"Hmmm, I'll have to get back to you on that," I answered, lost in his touch. Who knew getting your feet massaged could be so sensual? It seemed the more time I spent with Nathan, the more items I realized had been solely missing from my list. Even something as simple as having him cook for me had made my chest ache from the sweetness of it. I'd been so focused on experiencing things like jumping off bridges and getting drunk that actual human contact activities had never occurred to me. I was so bent on keeping everyone at arm's length that somewhere along the way I'd shut myself completely off from the things that should have mattered. The fact that I'd actually taken Fran's and Tressa's advice was a relief. Of course, I knew a big majority of the sensations and feelings I was experiencing had a lot to do with the person I was sharing them with.
"Do you like that?" he asked when I sighed with pleasure as his fingers kneaded the ball of my foot.
"It's fair," I answered, giggling when he tickled the bottom of my foot.
"Fair?" he growled, pulling on my foot.
I set my empty bowl on the table. "You can't be good at everything. How ever will we fit your head out the front door," I laughed.
"I'm far from perfect," he said quietly.
"Nobody's perfect," I clarified.
"Not even you?"
"Ha, I'm far from perfect," I snorted.
"Why do you say that? From everything I've heard from Fran and your best friends, you practically float on a gold cloud playing a harp. I quote, 'she's the nicest person you'll ever meet and if you hurt her I'll cut off your balls.'" >"I'm just sorry I'm messing up our date. We don't seem to have the best of luck with our dates. Between me passing out, your allergic reaction, a canoe ride in driving rain and now my annoying cold, I'm beginning to think someone is trying to tell us something," I contemplated, sitting on my couch.
"They're just trying to test our resilience," he said, tucking a quilt around me from the rack that hung on the wall.
I snorted. "I don't know. I think maybe we're a part of some cosmic joke. Someone is getting a laugh at our expense."
He threw his head back and laughed at my words.
"What?" I asked.
"I kid you not. I had the same fucking thought last night when the sky opened up on us. I don't care though. The cosmic gods can throw as many curve balls as they want at us."
"You're awfully cocky tempting fate like that," I said, trying to keep my voice light, even though the idea scared the shit out of me. I knew the ultimate move fate could use and the outcome would change us both forever.
"I just believe in making my own fate. Life may be a greedy bastard at times, but I'm confident I can handle whatever is thrown my way," he said, grabbing plates and wineglasses from the lone cabinet in my kitchen.
"I didn't have you tagged as an optimist. I would have pegged you for a pessimist for sure," I said.
"Shit, I'm one hundred percent pessimist, but that doesn't mean I don't believe I make my own fate. Let me guess, you're one hundred percent optimistic," he commented, handing me a piece of pizza.
"I used to be. I'm not all that sure I am anymore," I mused, nibbling at my pizza, although I wasn't all that hungry. "I've changed a lot lately. I guess you could call it growing up. Maybe I'm becoming boring and dull in my old age."
"Interesting," he pondered, taking a big bite from his own pizza. "Boring? You're far from boring. You may be stoic, but there's nothing dull about you."
"In what way?" I asked, unnerved that he considered me stoic. To the best of my knowledge, stoic meant someone who endures without complaint. It bothered me a little that he saw me that way despite the lies I had fed him. "Stoic" wouldn't be the word I would use to describe myself. "Liar" was more accurate, but of course, he wouldn't know that about me. I'd always been a truthful person. Really, all the half-truths and lies had turned me into someone I hardly recognized anymore. I'd convinced myself that was my intention all along. After living so long under a microscope with everyone knowing my every secret, the lies I told now were intended to shield me.
"Maybe it's because you're always so upbeat, although every once in a while you get this little hint of sadness in your eyes. Sometimes, it's like you're hiding something or a part of yourself. You quickly distill it, but I've seen it," he answered, grabbing another slice of pizza.
I waited him for him to go for broke and ask what I was hiding. His intuitiveness was dead on, and I couldn't help wondering if it was the reporter in him or just a gift he had. I prepared myself mentally for how I would handle this question, knowing that he of all people could not know the truth. I never wanted him to look at me with pity, or worse yet, run for the hills the moment the big C was mentioned.
The conversation kind of fizzled after that as I continued to nibble on my slice of pizza while he devoured half the pie.
"Not hungry?" he asked as I sat my half-eaten piece of pizza on the coffee table.
"Not really," I answered, settling back against the cushions of the couch. "I know I'm being a downer. You don't have to stay and keep me company," I added, reluctantly.
"Do you want me to leave?" he asked, inquisitively.
"No, but I know it can't be much fun hanging out with a sickie. Besides, aren't we supposed to be sick of each other? I'm new to this whole relationship thing, but aren't you supposed to be giving some speech about how you need your space and that I'm cramping your style with my clingy ways."
"First of all, is it wrong that the sickie thing is turning me on? Secondly, I've discovered there's nothing ordinary about our relationship. I enjoy being with you and there's nowhere else I'd rather be. Plus, I'm not sure you could be clingy even if you tried," he answered, gathering our leftover dinner and plates and depositing them in my kitchen. "Would you like more wine or some water?" he asked, coming back to get my half-empty wineglass.