Page 21 of Champagne Kisses
"Are you a good cook?" My mouth literally drops open at the accuracy.
"How could you possibly know that?"Hopefully it's not just the size of my backside.
"At breakfast, I saw that you really savor food. And you just give off this…homey vibe."
My cheeks warm at the compliment, and I am grateful I can look at the road instead of at his intense eyes.
"Thank you. It's not exactly the most sexy description, but it is accurate."
"'Sexy' depends on who's looking," he says, and I feel his eyes on me before he returns to his emails.
Things remain playful and flirty for the rest of the car ride. I tease him about his taste in music (despite agreeing with most of his choices) and he pretends to be offended and finds some way to touch me with those strong hands of his. Before I pass out in a sweaty, horny heap, we arrive at his place in Bushwick; a gray, three-floor walkup across from a 24/7 deli. For no reason at all, I make a mental note of his address.
He steps onto the sidewalk when I park and I get out too, not quite sure of the protocol. This wasn’t a date, right? This is his place, so there’s no reason to walk him to the door. I definitely feel nervous like at the end of a date. I'm also amazed I pulled off flirting for so long.
I walk around to his side of the car and extend my hand for a shake goodbye. He surprises me by pulling me in for a strong hug instead. I feel his hard body against mine and hope he doesn’t notice I’m shaking with nerves.
“Thanks so much for the ride. You have no idea how much you saved me,” he says, so close to my ear I can feel his breath.He gives a final squeeze before letting me go and I’m glad to be already leaning against the car.
“No problem at all,” I say breathily, suddenly having trouble making eye contact.
“Well…” Adam seems just as unsure as me about what to do next. Maybe I should have stayed in the car. I plaster a bright smile on my face and start walking back to the driver’s side.
“G’night, Adam. Thanks for being such a great road trip buddy!” Mortified by the word vomit that just spilled out of my mouth, I smile even wider and actually wave before stepping into my car.Kill me now.
As I pull away from the curb, I can see Adam in my rearview mirror, and he has the nerve to look amused.
Chapter eleven
Adam
Ifeel a few bones pop as I do a full body stretch in bed. The sheets are that perfect warm from sleep and I rub my legs against them, not quite ready to get up this morning. Then I smile to myself remembering that Maya definitely likes me. Nothing else could explain her mad dash to the car when I was clearly working up the nerve to kiss her. It's probably for the best that she ran away. After all that verbal foreplay, I doubt I would've been able to stop at just a kiss. At least I got to watch her cute little ass shake as she practically bolted to the car.
Maya is different from the women I usually go for in so many ways. For one, she is hardly a size four, but if my almost constant erection on the drive home is any indication, her size isn't a problem. I've also never dated a Black woman before, though there has been attraction in the past. When they showed "Love Jones" at the student union, my crush on Nia Long wasinstantaneous. Lastly, she seemed almost surprised I was interested. Once a woman knows I want her, she's usually grabbing for my belt buckle or inviting herself up for the night. Running away is a first.
I head to the bathroom to brush my teeth and shower, the whole time thinking about how to engineer more time with her. Ordering a bunch of things from her store is probably coming on too strong, and I think Emily would kill me if I hired Maya again after what she called “the flute fiasco”. Can’t I just text her at this point? Do I really need a reason? I look at the clock over my dresser and realize I’d better save this for later or I’m gonna be late.
At lunch, Eric almost chokes on his sandwich after hearing about my eventful weekend.
"The Emily situation is getting out of hand. Women think 'no means no' only applies to them."
I moodily chew my sandwich, annoyed he's right.
"Her drunken proposition was after the car ride up where she kept 'accidentally' putting her hand on my leg instead of the gearshift. She supposedly needed my help to change when we got to the hotel too, and then kept offering me booze from the minibar." Eric looks sympathetic.
"I always thought I'd like an aggressive woman, but it sounds terrible the way you tell it. What about the shy one? Mia?"
"Maya," I correct him. "And what about her?"
“Well, since when are you scared to make a move? You had an opening for some 'nighttime fun',"—he emphasizes "nighttime fun" with an obscene hand gesture—"and you missed it."
"My timing was just off. She's different from my usual hookup. I couldn't just drag her into my apartment and send her home in an Uber. I think I might ask her out on a real date." Eric pretends to have a heart attack, clutching his chest, and I feel even more embarrassed.
"Adam Park?! Go on adate?!"OK, wiseass."But I’m supposed to be living the single life vicariously through you!”
Once again, Eric is right. This has been our arrangement since we both started at CloudTech three years ago. I amaze him with tales of NYC nightlife, and, in exchange, he bores me to death with seemingly endless pictures of soccer games, cello recitals, gymnastics competitions, and Disney vacations. It’s like the guy looked up “family man” in the dictionary and said, “I’ll take one of each, please!” He's even got the dad bod to match, courtesy of elementary school bake sales, World's Finest Chocolate fundraisers, and a wife who prefers home cooking over GrubHub.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. I’m still single. I’m just talking about a date,” I say. I should’ve known Eric would get ahead of himself. As much as he likes my stories, I think he secretly would love to have someone else going through the same family stuff.
