by Alina Jacobs
“I can’t cook on the sidewalk, Brea. What will the neighbors think?” her father scoffed.
“I’ll do it then,” she said, grabbing the tongs, duck, and fryer from her father.
Not knowing what else to do, I followed her.
“I am so sorry,” Brea told me as we took the stairs down. “They are just the worst.”
“They aren’t that bad,” I told her, smiling. “They mean well. And they clearly love you and your Roomba siblings.” Brea stuck her tongue out at me, and I kissed her.
When we stepped outside, Brea inspected the deep fryer. “How does this work?”
“Just insert the hose into the opening,” I told her with a smirk.
She snorted, and I kissed her. Then we set up the deep fryer and waited for the oil to heat up.
“Ugh, I wish I’d brought my drink down with me,” Brea said, sitting on the stoop of her building.
“I’ll grab you one,” I offered, kissing her on the head then petting the dead ferret on her hat.
Brea’s parents were finishing the side dishes when I walked back up. They poked their heads out of the narrow galley kitchen. The dad with the elaborate brocaded gown frowned when he saw me.
“I’m just going to take this down to Brea,” I said, grabbing her drink.
“We need to talk,” he said. “Sit.”
I sat.
Beau took a deep breath. “Brea is everything to us. It was the happiest day of our lives when Brea arrived.”
Todd nodded. “She’s perfect. An angel. Don’t you dare hurt her! She’s the sweetest thing.”
“I won’t,” I said honestly. “I care about her a lot.”
Beau stood up and walked to the bar cart. “Yes, but are you serious about her? Do you envision building a life with her?” he asked, posing dramatically.
“Honestly,” I said, “yes. I miss her when she’s not there, I enjoy having her around, she gives me something to look forward to, and I like her little quirks. I also appreciate that she has her own business and values entrepreneurship. I think we complement each other well. I could envision building a life with her, yes.”
Beau nodded. “Excellent. Because she just set your car on fire.”
“What the fuck?” I ran to the window. Billows of black smoke poured out of my car. “Shit!”
Sirens blared in the distance as I raced downstairs.
“Are you all right?” I asked Brea, hugging her to me as the flames roared out of my car. I held her out at arm’s length to examine her. “Where’s your hat?”
Brea gestured helplessly. “I think I put in too much oil, then it shot up, and my hat just lit up like a bonfire. I screamed and threw it off and accidentally tipped over the oil, and then…” More helpless gesturing.
The fire department showed up and doused the car with water. In a matter of seconds it was dripping and steaming…and ruined.
“God help me,” the fire captain said when he saw us.
“Snacks and refreshments for the first responders?” Brea’s father offered, sailing outside with a platter of appetizers. “We don’t have any duck, but we have a lovely fennel-and-apple salad, prosciutto, and imported cheese. Please, everyone can just help themselves.”
Brea slumped back down onto the steps as the firemen happily ate.
“So,” she said.
“So.”
“I guess you’re ready to ghost me, and I’ll just be that story you tell people about the crazy girl you dated.”
I leaned over and kissed her. “I think I’ll keep dating you,” I whispered against her mouth, “on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t tell my mom I had dinner with your parents. She’s going to want to host a dinner, and then you’ll really see what crazy looks like.”
38
Brea
I still reeked of burnt fur the next morning. I also felt terrible for ruining Mark’s car.
“I’m going to make it up to him,” I said to one of the Roombas. I was alone in the apartment. My parents were doing some retail therapy after the excitement of yesterday.
It was the weekend, so Mark should be home. His condo was bare bones, so I decided to do a little sprucing up for him. My parents had cabinets full of random knickknacks, and they were always telling me to give them to friends. Who didn’t want a vintage belt buckle from the 1950s?
Some of these knickknacks would look nice in Mark’s condo, especially since they did lean more masculine. I loaded them up in an old suitcase, along with some equipment to make him a nice brunch, and headed over to Mark’s condo. But when I stood outside, I suddenly wondered if this was actually a good idea. Was it weird that I showed up with stuff to decorate a condo that I’d only been in a couple times and make him breakfast?
“Are you here to see Mark?” an older woman wearing a large hat and a disapproving expression asked me. “Honestly. It’s a Sunday. He can’t just have women coming in and out at all hours! I live across the hall from him, and it’s nonstop! I’m taking the matter up with the condo board.” She turned to the doorman, who was clearly struggling not to roll his eyes.
“Miss,” he told me, “you’re free to go up and see Mark.”
“You’re letting that girl in here? She smells like a trash-can fire.”
I snuck past the woman berating the doorman and made him a silent promise that I was going to bring him a muffin later.
The wagon wheels squeaked as I rolled out of the elevator after it dinged on Mark’s floor. His door loomed in front of me. My stomach churned. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. I could either dump my load and escape down the stairs, or I could actually, you know, be an adult and talk to Mark.
I chose the stairs. I was in the process of picking my baking equipment out of the wagon when the door was flung open and a squat, chubby corgi sprinted out of the apartment, Beowulf hot on his heels.
“Why did you open the door?” a man who sounded like Mark asked in exasperation. “Carter, what the hell?”
