Page 48 of The Dating Proposal
Maybe one I didn’t want to see coming.
But when he swivels his hips and drives deeper into me, all I see are stars. Bright sparks burst behind my eyes as I soar on a wave of white-hot pleasure. It stretches, reaches, flies until I tumble, toppling over the edge with him right beside me, holding my hand as we jump.
Neither one of us says anything for a while. We just breathe, hard and loud.
He takes my hand, pulls me up, and takes me to his bathroom, turning on the shower. He makes the water as hot as any human can stand, then he soaps up his hands and slides them over me, soft and tender.
Neither one of us has said a word.
Speechless is such a strange state for us.
He breaks the silence, cupping my cheek. “How are we doing?”
I swallow nervously. “We?”
He nods, gesturing from him to me. “With this thing? This fun-dating thing?”
I rise up on tiptoes, dust my lips over his, and whisper, “I think it’s more than fun.”
“It’s so much more than fun.”
That’s all either one of us says. But it feels like enough to change the game. My heart stutters, and there’s a part of me who wants to run home, jump in bed, and snuggle with my dog in a place where my heart is safe and can never be hurt again.
Because this place here with him is no longer a safe zone. It’s teeming with risks I didn’t expect to face.
I kiss him once more to blot out the whispers of past disappointments, past hurts, the murmurs of doubt.
28
Chris
It’s Monday morning, which means meeting with the boss man. I bring him coffee this time, steam rising from the cup in a tantalizing plume. Plunking it down on his desk, I give him an I did good look.
He nods his approval.
“But wait. There’s more.” I dip my hand into the paper bag and grab a yogurt cup with chia seeds and potent probiotics.
He raises his hands to block my approach, averting his face like a vampire I’d offered garlic toast to. “What are you trying to do to me?”
“What? I thought you liked probiotics?”
“Do you even know what a probiotic is?”
I shrug as I plop down in the chair. “I do, and they’re good for you.”
He shakes his head, correcting, “Good for you till they find out they’re bad for you.”
“Oh, I forgot. You’re on the nothing-good-for-you diet.”
“If they discovered that coffee was good for you, would you stop drinking it until they changed their minds?”
“Not funny, kid. But since they haven’t . . .” He takes the coffee and drinks some, with a satisfied smack and a sigh afterward. “Now, this is good. And if it’s harvested by humanely raised local bear cubs, I don’t want to know.”
“It’s from Dunkin.”
“Now you’re talking. And now, let’s talk.” Sliding on his reading glasses, he riffles through some papers on his desk. “Emails.”
I cringe. “You printed out emails.”
“Please. No, my assistant did.”
“Dude, you know that’s a waste of paper?”
“How else can I read ’em?”
“On your phone, like everyone else. Or, hey, even a computer. How about that?”
“When you’re my age, you lose interest in reading everything on a screen. Now, first of all, Zander Kendrick’s manager says he’ll be calling you today to set up the interview.”
I strum a triumphant power chord on my air guitar. “Excellent.”
“Good things are cooking indeed. Also, viewers love the segments with McKenna. And . . .” He stops, peers over his glasses. “You two did take my advice, didn’t you?”
We haven’t dissected our dates on the show as he’d suggested. But the chemistry is there, and I don’t try to deny it. “I think that’s fair to say.”
He grins like a sly dog. “I had a feeling. It makes for that little extra spark. But it makes me a little nervous, admittedly, given the past.”
My muscles tighten. The last thing I want is for the boss to be uneasy. “It’s not the same.”
“I know. I can tell. And the viewers can too. This is different. Just listen.”
As I eat the yogurt, he proceeds to read a sampling of the emails, and it’s like I’m being sprinkled with gold dust. I couldn’t be happier that the new concept has gone over so well.
After we tackle a few more items, he hands me the stack of papers. “Be sure to share the viewer comments with your lovely lady. And don’t forget—always tell her how special she is to you.”
“Thanks, Bruce,” I say, appreciating the rare moment of candor and honest advice from the guy.
“She’s a good one. So are you. And listen, I know you beat yourself up about the other one. But you’re right—this isn’t the same. Not one bit. Carly wasn’t a happy person. She took it out on you.”
I’m surprised he’s so aware of the details, since I never discussed Carly with him. But then, Bruce doesn’t miss much. He might be old-school, he might print his emails, he might cringe at my occasionally hipster ways, but he’s sharp and whip-smart at his job. He sees everything and steps in when he needs to.
