DESSERT
Juliet's nerves came back in full force after the bill was paid and dinner was over. As they headed out of the restaurant together and onto the street, she didn't know what she was supposed to do or how she was allowed to feel or even how comfortable she was supposed to allow herself to be. Normally, in the dating world, "dessert" was the universal, cliché code for "sex." And he wanted to take her back to his condo. For dessert. Her mind screamed "Bloody murder!" but her body screamed "Yes, yes, yes!"
Somehow, though, she had a nagging feeling that, to Eric, "dessert" actually meant dessert.
She tried not to let this disappoint her.
The air was cold that early November night, and Juliet closed her coat tighter around her body as she scoped the city lights out for a cab. The traffic, on foot and on wheels, was incredibly atrocious, but normal for a Friday night. When Juliet thought she saw a potential ride, she made a dash for the side of the curb to catch it.
"Hey!" Eric called from behind her. "What are you doing?"
"Getting us a cab," she replied in the cold wind.
"I'm parked on the next street over," he motioned behind him with this thumb.
She straightened her spine, now ignoring the traffic on the street. "Oh," she replied simply. "Okay, then."
Smirking, he shook his head and waited for her to join him before the pair headed around the block. Unable to help herself, she had to remark, "You know, I never understood the need to drive around this city. Especially when there's an abundance of public transportation already clogging up the roads. Not to mention, we don't even live that far from here."
"I like this 'we' stuff," he said with a smile in his voice as he fished his keys out of his pocket. "Has a nice ring to it."
"You said we lived a couple of blocks from each other," she replied flatly. " 'We' live in the same area."
"Touche," he muttered.
She followed him to his car, preparing to step off the curb and around the small, modest, black sedan he was walking toward when the lights went off and the locks clicked on a beast of a silver pickup that was parked behind it. Stopping in her tracks, she had to adjust to her confusion. "That's your car--truck--vehicle?" She couldn't get it out. She was just so taken with its...size.
He grinned as he stepped off the curb and opened the passenger door for her. She stared up at the interior in horror, suddenly remembering the slim, pencil skirt she wore. "Beautiful, isn't she? She's my baby."
And it showed. The truck was pristine, both inside and out. She was almost tempted to wipe her feet before stepping up into it. "Why do you need something this flamboyant in the city?"
"Because I like it," he said, simply.
She supposed she couldn't argue with that logic. Why did anyone do anything? Because they wanted to. Simple as that. She had to respect it.
As he circled around to the driver's side, she took a quick look around. Having used the automatic ignition, the truck heated up quickly. On this chilly evening, she definitely appreciated that. She was amused by the way the floor boards glowed with blue light and understanding the large dials on the dash in front of her was a lost cause. It wasn't like she knew much about cars or trucks, anyway.
By the time he climbed in and closed the door, her eyes were wide with wonder. "It's bigger than my apartment in here!"
He smiled and nodded his head toward the back, raising his eyebrows suggestively. "Backseat's pretty spacious, too."
She narrowed her eyes in a glare and he instantly went to work, fiddling with the stereo.
As she strapped herself comfortably in her seat belt and marveled in how high up she sat above the street, the stereo blared obnoxiously loud inside the truck and startled Juliet to the point where she thought her heart would burst out of her chest. The sound that came from it was absolutely appalling.
"What in the hell is that bullshit?" She asked him, her eyes wide.
He smiled sheepishly as he turned the volume down low. "I'm so sorry. I guess I was jamming earlier--"
"To what?" She asked incredulously.
"To--well--you just heard it..."
"I heard warbling. You don't 'jam' to warbling."
"What's the matter?" He smiled. "You don't like country music?"
She looked out the windshield in front of her, aghast. "Oh my god, you're a redneck," she muttered under her breath.
He looked over at her and he laughed in amusement. "Well, excuse me if we're not MMMBopping down the street or being Moonlight Serenaded to sleep."
Juliet lifted her chin in defiance. "Moonlight Serenade is nice. It's peaceful and it's beautiful--"
"And it's boring as shit." Then he reached out and turned the sound completely off. "That's okay, though. I'll just quiet old Hank, here, and you can just listen to me whisper sweet nothings to you as we drive through Manhattan. How's that sound?"
Like heaven.
The boyish grin he flashed her made her want to smile. Instead, she reached in front of them and turned up the stereo. "I'd rather listen to the warbling."
His grin turned into a chuckle as he put the truck into gear. "And score one for the country boy," he murmured in quiet victory.
At that, Juliet haughtily crossed her arms over her chest and remained tight-lipped. Eric Reynolds was a tricky little fucker. Tricky, indeed. But she'd never let him know how cute she thought it was.
****************
Juliet took in a breath as they stepped off the elevator of the very top floor of Eric's apartment building. Her own building was maybe half the size of his--maybe even a third--and her floor was only about mid-level. But not Eric's. Not only was he on the very top floor, but the entire top floor was his entire apartment.