Three dark-haired, blue-eyed men sprinted out after the dogs as the elevator dinged. The nosy neighbor stepped off.
“My word,” she said, looking down her nose as the corgi stopped right in front of her and dropped a bright-green dildo at her feet. Beowulf slammed into him, and the dogs careened against her sensible shoes.
“Uhh,” Mark said.
“Hi, Mrs. Patel!” Carter said cheerfully.
“What,” she said, “is that?” She pointed to the dildo.
“She looks a little woozy,” Grant said in concern. “Do you need us to help you to your couch, Mrs. Patel?”
Mrs. Patel recoiled. “Why do you have that here? This is a nice building. I’m going to report you. I don’t know what you all are doing in that apartment, but I will put a stop to it!”
Grant saluted her, and Mark scooped up the dogs. The three men and Mrs. Patel looked at each other in a game of chicken regarding who was going to pick up that dildo.
“I mean, you did pay for it, Mark,” I huffed as I marched over and pick it up. It was covered in dog drool.
The corgi wagged his tail excitedly as Mark shooed us all into his condo and slammed the door.
Carter flopped onto Mark’s couch. “That was exciting.”
“Get out,” Mark said. He picked up the corgi and handed it to Grant.
“He’s got company,” Grant said, winking dramatically to Carter.
“There’s no hanky-panky planned,” I insisted. “I’m going to cook for him and decorate his condo.”
“Finally!” Carter said, petting the corgi’s head. “Mark’s condo is the saddest, most depressing place I’ve ever been. Save us some food, Mark!”
“You have your own homes,” Mark snapped at his family members.
I giggled. “I mean, I can cook for everyone.”
“Absolutely not,” Mark said, pushing them out the door while I searched for a place to put the dildo.
“I don’t think anyone shou
ld use that. I would toss it, but geez, five hundred dollars.”
“Did you really come to decorate?” Mark asked me with a grin.
“I feel bad that yesterday was so horrible. And,” I joked, “if you don’t mind the smell of scorched tires, I can even give you a super-special brunch item, if you’re hungry.”
“I am actually.” He wrapped his hands around my hips and made his move.
“We’re talking about a different type of hunger based on how you’re looking at me, aren’t we?” I said, looking his way.
“I figure I better take care of you since, uhm... Beowulf made your present there into a toy. Would be a bit unsanitary to use it to take care of yourself.”
“So you’re going to take care of it for me?”
“Well, I want to make sure you’re taken good care of.”
“I guess I can’t protest.”
He hoisted me up onto the kitchen counter and grabbed my panties to pull them down my legs.
He was immediately in lust for me, and I loved it. He leaned in again to place a kiss right on my lips before scooping me up off the counter and carrying me away.
“What? Where are we going?”
“Taking you to bed. Because you deserve better than the kitchen counter.”
“You make it sound so sweet.”
“Did you want to be fucked on the kitchen counter?”
“I just want to be fucked.”
“That’s my girl.”
He took us to the bedroom, leaving a trail of discarded clothes behind us. He threw me down on his bed, fished a condom out of the drawer, slid it on, and then pushed into me.
As wet and hot as I was, I took his thick, long cock to the hilt.
The rush of his penetration, the immense bliss that it pushed through me—I struggled to believe that I would ever grow tired of this, ever stop yearning for his cock. He was all too happy to give me anything and everything I wanted. His chest rubbed against my nipples, the delightful friction that sparked the blaze between us pleasantly adding to the visceral sensations we were both enjoying.
My legs closed around him as I started to grind against his cock, needing to feel more of him, to experience all this bliss just a little more, just a little longer. My fingers clawed his back as the tide rose inside me, the pace of our act rumbling through me and making it harder and harder to keep my mouth shut.
I called out for him, loud and incoherent but still enjoying Mark’s own struggles to keep himself together. Only his discipline and bravado kept him from expressing his lust as loudly as I was, and that fact brought quite the smirk to my face. Mark quickly turned it into a whimper as he reached down to stroke my clit.
I was close and couldn’t control myself anymore. Our pace was furious, and it wasn’t long before I was rushing over the edge of pleasure. Mark cursed as he came.
“You’re such a good fuck,” he said, kissing me on the corner of my mouth appreciatively. I just flashed him a smile as I sprawled against him. He petted my hair then kissed me. “You don’t smell like a tire fire,” he said, cuddling me close. “You actually smell more like a chemical fire.”
“You really know how to make a girl feel special. And to think I was going to make your condo feel homey,” I complained as I pushed out of his bed.
“No, come back.”
“I’m washing my hair if I smell like a chemical fire,” I told him.
Mark prowled after me into the bathroom.
Even knowing he was behind me, I was quick to get the hot water flowing. I did want to clean myself up, even if I also wanted whatever Mark was planning on giving me.
He stripped off the last bit of his clothing as I desperately tried to get a little bit of bathing done. The hot water running down my hair and body felt wonderful.
What was more wonderful was him climbing in behind me, his cock already poking at my ass. He had come equipped and ready for me.
