I got more of his hard body shaking against mine, I liked it and he reiterated, “Then jacket, babe.”
“Right,” I whispered, pulled away and moved into his apartment to get my jacket and purse.
I met him where he was waiting for me at the top of the three steps in front of the mouth of the hall.
Then he took my hand.
Then he took me to his car.
Then he drove like the ex-speed-racer he was and took me to dinner.
* * * * *
I was laying in bed, feeling my new soft sheets, thinking Knight’s satin ones were probably way softer, staring at my ceiling and thinking that Knight Sebring had claimed me, no doubt about it, but he had yet to kiss me.
Dinner wasn’t good, it was great. He took me to Wynkoop’s and suddenly, somehow, after the day, the nap, me coming to my understanding and our lighthearted, safe and amusing bickering, I was at ease. Knight always seemed at ease even when he was pissed or annoyed. He was just Knight. And I settled into that.
He told me about his race-freak Dad. He told me about his race-widow Mom. He told me they both were still alive and lived in Hawaii. He told me I was right, Slade stayed popular because he closed it down for a month every year after he put out bids to designers to offer their visions of a shit-hot new look, he picked one and went with it. He told me his business that day had to do with a side business that also vaguely linked with the club (though he didn’t fully explain). He told me Nick had always been a pain in the ass f**k up but he’d also, obviously, always been a brother. So Knight put up with it and covered a lot so his parents wouldn’t take any hits from Nick’s ass**le behavior and f**k ups but that didn’t make him any less done with it.
I told him about Vivica and Sandrine. I shared detailed specifics of my schedule. I hesitantly and shyly told him about my goal of opening my spa which he watched me weirdly intently the whole time I talked about it rather than just with his usual deep interest. I told him next up in the buying schedule was not a sweet ride but an excellent quality table where I could do my facials. And I shared that the Wynkoop and its beer were one of my top five favorites in Denver on both the restaurant and beer counts.
This was easy conversation with a number of smiles, a few deep chuckles (Knight), a few soft giggles (me). Since we sat on the same side of the booth, more than once, when my sweater drooped down to expose my shoulder, Knight’s finger came up to trial my skin lightly. It was at these times I congratulated myself for my heretofore unknown clairvoyance that wearing that sweater was the very right idea. I did this after he quit touching me and before I pulled the sweater back up. And I pulled it back up because I knew it would droop down again, catching Knight’s attention (because he never missed it, not once) and I’d get his touch back.
It was a game, we both knew it but it was debatable which one of us liked it better.
Then he’d driven me back to his place, parked beside my Corolla that was in his second parking spot and informed me the remote to operate the gate to his garage was on my visor. Then he handed me my keys that he collected from Spinolli while I was sleeping.
Then one of his hands cupped my jaw, his face dipped close and I stopped breathing because I thought he was going to kiss me and I really, really wanted him to.
Instead, he slid his nose along mine in that sweet way he did earlier, holding my eyes locked to the warm intensity of his the entire time. But then, to my extreme disappointment that was so extreme it was almost despair, he lifted his head up half an inch.
Then he whispered, “Call you soon, baby, see you Saturday.”
Then he dropped his hand and moved away.
With no choice but to throw myself at him, which I was not going to do, I just smiled, got in my car and drove off.
He stood with his arms crossed on his chest, the side of thigh resting against the back of his car and watched. I knew this because I saw him in my rearview until I had to take the turning ramp up to the next level.
Now I was in bed wondering why he didn’t kiss me and wishing I’d thrown myself at him.
And also thinking that Saturday was a long, long way away.
Chapter Seven
Cornucopia of Feminine Delights
Tuesday afternoon, I was in the file room at work when my kickass, space age phone rang and I saw the display said, “Knight”.
He’d called the day before (he obviously had my number since he bought my phone). I programmed him in after he called, and he’d done it late, ten thirty. I was already in bed reading or trying to read and trying not to be disappointed he hadn’t called or, alternately, pissed he hadn’t. I answered thinking I shouldn’t since it seemed he was playing me because I figured he called that late because he was, well, playing me.
But he wasn’t. I knew this instantly when I heard the club sounds in the background so loud I could barely hear him. And his first words were a short but succinct description of the fact he’d had “shit come up all day” and he had little time to talk right then but wanted to “connect” with me. The growly factor of his voice was at the upper levels in my limited experience so I knew this was frustrating as was the fact our current conversation had to be short, hurried and, on his part, growled very loudly.
Now it was an hour and half until quitting time, not even twenty-four hours since his last call which, in the Jerk Player Handbook garnered severe penalties unless you weren’t a Jerk Player.
I took the call, put it to my ear and said softly, “Hey.”
“Hey, baby,” he said softly back and that tingle hit my spine and spread north again. Then it stopped when he asked bizarrely, “Who’s Dick?”
“Pardon?”
“Dick. Who is he?”
“Uh…” I mumbled, thrown by a question I didn’t understand and thus not knowing the answer.
“Neighbor, babe,” he clarified.
“Oh,” light dawned, “Dick.”
“Yeah. Dick. Who is he?”
Suddenly I thought our conversation was not only strange but funny.
I didn’t share this. I just asked, “How do you know Dick?”
“I don’t know Dick but that isn’t what we’re talkin’ about. We’re talkin’ about how you do.”
“He’s my neighbor. He lives across the hall from me,” I explained.
“A friend?”
What was this about?
“Uh… no. And now I know you don’t know Dick because if you did, you wouldn’t ask that. Now, why are you asking about Dick?”
