“Well, maybe you could show me some cheesy eighties horror movies and refine me a little,” he suggested. I took another sip of my beer and eyed him over the top of the bottle. He looked relaxed, laid-back in a way I hadn’t seen him before now.
“Okay, what about books?” he asked. “My turn again.”
“Oh, that’s a tough one.” I furrowed my brow. As a librarian, it was difficult to come close to narrowing it down to one or even ten. “I don’t know. But I’ll always love Stephen King.”
“Right.” He nodded.
“Food?” I asked, gesturing down to the box in front of us. “I’m assuming pizza isn’t your favorite.”
“Nope, but it might actually come pretty close,” he admitted with a grin. “Uh, I don’t know. I don’t want to be stereotypical, but when I visit back home I always get gyros, so that has to be up there.”
“Any food you hate?” I continued interestedly, even though it wasn’t my turn to ask a question.
“Oranges,” he replied at once. “And I’m allergic to shellfish, so I guess them as well.”
“That sucks.” I cocked my head at him. “I thought all fancy people ate oysters all the time.”
“It’s more a problem for my dad’s side of the family,” he replied. “Not being able to eat shellfish is pretty much treason against Greece in their eyes.”
I laughed. I was surprised at how easy he was to talk to, how much I enjoyed the conversation as it flowed between us comfortably.
“And you drink German beer as well.” I held up the bottle I was sipping from. “So basically, you’re a traitor.”
“Basically.” He nodded, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he watched me. “What about you? Your favorite food?”
“Ice cream,” I sighed, staring off into space. “My parents used to take me to this parlor outside of town. We’d go on the weekend together. And there was this chocolate-vanilla swirl cone with a cookie crisp outside, and that is my favorite food in the world.”
“And what about food you hate?”
“Pickles,” I replied so firmly that he burst out laughing.
“That was to the point.”
“Yeah, well, pickles can go die in a hole.” I waved my hand. “They’re the worst. Jolene loves them, and if I never have to see another one in my life, it’ll be too soon.”
The two of us became lost in conversation that took over most of the evening. I had been exhausted when I’d walked in the door just a few hours before, but I found myself buzzing with energy being the center of his attention like that. There was still something intoxicating about having him focus everything in on me, getting me higher than the beer ever could.
He told me as much as he could think of about himself, that he hated suits even though he wore them most days to the office, that he had been the fat kid at school, that he loved classical music even though he knew it was a cliché for someone like him. And I was happy to let spill everything I could give him about myself, the books and movies and television I loved, the places I’d always dreamed of traveling to. He was a good listener, and more importantly, he actually seemed to want to hear whatever was coming out of my mouth. He didn’t look at me with that impatience so many guys normally did, where they were waiting for me to shut up already so we could get to the sex part.
Eventually, I got up from the counter and stretched. It was dark outside, and I had work again the next day and needed to clean up and get to bed before I wound up staying up all night drinking with him.
“I should get some sleep,” I told him, a little reluctant. Part of me wanted to hang around a little longer, to see what other dark corners of each other we could shine light on, but I needed to get going.
“Thanks for tonight.” I gestured to the beer and pizza in front of us. It was funny. This place looked like the inside of a college kid’s apartment, not one that belonged to one of the richest and most accomplished men in the city.
“You’re welcome,” he replied and got to his feet to stretch. His T-shirt rode up a couple of inches, and I could clearly see his abs beneath his shirt. It took everything I had in me not to reach out and run my fingers over them. I swallowed and shook my head. That was just the beer talking. Fuck me, I should keep the alcohol to a minimum when I was around him, given what had happened the last time the two of us had gotten drunk together.
Still, I allowed myself something. I leaned in and planted a swift kiss on his cheek, heart racing as I did so, and he smiled as I pulled back.
“Sleep well,” he murmured, and I could see even in the dim light that his gaze had shifted down to my lips. I wanted him to kiss me, was silently urging him to lean in and kiss his wife. But he didn’t. He was far too much of a gentleman for that. He had been the one to tell me, after all, that anything that happened was totally up to me. If I wanted to hook up with him, I had to be the one to make the first move. And even the beer couldn’t rub the sharp edges off those nerves.
I went to the bedroom and undressed, taking off my makeup in the adjoining bathroom and thinking about the night we’d just spent together. Now we knew each other a little better, at least. Not enough to be husband and wife, but it was something. And I found myself feeling a little less tensed-up about everything that was happening, something in my stomach uncoiling and relaxing for the first time since I’d laid eyes on him. Toby rustled in his cage, and I crouched down to say hello. He must have been getting jealous, now that he wasn’t the only man in my life.