Page 77 of Golden Hour

“I want to cook for you at my place. Give you a break from the all the PB&J.”

“I would love that.”

“Do you eat pork? I make a great pork chop.”

I nod. My mouth is already watering.

“My parents are going out of town this weekend. We won’t have inquisitive minds within spitting distance.”

I swallow. Should I ask? No, I won’t. Oral sex doesn’t mean I’m immediately invited for a sleepover or that it’s a date. That I’m a girlfriend. I learned that from Mark.

So, I nod and smile. “That sounds great.”

“Great,” he says. He shakes his head and leans in, giving me a quick kiss on the lips. “I can’t promise I won’t pull you into an office or closet again before then, though.”

28

Jackson

Ishift the flowers in the vase, my fingers shivering with my nerves.

Shiloh is due any moment, and everything must be perfect.

I deep cleaned my apartment, cleaning corners I’ve neglected since I moved in. That morning, I went to the Goldheart Neighborhood Market, at the height of weekend crowds and picked up the food for our dinner tonight. Folks didn’t look at me as much as I expected, and I enjoyed myself, bumping along to Richard Marx playing over the loudspeakers.

Bea, one of the owners, looked at my food and the flowers I grabbed by impulse by the front door. “Having a special someone over?”

While I didn’t think it was any of her business, I said, “Yeah. I’m cooking.”

“That’s adorable. I’m sure she’s special.”

“She is,” I said, collecting my bags and leaving, enjoying the milder January weather, the air was fresh from the rain the night before. All I needed was a light fleece this morning.

I don’t mind if all the Bad Biddies know I bought flowers. Shiloh is worth all the inquisitive glances, the murmured gossip. Whatever is happening with Shiloh is too good to hide.

My cock swells thinking about Shiloh naked in my office. She tasted like honey, and the image of her squirming and her back arching because of my tongue plays over and over in my head. If I think about her sinking to her knees in front of me, letting me come in her mouth, I can’t handle it. It’s more that I’m finally with a woman after all this time. It’s that it’sher.

It could only be her.

We kept our distance when we were both at the brewery, but yesterday I couldn’t handle seeing her, with her braids and her tight jeans. Whenever a man talked to her, even if it was just to order, my pulse rose. She would smile at me like she always did, but I lost all my resolve. I caught her in the all-gender bathroom, cupping her face with my hands and laying a kiss on her lips, her arms wrapping around my neck.

“What was that for?” she asked.

“I wanted to.” I leaned down and kissed her again.

The kisses just keep getting sweeter.

Breathless, she pulled away. “We should stop finding each other here. We’ll get caught.”

I pressed my forehead to hers. “I can’t wait to get you alone.”

She kissed my forehead, and hesitated before she pulled away from me. “Me either.”

That’s why I’m buzzing around my apartment, so anxious my hands are shaking.

I got pork chops as promised and planned to do seasoned potatoes and crisp green beans. It was a meal I made a lot for myself In Seattle when I had a free weekend. The potatoes were roasting already in various spices and olive oil, the pork chops were prepped, and the green beans cleaned and cut. I made sure to pick up Shiloh’s favorite cookies from Gold Roast and her favorite root beer.

Dry January has been a struggle, but I’ve found my groove and settled into a rhythm. After a horrid string of non-alcoholic beers, I settled on sparkling waters. I have five different flavors in my fridge. My mind is clearer, I’m less sad, and I’ve never performed better in my workouts at my home gym in the garage. I’ve finished two books I’ve had bookmarks in for months.

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