“Right,” I whispered, pulled away and moved into his apartment to get my jacket and purse.
I met him where he was waiting for me at the top of the three steps in front of the mouth of the hall.
Then he took my hand.
Then he took me to his car.
Then he drove like the ex-speed-racer he was and took me to dinner.
* * * * *
I was laying in bed, feeling my new soft sheets, thinking Knight’s satin ones were probably way softer, staring at my ceiling and thinking that Knight Sebring had claimed me, no doubt about it, but he had yet to kiss me.
Dinner wasn’t good, it was great. He took me to Wynkoop’s and suddenly, somehow, after the day, the nap, me coming to my understanding and our lighthearted, safe and amusing bickering, I was at ease. Knight always seemed at ease even when he was pissed or annoyed. He was just Knight. And I settled into that.
He told me about his race-freak Dad. He told me about his race-widow Mom. He told me they both were still alive and lived in Hawaii. He told me I was right, Slade stayed popular because he closed it down for a month every year after he put out bids to designers to offer their visions of a shit-hot new look, he picked one and went with it. He told me his business that day had to do with a side business that also vaguely linked with the club (though he didn’t fully explain). He told me Nick had always been a pain in the ass f**k up but he’d also, obviously, always been a brother. So Knight put up with it and covered a lot so his parents wouldn’t take any hits from Nick’s ass**le behavior and f**k ups but that didn’t make him any less done with it.
I told him about Vivica and Sandrine. I shared detailed specifics of my schedule. I hesitantly and shyly told him about my goal of opening my spa which he watched me weirdly intently the whole time I talked about it rather than just with his usual deep interest. I told him next up in the buying schedule was not a sweet ride but an excellent quality table where I could do my facials. And I shared that the Wynkoop and its beer were one of my top five favorites in Denver on both the restaurant and beer counts.
This was easy conversation with a number of smiles, a few deep chuckles (Knight), a few soft giggles (me). Since we sat on the same side of the booth, more than once, when my sweater drooped down to expose my shoulder, Knight’s finger came up to trial my skin lightly. It was at these times I congratulated myself for my heretofore unknown clairvoyance that wearing that sweater was the very right idea. I did this after he quit touching me and before I pulled the sweater back up. And I pulled it back up because I knew it would droop down again, catching Knight’s attention (because he never missed it, not once) and I’d get his touch back.
It was a game, we both knew it but it was debatable which one of us liked it better.
Then he’d driven me back to his place, parked beside my Corolla that was in his second parking spot and informed me the remote to operate the gate to his garage was on my visor. Then he handed me my keys that he collected from Spinolli while I was sleeping.
Then one of his hands cupped my jaw, his face dipped close and I stopped breathing because I thought he was going to kiss me and I really, really wanted him to.
Instead, he slid his nose along mine in that sweet way he did earlier, holding my eyes locked to the warm intensity of his the entire time. But then, to my extreme disappointment that was so extreme it was almost despair, he lifted his head up half an inch.
Then he whispered, “Call you soon, baby, see you Saturday.”
Then he dropped his hand and moved away.
With no choice but to throw myself at him, which I was not going to do, I just smiled, got in my car and drove off.
He stood with his arms crossed on his chest, the side of thigh resting against the back of his car and watched. I knew this because I saw him in my rearview until I had to take the turning ramp up to the next level.
Now I was in bed wondering why he didn’t kiss me and wishing I’d thrown myself at him.
And also thinking that Saturday was a long, long way away.
Chapter Seven
Cornucopia of Feminine Delights
Tuesday afternoon, I was in the file room at work when my kickass, space age phone rang and I saw the display said, “Knight”.
He’d called the day before (he obviously had my number since he bought my phone). I programmed him in after he called, and he’d done it late, ten thirty. I was already in bed reading or trying to read and trying not to be disappointed he hadn’t called or, alternately, pissed he hadn’t. I answered thinking I shouldn’t since it seemed he was playing me because I figured he called that late because he was, well, playing me.
But he wasn’t. I knew this instantly when I heard the club sounds in the background so loud I could barely hear him. And his first words were a short but succinct description of the fact he’d had “shit come up all day” and he had little time to talk right then but wanted to “connect” with me. The growly factor of his voice was at the upper levels in my limited experience so I knew this was frustrating as was the fact our current conversation had to be short, hurried and, on his part, growled very loudly.
Now it was an hour and half until quitting time, not even twenty-four hours since his last call which, in the Jerk Player Handbook garnered severe penalties unless you weren’t a Jerk Player.
I took the call, put it to my ear and said softly, “Hey.”
“Hey, baby,” he said softly back and that tingle hit my spine and spread north again. Then it stopped when he asked bizarrely, “Who’s Dick?”
“Pardon?”
“Dick. Who is he?”
“Uh…” I mumbled, thrown by a question I didn’t understand and thus not knowing the answer.
“Neighbor, babe,” he clarified.
“Oh,” light dawned, “Dick.”
“Yeah. Dick. Who is he?”
Suddenly I thought our conversation was not only strange but funny.
I didn’t share this. I just asked, “How do you know Dick?”
“I don’t know Dick but that isn’t what we’re talkin’ about. We’re talkin’ about how you do.”
“He’s my neighbor. He lives across the hall from me,” I explained.
“A friend?”
What was this about?
“Uh… no. And now I know you don’t know Dick because if you did, you wouldn’t ask that. Now, why are you asking about Dick?”
