Page 80 of The Downside of Love
“What do you want?”
A slow, lazy grin spreads across his face.And I’m meant to survive that smile without getting turned on?“I want meatloaf with that special sauce you put on top.”
I made meatloaf for him a few weeks ago, and he’s been begging for it again ever since. It’s not that I don’t like making it, it’s just that it takes forever to cook. But in this situation, forever is what I need, because I have plans to seduce Stryder tomorrow, and the more time I have, the better.
“Meatloaf it is. Come over after work.”
“Can’t wait.” He squeezes my hand and sets our plates to the side to pull me into his chest. Looks like cards might off the table tonight in favor of snuggling. I’m okay with that.
* * *
“You know, you don’t have to knock. You have a key.”
Stryder removes his cap and takes a step into my apartment. Hooking his finger under my chin, he lifts my lips to his and places a gentle kiss across my mouth. He doesn’t linger, doesn’t dive deep at all, just a sweet innocent kiss, and it rocks my freaking world.
He hangs his hat and takes off his jacket as well as his boots. Standing tall in his sand T-shirt and desert ABU pants, he smiles down at me, handsome as ever. “Hey you.”
“Hey,” I respond softly and pull him into a hug. The gentle scent of laundry detergent floats past me as I squeeze him tight. “Thank you for coming over.”
He places a kiss on the top of my head. “Of course.” He takes in a deep breath. “No meatloaf tonight?”
“I’m just about to put it in the oven.” I give him one more squeeze and saunter toward the kitchen, catching his perusal of my outfit as I walk away. When I get to the kitchen, I ask, “Do you like my dress?”
He scratches the side of his smooth jaw, the smallest of five o’clock shadows visible. He lets his facial hair grow out on the weekends. I love it. He looks dark and sinister with the thick, course stubble gracing his jaw.
Clearing his throat, he says, “You look beautiful, Rory. You always do.”
I blush and put the meatloaf in the oven, his gaze unwavering as he stands in the entryway observing me. When I shut the oven, I turn toward him and say, “Are you just going to stand there and stare at me, or are you going to fix the sink?”
He rocks on his heels, hands in pockets. “I’m going to fucking stare.” He bites on his bottom lip, his eyes a laser of heat scanning my body.
I knew this dress was going to do the trick. A low-cut sundress, it provides Stryder a good dose of my cleavage. It’s phase one of getting Stryder to finally give in. I know he wants to. I’ve felt that he’s wanted to give in many times during our little make-out sessions, but I’m over it.It’s time we went all in. I am ready to do that with him.
I nod to the bathroom. “Tools are in the bathroom. Get to work.”
Sighing, he scratches the back of his head and takes off toward the bathroom, his shoulders tense and an irritated look on his face. Smiling to myself, I wash the dishes.
Drive him to the brink of no longer being able to hold back, that’s my plan.
We need this, this final push, because even though I feel incredibly close to Stryder—without a doubt, he’s my best friend—there is a big roadblock standing in the way of us truly being together.
While Stryder fixes the sink I made drip this afternoon, I fiddle around in the kitchen, getting everything else ready to start cooking once the meatloaf is almost done. It takes Stryder all but five minutes to fix the sink and once he does, he comes strolling into the kitchen area, a huge smile on his face.
“All fixed for you, little lady.”
I set aside my knife and turn toward him, my back to the counter. “Thank you.”
Hands in his pockets, he nods toward the couch and says, “Want to hang out while the meatloaf cooks?”
“Would love to.” Quickly I wipe my hands and then head on over to the couch where Stryder is already sitting. Instead of taking the seat next to him, I sit on his lap and lean against the arm of the couch. The hand that isn’t stretched across the back of the couch, playing with my hair, grips my knee as he looks at me lovingly.
“How was your day?” he asks, playfully tugging on a strand of my hair. I love when he does that. It’s gentle and sweet, reminding me that he always needs to have his hands on me.
“It was good. Only had two classes this morning, no massage appointments, relaxed a bit, thought of you.”
“Me?” He draws circles on my knee with his thumb. “What did you think about?”
This is it. Make your move.
