She shrugs and takes a bite of her bologna sandwich. “Suit yourself, but he’s gay.” What? She cannot be serious. Jason Orson . . . gay. No, I can’t go there, especially when I consider his words in the cabin, and how they turned me on more than anything else in my life.
“Your body heaves, your spine straightens and with one small flick of his tongue over your right breast, you tumble over into ecstasy . . . you’re calling out his name, begging him to make it last longer.” It was so hot. But . . . he had ample times to touch me, kiss me. I felt his body hard against my back. He leaned into my neck while helping me make gnocchi. I offered him my body. But . . . he didn’t kiss me. He didn’t take what I offered him. Hell, is he gay?
Huh, that would explain the obsession with his potato salad.
Plants are watered.
Sweats have replaced my pencil skirt.
And my hair is knotted on the top of my head.
On a deep breath, I push up my glasses and raise my hand, knocking twice on the door across from mine.
I told myself I wasn’t going to do this. That I was going to drop the entire façade of trying to date Jason and get him to be in a relationship with me. It’s become such a big mess, and honestly, is the Carlton account really worth it?
But then I got an update on the plans we’ve been mapping out for the acreage and hope and excitement bloomed inside of me.
So, here I am. At the threshold of Jason’s apartment, with one question on my mind . . .
The door swings open, Jason’s torso covered in a boring red apron. He’s wearing a tank that shows off his sculpted shoulders, and on top of his head, he’s wearing a white chef’s hat.
Good God. What on earth am I to do with this paradoxical man?
“Dottie.” He bows with a wooden spoon in his hand. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Are you gay?” I don’t even beat around the bush. I get right to the point because frankly, I’m just tired. Tired of it all.
He blinks a few times. “Gay? What do you mean? Like . . . happy?”
Jesus.
Christ.
“No, like gay. Do you like men?”
“They’re the best kind of friends. Girls are good friends too, but I really only have guy friends. They’re so chill and—”
“Do you like penis in your mouth?” I shout, wishing this man knew how to answer a simple question.
“Ohhh . . . I see what you’re asking here. Am I gay?”
“Yes,” I answer exasperated. “I didn’t think I needed to spell it out any other way. Are you?”
“Gay?” He shakes his head. “No.”
Well, that solves that. I spin on my heel and head back to my apartment, slamming the door behind me.
Back to square one.
“He’s secretly married for a green card.”
“Are you insane?” I ask Lindsay through the phone. “He’s from Chicago.”
“Or so you think he is. People will say pretty much anything to stay in the country. Bet you he has a green card marriage. Ask him.”
“I’m not asking him,” I say, biting on my bottom lip.
“Suit yourself.”
Knock. Knock.
I tap the ground impatiently, my arms crossed over my chest.
He answers the door, still in his apron and white hat.
“Two visits in one night, how did I become so—”
“Do you have a green card marriage?”
He scratches his unshaven scruff with his wooden spoon. “Huh, not that I know of.”
“Ugh,” I groan, walking back to my apartment and slamming the door.
“He’s a virgin.”
“Will you stop?” I groan.
“It’s the only other explanation. He stares at your boobs, rubs your collarbone, but when push comes to shove, he fumbles and stumbles away. Total virgin.”
“Jason Orson is not a virgin.”
Knock. Knock.
Tap, tap, tap.
Door unlocks, Jason appears. “I knew it was going to be you.” He smiles charmingly and asks, “Okay, I’m ready, what’s your next question?”
I hate him.
I really, really hate . . . hell, who am I kidding? There’s no way I could hate this man, no matter how hard I tried.
Succumbing to my last inquiry of the night, I ask, “Are you a virgin?”
“Well, depends.” I perk up, is he? “Some might consider me a born-again virgin given my lack of sex life lately, but actual virgin, no. Lost the V-card at fifteen to a lovely girl named Mindy. Poor girl.”
Yeah, I didn’t think he was a virgin.
“Was that it? Anything else you want to know?”
I stare for a few seconds, at a complete loss. I could ask him why he didn’t kiss me, but it just seems like I’ll never get the answer at this point.
Maybe it’s simple . . . maybe he just didn’t want to and that’s a reality I’ll have to face.
Feeling sad, I shake my head, turn to my apartment, and shut the door behind me. It’s official. I’m unwantable. Is that even a word? The one thing I didn’t believe when I was betrayed was that I’d never know the true love of a man, that I was simply unwanted. I hadn’t doubted me. My self-confidence never took a hit with . . . him, because I blamed their deceit on his own vapid and selfish ways. But maybe, just maybe, I’ve been wrong. One of the best straight men I know doesn’t find me attractive. I’d been a game to him initially, but once I showed interest, albeit ingenuine . . . kind of . . . he backed off. Fuck. What a stupid, stupid night, I could have been—
Knock. Knock.
I slowly turn around and look through the peephole, not that I need to. I know who it is, but I look anyway.
I open the door and the minute he’s fully in view—sans apron and hat—I catch the determination in his eyes as his large frame swoops into my apartment, snags my body, and presses me against the wall. His hands immediately grip my jaw and before I can give it a thought, his lips descend onto mine, claiming my mouth the way I’ve always dreamed of.
There’s no humor in his kiss. No fumbling. It’s as if this has been the kiss I’ve been waiting for my whole life, the one that would alter my world forever.
Shaking, I allow my hands to fall to his waist as I part my mouth for him. Desire rips through me when his tongue glides across mine and lightly explores. His grip powerful, his kisses soft, just what I would expect from this strong and sure man.
Giving myself freely to the surprise of his kiss, I allow myself to relax, to enjoy the moment as the determined hardness of his lips take control. Sweeping, exploring, tantalizing.
God . . .
It’s everything. He’s everything.
His mouth starts to slow, his lips press against mine, and then he gently covers my mouth before he pulls away.
Hands still griping my jaw, all I can see is determination. “I didn’t kiss you in the cabin because I was a goddamn idiot. Forgive me, Dottie.”
Lips stained with passion, I slowly bring my fingertips to them and nod, in shock.
“Good.” He leans forward and presses a kiss to my forehead. “Have a good night.”