EliseDo you have a waffle maker?
I stare down at the text from Justin and frown. Is this some sort of strange sexual innuendo that I’m not familiar with? It wouldn’t surprise me. I’m not exactly hip on all the lingo. I recall a con- versation with Sara and Bailey once where my ho- rizons were broadened to say the least. Who knew there were so many euphemisms for lady parts? Pink taco. Fur burger. Muff. Bearded Clam. The Notorious V. A. G., Red Wagon. Sheesh, that was a hilarious night. Pushing the thoughts away, I shake my head and begin to compose my response.
I don’t think so.
Okay. No problem. See you in 15.
Maybe it wasn’t sexual after all. Maybe he’s just craving waffles and I’m reading way too much into everything. Either way, I have fifteen minutes to ready myself until he arrives, and since it’s not enough time to take a leisurely bath like I wanted to, I pile my hair into a bun, and take the world’s fastest shower, still managing to wash and shave all the important parts somehow in under eight min- utes. I’ve dressed in black leggings and a cream- colored t-shirt when my intercom buzzes.
He’s here.
I pull my hair out of its bun and shake it out around my shoulders so my waves fall back into place.
It’s been a long week of work for me and bru- tal practices for him, and now it’s Friday evening and I have Justin all to myself until tomorrow. I’m practically giddy at the idea of that.
When I answer the door, he’s already smiling. All six foot two of him is happy and excited to see me, and just that secret knowledge does something to me.
“Hey, gorgeous.” His arms are filled with gro- cery bags, and I’m immediately suspicious.
“Hey. What’s all this?” I open the door wider and he steps inside.
“Just a few things I picked up.” He carries the bags into the kitchen where he begins unloading their contents onto the counters. It’s then that I no- tice a duffel bag is strapped around his chest.
I chuckle at the thought of him packing an over- night bag. Surely he didn’t bring pajamas, did he?
Across my counters are various items, bottles of champagne and red wine, a carton of chocolate covered strawberries and two dozen of the biggest pale pink roses I’ve ever seen.
“What in the world?” I ask, grinning.
“I didn’t know if you liked champagne. I couldn’t remember. So I got your favorite red too.”
The label indicates it’s a bottle of red wine that I rarely splurge on—generally only when Owen is buying because it’s forty-five dollars a bottle. And while it tastes so much better than the ten dollar bottles I usually buy, it’s a bit outside of my pre- school teacher’s salary.
“I like champagne. For special occasions.” My voice has gone soft, and apparently Justin notices. Is this a special occasion? I wonder.
His smile fades away into a more predatory look and he moves across the kitchen until we’re standing face-to-face. He places one hand on my waist, lightly squeezing.
Oh. Am I the special occasion?
“But the roses, the chocolate?” I ask, tilting my head in confusion. We’ve already had a re-do on our first time. Haven’t we? Although it wasn’t exactly like careful planning went into it—we just kind of fell in to bed together, our bodies desperate for contact.
He’s quiet for a moment as he takes me in. There’s a look of silent admiration in his eyes. “I wanted to make up for my behavior our first time together. I, um,” He rubs one hand over the back of his neck, looking unsure for just a moment. “I didn’t know for certain it was your first time until after, and I think your first time should be special, right?”
“What are you saying?” I cock my head, study- ing him.
“I want to make tonight special. For you.”
My heart squeezes painfully in my chest. He wants to completely re-do our first time together. It’s the sweetest, kindest thing anyone’s ever done
for me, but I can’t let myself read too much into it.
He fucked up—he’s trying to fix that—end of story.
This isn’t some grand, romantic gesture, and I can’t make it out to be.
“You didn’t have to do all that,” I say, though my smiles conveys how much I appreciate it.
There’s also a bag of nacho flavored chips and a bottle of blue Gatorade. “And this?” I ask with a chuckle.
He grins, removing the duffel bag from over his head and setting it on a nearby dining chair. “Post-sex snack,” he says like that makes perfect sense. “A man needs his replenishment, Elise.”
“Right.” I nod, feigning a serious expression. “Of course.”
“Let’s have a glass of champagne,” he sug- gests. “It’s already chilled.”
“Perfect.”
He gets to work on the cork while I locate two suitable glasses in the cabinet. I don’t have cham- pagne flutes, so my stemless wineglasses will have to do.
While he fills each one with the bubbly golden liquid, I place the roses in a vase of water and sam- ple one of the strawberries.
“Oh my God, so good,” I say, bringing one to his lips so he can taste a bite.
He makes a small, pleased sound as he chews. Then we carry our glasses to the couch and settle in side by side.
“This is so nice. We have all night,” he says, bringing his glass to mine before taking a sip.
I do the same and the bubbles dance across my tongue as I swallow.
It’s crisp and refreshing and delicious. I don’t even want to think about how much this bottle cost. It feels so decadent to me, but maybe this isn’t that big of a splurge to him at all. I often forget that Justin is a millionaire. Mostly because he doesn’t act like it.
I take another sip and try to relax.
“What else did you bring?” I recall that he hadn’t unpacked the last bag of groceries—or the duffel bag.
“I brought pancake mix for the morning, maple syrup, a skillet and a ladle. I wasn’t sure if you had
those.”
I grin at him. “You thought of everything, didn’t you?”
I wonder if he’s also so thoughtful with all his dates, and suddenly I feel a hot pang of envy at all the women who’ve come before me.
I take another sip of my champagne while Jus- tin watches me. I feel so warm and excited already, but clearly I suck at making the first move, because rather than do anything about it, I sit here, drinking my champagne while my heart flutters wildly and I grow more and more impatient.
Finally, he moves closer on the couch, setting his glass down on the table, and then removing mine from my hands to place it beside his.
He offers me his hand and when I accept, he pulls me up and into his lap so I’m straddling him.
“I really was serious about us being exclusive, Elise. For however long this lasts,” he says.
I nod and press my lips to his.
We kiss deeply, our tongues moving together in an unhurried pace as I push my hips into his lap.
“God, I’ve missed you,” he murmurs, his lips
moving to my throat. I move against him, loving the firm feel of his body beneath mine. “I want you.”