They walked straight from the elevator to his door and she couldn't resist watching every move he made as he intently unlocked the series of bolts. If you had said last week--or even two weeks or a month ago--that she would be walking into Eric Reynolds's apartment, she would have said you were crazy. But now she thought she was crazy. And she was scared to death to step over that threshold. She was afraid that if she did, she wouldn't want to leave.
The moment she stepped over the threshold, she knew she'd been right.
The door opened right up into his kitchen. The floor beneath their feet was tiled in white, the island to the right boasted a white, marble top, and the appliances across from it were shiny, black, and state-of-the-art. To the left of the door, the open floor plan produced a small dining area with a black table and chairs set that sat six with black light fixtures that hung down from the ceiling. The simple black and white color scheme of the kitchen and dining areas were just classy enough for a bachelor and just surprising enough to belong to him. She wasn't sure what she expected. A one-bedroom box with nothing but a chair and a TV? She didn't know, but what she wasn't expecting was a home.
"Excuse the mess," he said, walking around and turning on lights and sweeping his hand over the counter by the sink. "I've barely been home today."
Mess? What mess? The entire place practically sparkled with cleanliness. The only "mess" she found was the empty glass that sat by the sink, which he quickly swiped and shoved in the dishwasher. She pictured her own apartment, knowing what it looked like right that second--a coffee maker that still had the used filter from this morning, dirty silverware in the sink, an overflowing trash can, an unmade bed, and she was pretty sure there were several pairs of dirty socks littering her living room. That was a mess worth embarrassment. This? This looked like nobody even lived here.
He turned around and he glanced at her, and then darted over to her in the same second. "Um, here. Let me take your coat," he offered.
Bewildered at his hospitality, she couldn't seem to do much else but surrender her coat to him. She watched him as he carefully draped it over one of the dining chairs and she couldn't help but be completely fascinated by the way he conducted himself in his natural, home environment. She almost didn't want to be there with him, but just be invisible just so she could watch him. This was new to her. She'd never actually been interested in being anywhere near a man's apartment long enough to fuck him and leave, so to watch Eric make himself comfortable and attempt to cater to her was completely alien. And educational. And heartwarming.
Her heart was much too warm.
As she looked around her, never moving from the place she stood still in, she barely noticed that he'd discarded his own coat. "You can, um, put your purse anywhere you want to," he offered. Then he smiled nervously. "I could give you the grand tour, if you want."
She eyed him suspiciously, studying his actions. Glancing over at her coat, it dawned on her. "Exactly how many women have you brought home?" She asked him.
He looked at her blankly, having been caught off guard. "What?"
"How many grand tours have you given? How many coats have you taken?"
"Are you serious?"
"As a heart attack."
His eyes darted around, seemingly searching for the words. "Well, I mean, this place is still relatively new, I just bought it less than a year ago..."
"How many?"
He looked at her for a moment before he turned around and walked away from her, rubbing the back of his neck. "You know, you and I have a lot in common," he laughed nervously.
Suddenly, her heart began to race and she found it hard to swallow. How? How could someone as nice and funny and generous and...gorgeous as he was not have brought a woman home a time or two in the past year? It was bullshit.
But as he turned around and looked at her, his eyes spoke the truth.
Choosing to change the subject, she merely nodded her head. "Okay," she relented quietly. "I could, uh, I could take a tour."
It was then that she looked up and noticed the cathedral ceiling through the wide doorway of the kitchen, and she was immediately drawn to the dark, wooden beams that exposed themselves across the width of the room. Craning her neck behind Eric, her eyes lit up with fascination. "What's in there?"
He smiled at her warmly. "That's the living room."
"Let's start there."
The living room was enormous. It was also warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the kitchen and dining areas, as this room pulled you in and enveloped you in its dark and rich colors. The hardwood floor below them was a deep, chocolate brown and the ceiling above them was breathtaking, the wood as rich as the floor underneath their feet. She couldn't stop looking at it. "How did you find this place?" She breathed. "That ceiling is perfection.""You think so?" He asked quietly.
She nodded, still studying it with fascination. "I've never seen one like this so perfectly-executed. The cut of the wood, the colors, the construction, the entire design, it's--it's exquisite."
"I did it myself," he confessed.
Now she had to gape at him. "You did?"
He nodded, glancing up at it. "I mean, I had help. Travis and a couple of the guys, but...yeah. I knew what I wanted when I moved in here. Drew it up, measured it out, and we put it in. I'm, uh, I'm actually honored that you like it. I'm kind of proud of it, personally."
"You should be," she breathed. "It's a work of art."
He smiled at her, a shy smile that make her knees as weak as it made her heart. "Thank you."
Finally able to tear her eyes away from the ceiling, she looked around the room. On the far, right wall, was an extra large, intricate stone fireplace, and her eyes were immediately drawn to the equally extra large TV that sat on the mantle. She studied the TV for a moment, not even trying to guess how big it actually was. Instead, she cocked her head to the side in question. "Is that TV...bent?"
