Page 31 of Big Booze Boss

She giggles again, "Yes, sir, then. But only because I'm starving, and I know that later on, you'll make me."

I toss her sundress into the basket with my laundry, then set our food on the coffee table. Next, I light a fire in the hearth, knowing the temperature is dropping and she'll be cold without a blanket, and I don't want her beautiful body wrapped up out of sight. Then I find the emergency candles and light them, setting them around the room. Finally, I choose a bottle of Merlot wine. Then I walk to the bed and hold out my hand.

She drops the blanket she's wrapped herself in and slips her hand in mine. She surprises me when she says, "I love how safe I feel when my hand is in yours."

"Oh, Breezy." I pull her into my embrace. "Why did we wait so long?"

She smiles at me, "I have no idea. We were young and stupid."

I laugh at that truth. "Yes, we were."

I lead her to her cushion, and she sits, crossing her legs. I take the cushion across the table from her. The view of her tits and her pussy just waiting for me to devour is mind-blowing. I pour the wine and lift my glass. "Here's to the last weekend, we hide our feelings from the world."

She gives me her sidewise smirk and says, "Excuse me? Apparently, the whole damn western United States is aware of our feelings for each other." She lifts her glass and corrects my toast. "Here's to the last weekend we hide our feelings from our best friends."

We clink glasses, laughing.

Summer

Blaze is charming and engaging as we eat. He asks questions about my job. Whether I enjoy it. How dedicated to it I am. What are my future plans if I stay with the company. I answer truthfully without processing our relationship in the mix. Mostly because I know we are going to date now, but I won't assume anything as far as commitment goes. He's already indicated he may not play professional baseball long term, and his franchise of bars secures he has a choice.

It feels like a cozy date.

"How was the Bison Burger?" He asks, "And don't say an automatic good. I'm interested in your honest opinion. As the owner." He leans back against the overstuffed chair with his wine and gives me his undivided attention.

I hold the last bite of the burger out and turn it this way and that and give him my honest opinion as a patron. Going into great detail about the way it was prepared and pattied so the lean meat held together, how it was grilled to perfection, and how the seasoning enhanced the flavor. Then I pop it into my mouth and smack loudly, licking my fingers. Then I kiss the tips of my fingers and tell him, "Perfection."

He chuckles, "Thank you for the detailed description. A second career as a food critic could be in your future."

I snort and fall over, laughing.

He sits up and laughs with me, "What's so funny about that?"

I cackle, holding my stomach and laughing, unable to stop. He sets his wine glass down and crawls over to me. He lies next to me, chuckling as I finish, waiting patiently for my bout of giggling to wind down.

When I finally catch my breath, he asks, "So what was so funny?"

"I tried it before. I absolutely bombed. Do you know how hard it is to have a lively, upbeat conversation in an empty room with a screen? I honestly don't know how people do it. All I could picture…" I giggle again, "were people staring at their phones with a 'what-the-fuck' face. I kept bursting out laughing with how stupid I felt." He chuckles along as I giggle again. "Finally, I stuck my finger down my throat, gagged, and said, 'There you go. That's all you need to know.' Deleted the video and went back to work the next day."

He asks, "Do you know how beautiful you are?"

"I'm not beautiful," I smile sweetly but condescendingly at him.

He smiles, "I knew you didn't. But you are. Especially when you're laughing. It's infectious." He pushes up, then stands and asks, "May I have this dance?"

I give him a 'you're crazy' look, but I stand and step into his embrace. He rolls my wrist around his and holds it tight against his chest. He sways, and I follow his lead. After a little while, I tease him. "Isn't there supposed to be music when you dance?"

He says, "Not necessarily."

We dance, aka sway, a bit longer, then I say, "You know what we should totally do?"

"Fuck?" He asks.

I giggle, "Yes, but I'm talking about at the reception."

"No, we shouldn't fuck at the reception." He corrects me.

I giggle and ignore his obvious misinterpretation. "We should dance some scene out of a movie."

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