“You can’t just stand there naked, the water streaming over those perfect tits, and not expect me to want to fuck you again, Brea.” He rolled a condom onto his cock and flung the wrapper outside the shower.
Not even a moment later, he thrust himself inside me and immediately set a hard and fast pace, as if we hadn’t even finished moments before. He was quick to make the sexual heat raging between us even fiercer. He had me pressed against the shower wall, the chill of the tile making my nipples hard.
Mark was in full control of me, holding me tightly, rubbing my clit, his cock sliding out then taking me fully again and again. The hot water splashing down on us just added a bit of sensory joy to the situation, a soothing contrast to the very intense heat that was building inside me.
Reckless and fast, it was all a continuation of what we had just been doing. He was fucking me hard and fast to another orgasm, and with a finger on my clit, he took me right there.
Smooshed against a wall, I moaned for him. My voice echoed through the bathroom as Mark held me tight and I enjoyed my release. I whimpered as he continued to thrust into me and then came, shuddering, in my pussy. With him, it would be easy to spend forever and a day just doing this again and again.
The thought was tantalizing and frightening. But when I turned to face him, his smile and his wet hair plastered against his forehead made me only feel safe and happy.
“Did you work up an appetite?” I purred against him as the spray of the water washed away the signs of our lovemaking.
We stepped out of the shower, and Mark wrapped me in a large, fluffy towel.
“I’m seriously jealous of your bathroom,” I told him. “It’s bigger than my entire bedroom.” I pushed away from him before he could think that I was fishing for money or to have him improve my lifestyle. I was not Memphis Eve.
“You hungry?”
“I mean—”
“You want food?” I stuck my tongue out at him and went into the kitchen then impulsively hugged the white countertops. “A big, fancy kitchen like this—I’m sure you don’t take care of it properly and satisfy its needs,” I said.
“I haven’t heard any complaint from you,” Mark said, wrapping his arms around my waist and kissing me.
I am scarily becoming used to this.
“Let’s see what you have in here,” I said loudly as I browsed through his cupboards and fridge. “Eggs? Check. Bacon? Check. Some lemons, and you even have asparagus!”
“I’m an adult. I can shop for stuff,” Mark said defensively.
“You went out and bought asparagus?” I asked incredulously.
“Okay,” Mark admitted, “Liz gave me the asparagus because she made Wes buy her a whole crate of it, and she was afraid it was going to go bad. But I bought the eggs.”
“They’re very nice eggs,” I assured him. “Look, they even have a picture of the hen who laid them! Adorable!” I selected four from the carton.
“You like eggs Benedict?” I asked him. “I hope so, because that’s what we’re having. And I’m making muffins, though they aren’t going to be as nice as Chloe’s.” I sighed. “I guess it’s a good thing I don’t live anywhere near Frost Tower, not that I could afford it. I’d spend all my disposable income at that bakery.”
Mark was looking at me warily. “You’re not making sugary muffins, are you?”
“No, I am making a loaded breakfast muffin with cheddar, sausage, and spinach, since you have some in your freezer.”
“Good,” Mark said, relieved.
“Also I’m making chocolate muffins with a chocolate glaze.”
“So a cupcake.”
“No,” I insisted as I measured out the wet ingredients. “A muffin. It’s not going to have icing; it has a glaze. It’s practically healthy!”
“Do you need any help?” Mark asked uncertainly as I took my emulsion blender out of the cart.
“Nope, this is a special time between me and your glorious kitchen. I envy you for being able to start your morning here. Shoot, the light here is so good that I’d just put a table up by that w
indow and sew and basically just go between the coffeepot and the window all day. I may have to come over here more often with an array of goodies!”
“Actually,” Mark said as he and Beowulf perused the cart of goods I had brought, “I’m thinking of moving.”
I paused in shock. “You’re leaving?”
39
Mark
Brea seemed hurt.
“You can’t like this apartment that much,” I argued. “It’s small, and it has a crazy neighbor.”
“Small!” she choked out.
“I mean, relatively speaking. It’s not even the entire floor! I don’t have two stories. I’ve been looking at bigger places. For example, there are several two-story units in Frost Tower, which would be convenient, because I could just take the elevator down to my office.”
“Ohhh ha ha,” Brea said with a relieved laugh. “I thought you were like moving moving, like away.”
“Away where?”
“I don’t know. Aren’t you from Connecticut?”
“I am not moving back home,” I said emphatically. “Here.” I handed her my tablet, which had been sitting on the coffee table. “See if you like any of these places.”
“You’re the one buying it,” Brea said, uncomfortable.
“Yes,” I said, “but I want you to come over.”
Ask her to move in with you.
No, that’s weird.
“I’d like to have you over there a lot. For long periods of time.”
Brea seemed uncertain.
Get it together.
“So,” I said, hastily swiping pictures. “How do you like this kitchen?”
I showed Brea pictures while she finished cooking the brunch.
“That converted warehouse is nice,” she said as she handed me a plate. Along with the broiled asparagus and eggs Benedict, she had also made hash browns with big chunks of potatoes and onions and, of course, the muffins. She bit into a chocolate one.
“You’re eating your dessert first,” I teased.
“You ate yours first!” she retorted.