Eric chuckled lightly and she looked at him as his face turned a light shade of pink. "That's a, uh, 78-inch curved TV. It was a...Valentine's Day gift to myself. It was an insane splurge of cash that I probably shouldn't have spent--"
"Turn it on," she interrupted him, mesmerized by it.
"Really?"
She looked over at him. "I've never seen one of these things before. I'm curious, I just want to see it."
"Well. Okay..." He smiled and he walked around the brown, suede, wrap-around couch that sat in the middle of the room.
She slowly followed him around and couldn't resist checking him out as he bent over and retrieved the remote control off of the coffee table. As he pointed it to the TV, she suddenly said to him, "Wait. There won't be...you know, any surprises when you turn that thing on, will there? I mean, there won't be any, like, life-size porn or anything that'll jump out at me...?"
He turned around and he smirked at her. "Do you want there to be?"
She shook her head at him. "No. No, I just--well, you know, you're single, you live alone...I mean, I don't know what men do when they live alone..."
He laughed and he shook his head, pressing the button on the remote. Before them, the room seemed to light up with the picture as field full of sweaty football players ran across the large screen for what seemed like forever and ever. "No porn," he said. "But it's the next best thing."
"Of course," she muttered, unable to take her eyes off the screen. She didn't watch much TV, but she might have to frequent his place just to watch his. She'd never seen such a large, clear picture in her entire life. Not to mention the sound was magnificent.
Before she knew it, she found herself sitting on the arm of the couch, looking up at the screen, and daydreaming about what her favorite shows and movies would look like on it. Interrupting her thoughts, she heard him say to her, "So...does the tour end here?"
"Huh?" She answered, looking over at him. "Um, no. No, I'm sorry. That's just...quite impressive."
He smiled and he turned the TV off, laying the remote back down on the coffee table. "You know what? Why don't you go ahead and take the rest of the tour on your own and I'm going to see what I have going on in the kitchen. Okay?"
She blinked at him, unsure how to feel about his suggestion. "Are you sure?"
"Absolutely. Make yourself at home."
Naturally, the next place she found herself was in his bedroom doorway. She prayed that it was the guest room, but based on its enormous size, she knew that it wasn't. It was nearly as enormous as the living room, it seemed, with a bed that made her instantly want to climb into it and make herself cozy. She could spot a down comforter a mile away and the white one that adorned his king-sized bed reminded her of how tired she actually was. She would need to call it a night soon.
She chose to ignore the warm, cozy dim lighting that came from the lamps on both of the bedside tables, and the curtain that adorned what was so obviously the large window that took up the entirety of one of the walls of the room. Wanting desperately to see the view, she refrained, and kept both her feet firmly planted outside the threshold of his bedroom. Walking into his apartment was bad enough. His bedroom was the devil's lair.
As if he had read her mind, his voice suddenly sounded right next to her ear, low, smooth, and sending chills down her spine. "The view is spectacular from in here. You can see all of New York City. All of the lights, as far as the eye can see."
She could feel his presence behind her as her eyes landed on his bed again. She could feel his body heat, his closeness. 'Please touch me,' she pleaded silently. 'Please. Touch me. Because I don't have the power to touch you myself.'
"Ice cream?" His voice rang out cheerfully as she turned to watch him walk away.
'No. Please, no. The bed is right there.' "What?"
"Ice cream," he repeated, turning around. "I promised you dessert." That gooney grin would be the death of her, yet.
'This is not what I had in mind,' she pouted silently. Straightening her spine, she replied, "That won't be necessary, thank you."
"Come on," he coaxed her. "It's my specialty."
"Pretty sure it's Ben and Jerry's specialty."
"I'm only taking what they have and making it better." Then he winked at her. "Just like I'm about to do with that building you're buying. Man, I can't wait to tear that thing down."
And that was all she wrote. The magic words. The subject that lured her into the kitchen with him. Talking business was music to her ears.
However, it seemed that that was as far as the business talk was going to go. She couldn't help but be distracted when the ice cream tub made its way out of the freezer. When he retrieved two bowls from a cabinet above the sink, she shook her head as he sat them on the island top. "Um, I won't be having any. Thank you, though."
He studied her for a moment, a flash of surprise crossing his face. "You sure? Is this gonna...you know, turn into some cholesterol lecture or something?"
Juliet smiled and shook her head. "No, I just--um--I'm just not--it's late..."
He shrugged and busied himself with the preparation of his own dessert. "Suit yourself. I just didn't want to eat it in front of you."
"It's--it's really okay."
It was not okay. Juliet's weakness was junk food, any way she could get it. She wasn't entirely sure why she turned the ice cream down. She'd already shared a platter of greasy finger foods in bed with him--and he had been naked.
However, she'd already accused him of eating like a barbarian, she wasn't in the mood to show him what a hypocrite she was.
Sometime, in between her thoughts and him putting the finishing touches on his larger-than-life sundae, she had missed the actual preparation process. But she found herself curling her nose up at how bland it looked. "That's it?" She asked.
"What's it?"
"In your bowl. It's just...a heap of whipped cream."
