Zane: Did you miss the last part of my email?
How the hell was I supposed to reply to that?
Eva: Of course not. That kiss was nice.
Oh, my God. I’d just described his kiss as nice.
Nice? was his only reply.
Pushing to my feet abruptly, I paced in a tiny circle in my living room.
That kiss was so much more than nice, but I wasn’t used to this kind of dialogue. After several breathing attempts, I sat down and decided just to be honest.
Eva: It was way more than nice.
My shaky hands hit the send key. George eyed me quizzically. I didn’t blame him for being confused because I was acting like an idiot. I was usually confident, yet between my disaster of a first date and then Zane’s kiss, I felt unsettled in a way I hadn’t before.
I prided myself on feeling confident. It’s just my confidence extended solely to my professional life. I was relieved Sarah didn’t happen to be here. She would know me well enough to make an observation about my antsy state of being.
“George, he’s not replying,” I said to my cat, who merely eyed me curiously and licked his crotch.
I sat back down on the couch, letting my breath out in a gust. Idly stroking my knuckles under George’s chin, I looked at him before moving to stroke his back. My relationship with my cat was far less complicated than trying to date. Especially trying to date a man like Zane.
My laptop pinged again, and I practically pulled a muscle in my neck when I turned to look. Zane’s private email popped up again.
I reached over with my left hand and quickly tapped to open his email.
Zane: It was definitely way more than nice.
My belly swooped, and heat raced over my skin.
Chapter 6
Zane
It was almost midnight. I was sitting on my couch with my cat, George, perched on my knees. George, an ancient smoky gray cat I’d inherited from my grandmother when she passed away, looked at me curiously.
“For a cat who’s almost blind, you sure look like you have an opinion,” I observed as I stared back at him.
George blinked his foggy eyes and began purring. He did that, just purred out of nowhere, all the time. He dipped his head down and rubbed his ear against my thigh as I looked back at my laptop screen.
That was how bad I had it for Eva. I created an entirely secure, private email at my office so that I could email her. I was sitting here like a teenage boy waiting for a girl to return a text. I did have her number. I’d actually gotten it by digging through HR’s online files from when she did her internship.
Yet I hadn’t felt quite right about texting her directly, so I’d resorted to this.
Several long minutes passed after my last email where I had mostly parroted what she said. She finally replied.
Eva: Define nice.
I felt my lips tugging into a smile. I tapped the email open and began typing my reply.
Zane: Nice is coffee that’s a little weak but decent. Nice is something that meets my expectations and doesn’t bother me. Nice is a reliable car that I’m not in love with.
Perhaps it would be better if I tell you what’s not nice. Because nice isn’t memorable, not usually. Nice doesn’t sear itself into your memory. Nice is not a kiss that sets you on fire.
I tapped the send button. When I leaned back into the couch cushions, I became aware of the rapid pounding of my heart and the way my entire body was tight. My balls were tightening, and my cock was swelling.
All over an email exchange.
Yet again, the time between my email and hers felt long. But the distinctive chime eventually came, and I saw the banner with her email address.
With George still purring away beside me, I tapped to open it.
Eva: On fire?
Although I could’ve interpreted what Eva was doing as calculated teasing, I knew better. That just wasn’t her personality at all. She was remarkably straightforward. Although I had limited my interactions with her when she was an intern—as Brian had pointed out, I totally had the hots for her—I paid close attention during any communications. I had also followed her, as I did anyone who worked for us after they left, and she was well-known in the business world for being straightforward and honest. Because she was a woman, some people took that as aggressive. Women just couldn’t win sometimes.
I typed my reply. Yes, kissing you set me on fire. Way more than nice. Can I see you before Friday?
Eva: Friday is tomorrow.
There she went being straightforward. I chuckled.
Zane: So it is. Forgive me for losing track. I’ll see you at seven.
Eva: Does it matter what I wear? I’m not sure what restaurant we’re going to.
The feel of Eva’s bottom under my palm and that silky and twirly skirt she’d been wearing the other night came to mind. My cock swelled to an ache.
Zane: No. Wear whatever you’d like.
I congratulated myself on my restraint.
Eva: But is it a fancy restaurant?
Zane: It’s Thai food. It’s not that fancy. I want you to be yourself.
Eva: Okay. Good night, Zane.
Zane: Good night, Eva.
Chapter 7
Eva
Smoothing my hands over my gauzy skirt, I looked myself over with a critical eye. I was wearing a comfortable skirt because I was nervous, but I thought it was cute. Sarah assured me it was cute. I had actually just texted her a photo of my outfit. She couldn’t come over and help me get dressed tonight because she was headed to dinner with her parents.
My skirt was royal blue, and it was spring in Seattle, so I could expect it to get chilly this evening. I was wearing a pair of black boots that fit my calves and were comfortable with a pair of stockings. A cream-colored camisole with a matching silk blouse over it topped off my look. My dark hair was straight and boring. It was thin and shiny, but the streaks of burgundy I’d whimsically added here and there were the only thing exciting about my hair. As I stared at myself in the mirror, I contemplated whether I should try makeup. I decided against it, if only because I was afraid I would screw it up.
With a swipe of lip gloss on my lips, I decided I had to be ready. I didn’t have time to think further because the doorbell rang.
“Shit, shit, shit,” I muttered as I grabbed my jacket, a lightweight number that belted around my waist, and hurried into the living room.