Page 21 of Chemistry: The Chemist

“Not even a little.”

“Then, why do you look so an–”

“Because I’m trying my hardest to be a gentleman and wait until I’m home before I feast on your flesh but continuing to run your mouth is making that pretty fucking impossible.”

Her mouth hung open. After a few seconds, she recovered. “A man of great discipline.”

“At least I thought so.”

“I believe in you. You can do whatever you put your mind to.”

Her words punched me in the chest, pushing my body backward. I leaned against the back of the chair, my eyes penetrating her skin and marking my territory with invisible ink.

I believe in you. Though strangers, there was truth to her words. And even if there wasn’t, there was meaning. To me. That shit meant something to me.

“I’m Ursula. I’ll be with you all tonight. Is there anything I can get started for you all besides water?”

Our waitress appeared from thin air. Too fixated on Eden, I didn’t notice anyone else. No one else was relevant. No one else mattered at the moment. All I saw was her. All I felt… was her.

“I’ll have a French 75. Neat.”

She didn’t fold. Her eyes were trained on me.

“Water.”

I needed a clear head dealing with Eden. I’d already reached my limit. She was intoxicating enough.

College graduate. One of three children to a widowed mother. Thirty. Fashion enthusiast. Reader. I’d learned enough about her life to determine there was nothing interesting about it. Yet, she was intriguing. Unbelievably so.

She was six years younger but carried herself better than most women my age I’d stumbled upon. The most important details of her life included never being married and never having a child. Hadn’t I genuinely wanted to know more about Eden, I would’ve stopped listening after discovering those two details.

But, here I was, nearly thirty minutes after medium-rare steaks and medium-well lamb had been set in front of us, still listening intently as she expressed herself with satisfaction carving her features. She loved hearing herself talk. Somehow, I was beginning to love listening.

“I feel like I’ve divulged for hours and you’ve given me very little.”

“There’s not a lot to me,” I assured her. “I’m boring, baby.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Then, don’t.”

“Mysterious, but not boring.”

With a shrug, I brushed off the observation. There was possibly truth to it, but I wasn’t sure. I didn’t care to investigate.

“Only child?”

“No.”

“I guessed it. You feel like–like an elder. Like a protector. A provider. Father-like.”

Her profiling was spot on, but I wouldn’t give her any indication.

“Stable home. Two-parent household. Very structured. Father is very involved in your life, even in adulthood. He played a huge part in who you are today. You’re probably a lot like him.”

“Finish your drink.”

It was her third one. I was ready to see just how influential it was on her body. The lust in her eyes was heavier than when we’d entered.

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