He raised an amused eyebrow and smirked at her. "Do you have any recommendations?"
She looked at him and she glanced at the bowl and she shrugged a shoulder. "Well...I mean, you just said ice cream was your specialty, I was just expecting...I don't know, something a little more...showy."
"Showy," he repeated.
"You know...put your money where your mouth is and such."
Studying her, he looked her over, his eyes narrowed, before he finally straightened his spine. "Fine." And then he turned around and started digging in his refrigerator.
Her eyes widened as he loaded the island down--he had certainly been holding back! She tried not to let her jaw drop in temptation as she watched him...and at this point, she still wasn't sure if it was the man or the sweets that tempted her.
Interrupting her thoughts, he leaned on the counter and turned his head toward her "Okay. Tell me what I want."
God, that was a loaded command.
Ingredient by ingredient, she guided him through his sundae. Shamelessly, she dominated it with chocolate. There may have been a banana and some strawberries involved in it by the time she was satisfied--at this point she wasn't really sure. But it looked nice and appropriate and she knew that if it was hers, she would be tearing into it as they spoke.
"Well, it's impressive, I'll give you that," he said, nodding toward the bowl. "It's a shame you're not in the mood or whatever your excuse is. I told you ice cream was my specialty."
"Excuse me," she objected. "I practically made that myself."
He raised his eyebrows in question. "Oh. Did you...want to taste it and see if it's to your specifications, then?"
She lifted her chin and she eyed the bowl and then she glanced at him. Then back at the bowl. "Well," she said, her tone short. "It's not in my character to put my name on something that isn't quality. I refuse to put out mediocre work."
"That's an admirable quality to have."
"Yes. I agree."
Not moving an inch of his body, he slid the bowl over to her as if she were a timid animal that might run at any sudden movement. She supposed she could have related to that analogy. It was sort of what she felt like in the moment.
She picked up the spoon that stuck out of the side of the bowl and she modestly fed herself a bite of the dessert. It was absolute, sugary heaven, but she wouldn't dare let it show on her face. Placing the spoon back into the bowl, she slid it back toward him. "That seems adequate."
"Are you sure?" He questioned her, sliding the bowl back toward her. "Did you make sure I evenly distributed everything? Is there enough syrup? Did you even taste the ice cream under there?"
Juliet was silent. That rat bastard. He'd done it again. How did he do this?
She gave in. She gave in so much that she hopped up, unladylike, onto the marble top and crossed her ankles as they dangled off the side. She snatched up the ice cream bowl and she dug in, openly savoring every sweet and tangy flavor that danced on her tongue. "My God, this is magnificent," she mumbled, her mouth stuffed with the best sundae she had ever tasted.
His grin could have been seen across the entire city. "You said you weren't having any. I'm pretty sure that belongs to me."
"Shut up, go find your own," she spat.
Before she knew it, Eric sat beside her on the top of the island with his own bowl and they were laughing over ice cream. It seemed so...innocent and young, almost. Who did this? Who went on ice cream dates anymore? Anyone over the age of twelve? Hell, what did she know about being twelve, when she was twelve, she was--
She shook the memory out of her mind before it entered. She didn't care how innocent or prude it seemed. Eric was so much fun to be around. She didn't feel like she needed alcohol or sex or anything like that to have a good time with him. Just a bowl of ice cream. It blew her mind how something so little could mean so much.
"You know what would make this even more amazing?" She asked him with her mouth full. "Peanut butter."
He looked at her, his eyes wide. "I'm not sure if you're a genius or the devil," he marveled.
She hadn't realized how long they'd sat there, holding their empty bowls until she spied the clock above his stove. She sat her bowl down beside her and she slid herself back onto the floor. "Well, um, Eric. Thank you so much for tonight. I'm, um, I'm sorry I was so difficult in the beginning, but...but I've really had fun."
Following her lead, he smiled at her warmly. "So have I."
Suddenly, her heart physically hurt her at the notion of walking out his door. Was that normal? Maybe she was just nervous about walking home alone in the dark. Maybe that was it. Except that she knew that it wasn't. Walking home alone in the dark was something she could do with her eyes closed.
"Um, anyway, I really should head home. It's late."
"Did you need me to walk you? Drive you? Something? It's dark out there--"
Juliet shook her head and smiled. "No, thank you. I'll be fine."
Collecting her coat and her purse, and then having him walk her to the door, was one of the most nerve-racking experiences she had ever faced. He opened the door for her and the two of them lingered awkwardly for a moment before she finally plastered on a fake smile and breathed cheerfully, "Well. Goodnight, then. Thank you for dinner. And, um, dessert."
"Goodnight," he said softly, being ever the gentleman. "Please be careful. Text me and let me know you've made it home."
"I will," she answered. And then she looked him over one more time and turned around and headed to the elevator.
Had she done right? Should she have kissed him? Or was she better off leaving well enough alone? She wasn't sure. But it was all she could do not to turn around in the middle of the hallway and run straight back to him and into his arms.
