Page 14 of Foreplay on Words

The soft, dulcet tones of feminine humming caught my attention as I walked down the grass-covered hill that led to the water. It was technically a pond but resembled a small lake. I knew when I toured the acreage that this was where I wanted to build my house.

“Chase?”

She was seated with her legs outstretched, about halfway down the grassy hill. Her phone was lying beside her, earbuds visible in her ears, and an old school composition notebook was on her lap.

I watched her for a moment, her pencil flying across the page. Obviously, this place inspired her as much as it did me. There was a fire pit closer to the water where I did most of my writing when the weather cooperated.

Not wanting to startle her, I stepped closer, hesitating to call her name again. But she’d probably be more frightened of me standing a few feet behind her, staring like a creeper. She had to think I was a little strange since I had used such stellar conversational skills on her earlier. Talking to people had never been my favorite thing, but around women—especially beautiful, sexually attractive women—I got flustered.

Taking a few hesitant steps down the hill, I could see the moment she noticed me. Her hand halted, and the pencil slipped on the page. Her head shot in my direction, and she yanked her earbuds out with a nervous smile.

“Sorry.” She smiled as she squinted in my direction. “How long have you been standing there? I didn’t mean to stay out here this long, but I couldn’t help myself.”

“Not long.” My voice was rough with nerves. Watching her work intrigued me.

She nodded as she tossed her notebook into the grass and pushed herself up from the ground.

“It’s one of my favorite places to write, too,” I confessed quietly, clearing my throat.

I tried not to stare at her ass as she bent over to pick up her things, but it was right there. I couldn’t look away.

She was different than I expected—curvier—her dress molded to her full hips in a way that made my mouth water. I hated it when women were afraid to enjoy eating what they wanted. Good food brought people pleasure. Why deny yourself to wear a smaller size? I’d never had issues with overindulgence, and my compulsive need to run to clear my head helped keep me in shape, but I still had a love affair with cooking.

I shoved my hands in the pockets of my jeans to resist the urge to run my hands down the curve of her hips and averted my eyes as she straightened out and turned to face me.

“So...” She smiled as her white teeth sunk into the pink flesh of her bottom lip.

“So...” I was so lame.

“I’m sorry, I’m not usually this awkward,” she laughed a little and rolled her eyes.

“I am.” It was the goddamn truth.

A grin pulled at my lips as her laughter rang out. She had a nice laugh. It’d been years since something I said made a woman who wasn’t related to me laugh. Hearing it hit me in a way that I hadn’t experienced before. I craved to hear it again.

“Shall we go inside? I can make us something to eat.”

“A man who cooks and writes. You’re a dangerous one, Evan,” she teased, and I felt heat rise in my cheeks.

“I don’t know about that,” I laughed as she smiled at me. “Cooking for yourself kind of becomes necessary when you live in the middle of nowhere.”

“I’d be in trouble then.” She smiled, and the dimple in her cheek deepened.

“You can’t cook?” I asked curiously.

“No, I can. I choose not to most of the time. Some people excel at cooking elaborate meals with farm fresh ingredients; I excel at cooking microwaveable macaroni and cheese.”

I could understand that. She didn’t seem like the type to spend her evenings on domestic chores.

“The Chinese food delivery person told me he uses my weekly delivery to remember what day of the week it is,” she confessed with a guilty smile.

“I don’t think I was ever that bad. Although the girl at the coffee shop near my last apartment did have my order ready when I walked in the door each day, and my name was spelled correctly on the cup each time,” I recalled from when I still lived in the city. It felt like a literal lifetime ago.

“That probably wasn’t because of a routine.” Her laughter rang out again as I stared at her. “If I could look at you each morning, I’d make sure your coffee was ready when you walked in the door too.”

I looked away and scratched the back of my head. It sounded like she was flirting with me, but I didn’t want to read too much into it. I wasn’t always the best at picking up the signals.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable,” she said quietly, tilting her head to look into my downturned eyes. “My brain-to-mouth filter wasn’t installed correctly at birth.”

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