Page 74 of One More Chance
Harper
Doyou know how difficult it is to stand and chop vegetables right after you’ve been cunnilingus-ed? Is that even a word? After you’ve been eaten out? Ew, gross, don’t like that phrase. After you’ve been given an orgasm with a mouth? Okay, yeah that will have to work. My legs are jello as I try to concentrate on chopping the mushrooms and onions. Meanwhile, Jensen marinades two steaks as he hums. FUCKING HUMS. He’s pleased as punch with himself and the “eating before eating” jokes he keeps making has caused the blush on my cheeks to remain there since we’ve entered the kitchen.
“You know, we eat steak a lot,” I observe, in an effort to change the topic.
“I should probably make sure it doesn’t exceed the number of times I’ve eaten—”
“Oh my god, no. Stop it,” I say, laughing, despite myself.
“What?” he asks, feigning innocence.
“You know what.”
I bring the bowl of onions and mushrooms to the stove so he can sauté them in butter and then start on the baked potatoes. Moving around the kitchen with him like this feels so comfortable and familiar. To any outsider, it might look like we’ve made dinner together hundreds of times. I sigh at the thought.
In reality, we’ve made dinner four times together. This past week, I went grocery shopping and stocked his nearly empty kitchen with some simple meals for us to make in the evenings. He tried insisting I not cook or that he could just have dinner delivered but I rejected both. I enjoy cooking. Plus, there’s something intimate and almost sensual in the way two people can cook together.
As he throws the steaks into a hot pan, I prepare two place settings at the small table on the deck. The sun has set and the sky is deep purple and inky blue. I light the torches on the corner posts and they illuminate the space just enough to set a romantic mood. Romantic mood. Weird. Those words feel strange to me in some ways, and I hesitate for a second, realizing this is all sort of an illusion. But one I’m not ready to leave.
We sit down to our meal a few minutes later and Jensen pours us some wine.
“Tomorrow, I’d like to take you to the pier. There’s a Ferris Wheel and shops and booths,” he says.
“Oh fun.” The words come out feeling a little flat, but not intentionally. I’m still thinking about the curtain that will be pulled back soon. The plane ride home I’ll have to take. The farewell.
Sensing my mind is elsewhere, Jensen attempts to suggest we go elsewhere.
“No, really. The pier sounds really fun.” I shake away my negative thoughts and refocus on enjoying the moment. Yet again. I think I’ve done that probably a dozen times over the past week. Leave it to me to self-sabotage a good time.
After dinner, he draws a bath in the large whirlpool tub. The steam rolls off the hot water and sends a ripple through my stomach. He adds bath salt and bubble bath.
“I even have a rubber ducky,” he says, pulling a small yellow children’s bath toy from the bag.
I can’t help but laugh. He really does think of everything. He’s made me laugh more in the time I’ve known him than I did in my entire relationship with my ex which I find both sad and illuminating. Because laughter is going on my permanent list of requirements in a relationship after this. After this.
We undress and step in, the water rising a couple of inches as we settle.
He cuts the water off and suddenly his eyes aren’t so playful. His gaze feels serious, almost a hint of somber. “Are you having a good time here with me?” he asks.
“Of course I am. I’ve really enjoyed the last week.” I don’t have to lie or even exaggerate.
“Good.” He smiles, his hands rubbing over my thighs. We’re facing each other, our legs crossed over the other’s, my feet resting on either side of him.
I consider saying thank you to him again but it doesn’t feel right.
“I got an email on my phone from work earlier when I didn’t answer the call,” he says. “They need me to go to California on Tuesday.”
Oh. Oh my.That’s sooner than I thought I’d have to go home. “Oh I see,” is all I can manage to say.
“Apparently one of our clients there is having some issues, so I have to go smooth things over,” he says, but I barely hear him. His voice is growing fuzzy as I come to the realization that means I’ll have to go home on or before Tuesday.
I nod along as he continues to explain the situation. “Well, I guess we should grab my ticket to go home soon, then,” I suggest.
Jensen grows quiet, not answering me directly. His hands smooth over my skin under the water and he tightens his grip on me, as if that’s some sort of answer.
“We’re just going to have to make the most of these last few days,” I say, leaning up and moving to him, straddling his lap and pressing his wet body against mine. His hands find my ass and rest there. Jensen stares into my eyes with so much intensity, I’m convinced for a moment he can see right into me. Afraid of what he’ll find there, I break eye contact and press my mouth to his, savoring his lips.
I have to remember this,I think to myself. I have to remember all of this.