Juliet's nerves came back in full force after the bill was paid and dinner was over. As they headed out of the restaurant together and onto the street, she didn't know what she was supposed to do or how she was allowed to feel or even how comfortable she was supposed to allow herself to be. Normally, in the dating world, "dessert" was the universal, cliché code for "sex." And he wanted to take her back to his condo. For dessert. Her mind screamed "Bloody murder!" but her body screamed "Yes, yes, yes!"
Somehow, though, she had a nagging feeling that, to Eric, "dessert" actually meant dessert.
She tried not to let this disappoint her.
The air was cold that early November night, and Juliet closed her coat tighter around her body as she scoped the city lights out for a cab. The traffic, on foot and on wheels, was incredibly atrocious, but normal for a Friday night. When Juliet thought she saw a potential ride, she made a dash for the side of the curb to catch it.
"Hey!" Eric called from behind her. "What are you doing?"
"Getting us a cab," she replied in the cold wind.
"I'm parked on the next street over," he motioned behind him with this thumb.
She straightened her spine, now ignoring the traffic on the street. "Oh," she replied simply. "Okay, then."
Smirking, he shook his head and waited for her to join him before the pair headed around the block. Unable to help herself, she had to remark, "You know, I never understood the need to drive around this city. Especially when there's an abundance of public transportation already clogging up the roads. Not to mention, we don't even live that far from here."
"I like this 'we' stuff," he said with a smile in his voice as he fished his keys out of his pocket. "Has a nice ring to it."
"You said we lived a couple of blocks from each other," she replied flatly. " 'We' live in the same area."
"Touche," he muttered.
She followed him to his car, preparing to step off the curb and around the small, modest, black sedan he was walking toward when the lights went off and the locks clicked on a beast of a silver pickup that was parked behind it. Stopping in her tracks, she had to adjust to her confusion. "That's your car--truck--vehicle?" She couldn't get it out. She was just so taken with its...size.
He grinned as he stepped off the curb and opened the passenger door for her. She stared up at the interior in horror, suddenly remembering the slim, pencil skirt she wore. "Beautiful, isn't she? She's my baby."
And it showed. The truck was pristine, both inside and out. She was almost tempted to wipe her feet before stepping up into it. "Why do you need something this flamboyant in the city?"
"Because I like it," he said, simply.
She supposed she couldn't argue with that logic. Why did anyone do anything? Because they wanted to. Simple as that. She had to respect it.
As he circled around to the driver's side, she took a quick look around. Having used the automatic ignition, the truck heated up quickly. On this chilly evening, she definitely appreciated that. She was amused by the way the floor boards glowed with blue light and understanding the large dials on the dash in front of her was a lost cause. It wasn't like she knew much about cars or trucks, anyway.
By the time he climbed in and closed the door, her eyes were wide with wonder. "It's bigger than my apartment in here!"
He smiled and nodded his head toward the back, raising his eyebrows suggestively. "Backseat's pretty spacious, too."
She narrowed her eyes in a glare and he instantly went to work, fiddling with the stereo.
As she strapped herself comfortably in her seat belt and marveled in how high up she sat above the street, the stereo blared obnoxiously loud inside the truck and startled Juliet to the point where she thought her heart would burst out of her chest. The sound that came from it was absolutely appalling.
"What in the hell is that bullshit?" She asked him, her eyes wide.
He smiled sheepishly as he turned the volume down low. "I'm so sorry. I guess I was jamming earlier--"
"To what?" She asked incredulously.
"To--well--you just heard it..."
"I heard warbling. You don't 'jam' to warbling."
"What's the matter?" He smiled. "You don't like country music?"
She looked out the windshield in front of her, aghast. "Oh my god, you're a redneck," she muttered under her breath.
He looked over at her and he laughed in amusement. "Well, excuse me if we're not MMMBopping down the street or being Moonlight Serenaded to sleep."
Juliet lifted her chin in defiance. "Moonlight Serenade is nice. It's peaceful and it's beautiful--"
"And it's boring as shit." Then he reached out and turned the sound completely off. "That's okay, though. I'll just quiet old Hank, here, and you can just listen to me whisper sweet nothings to you as we drive through Manhattan. How's that sound?"
Like heaven.
The boyish grin he flashed her made her want to smile. Instead, she reached in front of them and turned up the stereo. "I'd rather listen to the warbling."
His grin turned into a chuckle as he put the truck into gear. "And score one for the country boy," he murmured in quiet victory.
At that, Juliet haughtily crossed her arms over her chest and remained tight-lipped. Eric Reynolds was a tricky little fucker. Tricky, indeed. But she'd never let him know how cute she thought it was.
****************
Juliet took in a breath as they stepped off the elevator of the very top floor of Eric's apartment building. Her own building was maybe half the size of his--maybe even a third--and her floor was only about mid-level. But not Eric's. Not only was he on the very top floor, but the entire top floor was his entire apartment.
They walked straight from the elevator to his door and she couldn't resist watching every move he made as he intently unlocked the series of bolts. If you had said last week--or even two weeks or a month ago--that she would be walking into Eric Reynolds's apartment, she would have said you were crazy. But now she thought she was crazy. And she was scared to death to step over that threshold. She was afraid that if she did, she wouldn't want to leave.
The moment she stepped over the threshold, she knew she'd been right.
The door opened right up into his kitchen. The floor beneath their feet was tiled in white, the island to the right boasted a white, marble top, and the appliances across from it were shiny, black, and state-of-the-art. To the left of the door, the open floor plan produced a small dining area with a black table and chairs set that sat six with black light fixtures that hung down from the ceiling. The simple black and white color scheme of the kitchen and dining areas were just classy enough for a bachelor and just surprising enough to belong to him. She wasn't sure what she expected. A one-bedroom box with nothing but a chair and a TV? She didn't know, but what she wasn't expecting was a home.
"Excuse the mess," he said, walking around and turning on lights and sweeping his hand over the counter by the sink. "I've barely been home today."
Mess? What mess? The entire place practically sparkled with cleanliness. The only "mess" she found was the empty glass that sat by the sink, which he quickly swiped and shoved in the dishwasher. She pictured her own apartment, knowing what it looked like right that second--a coffee maker that still had the used filter from this morning, dirty silverware in the sink, an overflowing trash can, an unmade bed, and she was pretty sure there were several pairs of dirty socks littering her living room. That was a mess worth embarrassment. This? This looked like nobody even lived here.
He turned around and he glanced at her, and then darted over to her in the same second. "Um, here. Let me take your coat," he offered.
Bewildered at his hospitality, she couldn't seem to do much else but surrender her coat to him. She watched him as he carefully draped it over one of the dining chairs and she couldn't help but be completely fascinated by the way he conducted himself in his natural, home environment. She almost didn't want to be there with him, but just be invisible just so she could watch him. This was new to her. She'd never actually been interested in being anywhere near a man's apartment long enough to fuck him and leave, so to watch Eric make himself comfortable and attempt to cater to her was completely alien. And educational. And heartwarming.
Her heart was much too warm.
As she looked around her, never moving from the place she stood still in, she barely noticed that he'd discarded his own coat. "You can, um, put your purse anywhere you want to," he offered. Then he smiled nervously. "I could give you the grand tour, if you want."
She eyed him suspiciously, studying his actions. Glancing over at her coat, it dawned on her. "Exactly how many women have you brought home?" She asked him.
He looked at her blankly, having been caught off guard. "What?"
"How many grand tours have you given? How many coats have you taken?"
"Are you serious?"
"As a heart attack."
His eyes darted around, seemingly searching for the words. "Well, I mean, this place is still relatively new, I just bought it less than a year ago..."
"How many?"
He looked at her for a moment before he turned around and walked away from her, rubbing the back of his neck. "You know, you and I have a lot in common," he laughed nervously.
Suddenly, her heart began to race and she found it hard to swallow. How? How could someone as nice and funny and generous and...gorgeous as he was not have brought a woman home a time or two in the past year? It was bullshit.
But as he turned around and looked at her, his eyes spoke the truth.
Choosing to change the subject, she merely nodded her head. "Okay," she relented quietly. "I could, uh, I could take a tour."
It was then that she looked up and noticed the cathedral ceiling through the wide doorway of the kitchen, and she was immediately drawn to the dark, wooden beams that exposed themselves across the width of the room. Craning her neck behind Eric, her eyes lit up with fascination. "What's in there?"
He smiled at her warmly. "That's the living room."
"Let's start there."
The living room was enormous. It was also warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the kitchen and dining areas, as this room pulled you in and enveloped you in its dark and rich colors. The hardwood floor below them was a deep, chocolate brown and the ceiling above them was breathtaking, the wood as rich as the floor underneath their feet. She couldn't stop looking at it. "How did you find this place?" She breathed. "That ceiling is perfection.""You think so?" He asked quietly.
She nodded, still studying it with fascination. "I've never seen one like this so perfectly-executed. The cut of the wood, the colors, the construction, the entire design, it's--it's exquisite."
"I did it myself," he confessed.
Now she had to gape at him. "You did?"
He nodded, glancing up at it. "I mean, I had help. Travis and a couple of the guys, but...yeah. I knew what I wanted when I moved in here. Drew it up, measured it out, and we put it in. I'm, uh, I'm actually honored that you like it. I'm kind of proud of it, personally."
"You should be," she breathed. "It's a work of art."
He smiled at her, a shy smile that make her knees as weak as it made her heart. "Thank you."
Finally able to tear her eyes away from the ceiling, she looked around the room. On the far, right wall, was an extra large, intricate stone fireplace, and her eyes were immediately drawn to the equally extra large TV that sat on the mantle. She studied the TV for a moment, not even trying to guess how big it actually was. Instead, she cocked her head to the side in question. "Is that TV...bent?"
Eric chuckled lightly and she looked at him as his face turned a light shade of pink. "That's a, uh, 78-inch curved TV. It was a...Valentine's Day gift to myself. It was an insane splurge of cash that I probably shouldn't have spent--"
"Turn it on," she interrupted him, mesmerized by it.
"Really?"
She looked over at him. "I've never seen one of these things before. I'm curious, I just want to see it."
"Well. Okay..." He smiled and he walked around the brown, suede, wrap-around couch that sat in the middle of the room.
She slowly followed him around and couldn't resist checking him out as he bent over and retrieved the remote control off of the coffee table. As he pointed it to the TV, she suddenly said to him, "Wait. There won't be...you know, any surprises when you turn that thing on, will there? I mean, there won't be any, like, life-size porn or anything that'll jump out at me...?"
He turned around and he smirked at her. "Do you want there to be?"
She shook her head at him. "No. No, I just--well, you know, you're single, you live alone...I mean, I don't know what men do when they live alone..."
He laughed and he shook his head, pressing the button on the remote. Before them, the room seemed to light up with the picture as field full of sweaty football players ran across the large screen for what seemed like forever and ever. "No porn," he said. "But it's the next best thing."
"Of course," she muttered, unable to take her eyes off the screen. She didn't watch much TV, but she might have to frequent his place just to watch his. She'd never seen such a large, clear picture in her entire life. Not to mention the sound was magnificent.
Before she knew it, she found herself sitting on the arm of the couch, looking up at the screen, and daydreaming about what her favorite shows and movies would look like on it. Interrupting her thoughts, she heard him say to her, "So...does the tour end here?"
"Huh?" She answered, looking over at him. "Um, no. No, I'm sorry. That's just...quite impressive."
He smiled and he turned the TV off, laying the remote back down on the coffee table. "You know what? Why don't you go ahead and take the rest of the tour on your own and I'm going to see what I have going on in the kitchen. Okay?"
She blinked at him, unsure how to feel about his suggestion. "Are you sure?"
"Absolutely. Make yourself at home."
Naturally, the next place she found herself was in his bedroom doorway. She prayed that it was the guest room, but based on its enormous size, she knew that it wasn't. It was nearly as enormous as the living room, it seemed, with a bed that made her instantly want to climb into it and make herself cozy. She could spot a down comforter a mile away and the white one that adorned his king-sized bed reminded her of how tired she actually was. She would need to call it a night soon.
She chose to ignore the warm, cozy dim lighting that came from the lamps on both of the bedside tables, and the curtain that adorned what was so obviously the large window that took up the entirety of one of the walls of the room. Wanting desperately to see the view, she refrained, and kept both her feet firmly planted outside the threshold of his bedroom. Walking into his apartment was bad enough. His bedroom was the devil's lair.
As if he had read her mind, his voice suddenly sounded right next to her ear, low, smooth, and sending chills down her spine. "The view is spectacular from in here. You can see all of New York City. All of the lights, as far as the eye can see."
She could feel his presence behind her as her eyes landed on his bed again. She could feel his body heat, his closeness. 'Please touch me,' she pleaded silently. 'Please. Touch me. Because I don't have the power to touch you myself.'
"Ice cream?" His voice rang out cheerfully as she turned to watch him walk away.
'No. Please, no. The bed is right there.' "What?"
"Ice cream," he repeated, turning around. "I promised you dessert." That gooney grin would be the death of her, yet.
'This is not what I had in mind,' she pouted silently. Straightening her spine, she replied, "That won't be necessary, thank you."
"Come on," he coaxed her. "It's my specialty."
"Pretty sure it's Ben and Jerry's specialty."
"I'm only taking what they have and making it better." Then he winked at her. "Just like I'm about to do with that building you're buying. Man, I can't wait to tear that thing down."
And that was all she wrote. The magic words. The subject that lured her into the kitchen with him. Talking business was music to her ears.
However, it seemed that that was as far as the business talk was going to go. She couldn't help but be distracted when the ice cream tub made its way out of the freezer. When he retrieved two bowls from a cabinet above the sink, she shook her head as he sat them on the island top. "Um, I won't be having any. Thank you, though."
He studied her for a moment, a flash of surprise crossing his face. "You sure? Is this gonna...you know, turn into some cholesterol lecture or something?"
Juliet smiled and shook her head. "No, I just--um--I'm just not--it's late..."
He shrugged and busied himself with the preparation of his own dessert. "Suit yourself. I just didn't want to eat it in front of you."
"It's--it's really okay."
It was not okay. Juliet's weakness was junk food, any way she could get it. She wasn't entirely sure why she turned the ice cream down. She'd already shared a platter of greasy finger foods in bed with him--and he had been naked.
However, she'd already accused him of eating like a barbarian, she wasn't in the mood to show him what a hypocrite she was.
Sometime, in between her thoughts and him putting the finishing touches on his larger-than-life sundae, she had missed the actual preparation process. But she found herself curling her nose up at how bland it looked. "That's it?" She asked.
"What's it?"
"In your bowl. It's just...a heap of whipped cream."
He raised an amused eyebrow and smirked at her. "Do you have any recommendations?"
She looked at him and she glanced at the bowl and she shrugged a shoulder. "Well...I mean, you just said ice cream was your specialty, I was just expecting...I don't know, something a little more...showy."
"Showy," he repeated.
"You know...put your money where your mouth is and such."
Studying her, he looked her over, his eyes narrowed, before he finally straightened his spine. "Fine." And then he turned around and started digging in his refrigerator.
Her eyes widened as he loaded the island down--he had certainly been holding back! She tried not to let her jaw drop in temptation as she watched him...and at this point, she still wasn't sure if it was the man or the sweets that tempted her.
Interrupting her thoughts, he leaned on the counter and turned his head toward her "Okay. Tell me what I want."
God, that was a loaded command.
Ingredient by ingredient, she guided him through his sundae. Shamelessly, she dominated it with chocolate. There may have been a banana and some strawberries involved in it by the time she was satisfied--at this point she wasn't really sure. But it looked nice and appropriate and she knew that if it was hers, she would be tearing into it as they spoke.
"Well, it's impressive, I'll give you that," he said, nodding toward the bowl. "It's a shame you're not in the mood or whatever your excuse is. I told you ice cream was my specialty."
"Excuse me," she objected. "I practically made that myself."
He raised his eyebrows in question. "Oh. Did you...want to taste it and see if it's to your specifications, then?"
She lifted her chin and she eyed the bowl and then she glanced at him. Then back at the bowl. "Well," she said, her tone short. "It's not in my character to put my name on something that isn't quality. I refuse to put out mediocre work."
"That's an admirable quality to have."
"Yes. I agree."
Not moving an inch of his body, he slid the bowl over to her as if she were a timid animal that might run at any sudden movement. She supposed she could have related to that analogy. It was sort of what she felt like in the moment.
She picked up the spoon that stuck out of the side of the bowl and she modestly fed herself a bite of the dessert. It was absolute, sugary heaven, but she wouldn't dare let it show on her face. Placing the spoon back into the bowl, she slid it back toward him. "That seems adequate."
"Are you sure?" He questioned her, sliding the bowl back toward her. "Did you make sure I evenly distributed everything? Is there enough syrup? Did you even taste the ice cream under there?"
Juliet was silent. That rat bastard. He'd done it again. How did he do this?
She gave in. She gave in so much that she hopped up, unladylike, onto the marble top and crossed her ankles as they dangled off the side. She snatched up the ice cream bowl and she dug in, openly savoring every sweet and tangy flavor that danced on her tongue. "My God, this is magnificent," she mumbled, her mouth stuffed with the best sundae she had ever tasted.
His grin could have been seen across the entire city. "You said you weren't having any. I'm pretty sure that belongs to me."
"Shut up, go find your own," she spat.
Before she knew it, Eric sat beside her on the top of the island with his own bowl and they were laughing over ice cream. It seemed so...innocent and young, almost. Who did this? Who went on ice cream dates anymore? Anyone over the age of twelve? Hell, what did she know about being twelve, when she was twelve, she was--
She shook the memory out of her mind before it entered. She didn't care how innocent or prude it seemed. Eric was so much fun to be around. She didn't feel like she needed alcohol or sex or anything like that to have a good time with him. Just a bowl of ice cream. It blew her mind how something so little could mean so much.
"You know what would make this even more amazing?" She asked him with her mouth full. "Peanut butter."
He looked at her, his eyes wide. "I'm not sure if you're a genius or the devil," he marveled.
She hadn't realized how long they'd sat there, holding their empty bowls until she spied the clock above his stove. She sat her bowl down beside her and she slid herself back onto the floor. "Well, um, Eric. Thank you so much for tonight. I'm, um, I'm sorry I was so difficult in the beginning, but...but I've really had fun."
Following her lead, he smiled at her warmly. "So have I."
Suddenly, her heart physically hurt her at the notion of walking out his door. Was that normal? Maybe she was just nervous about walking home alone in the dark. Maybe that was it. Except that she knew that it wasn't. Walking home alone in the dark was something she could do with her eyes closed.
"Um, anyway, I really should head home. It's late."
"Did you need me to walk you? Drive you? Something? It's dark out there--"
Juliet shook her head and smiled. "No, thank you. I'll be fine."
Collecting her coat and her purse, and then having him walk her to the door, was one of the most nerve-racking experiences she had ever faced. He opened the door for her and the two of them lingered awkwardly for a moment before she finally plastered on a fake smile and breathed cheerfully, "Well. Goodnight, then. Thank you for dinner. And, um, dessert."
"Goodnight," he said softly, being ever the gentleman. "Please be careful. Text me and let me know you've made it home."
"I will," she answered. And then she looked him over one more time and turned around and headed to the elevator.
Had she done right? Should she have kissed him? Or was she better off leaving well enough alone? She wasn't sure. But it was all she could do not to turn around in the middle of the hallway and run straight back to him and into his arms.