by Roxie Odell
“What’s that?” he asked.
“I don’t know how you do it. You’re actually making me feel tons better about something I took so seriously just a little while ago. I can’t believe the difference. You’re like…medicine.”
“I’m far from perfect, Cheri.” The sincerity in his eyes seared her heart. “You’re my medicine. My cure, and I plan on treating you right.”
“I was so awful,” she said shaking her head. “So stupid.”
“So was I,” said Thomas, taking her hands in his. “Take it as a lesson learned and we’ll never do it again.”
“You say all the right things,” she said, then eagerly changed the subject before she lost her appetite. “I did do something positive.”
“Do tell.”
“Well, you asked me to think about my dream life, my dream job.”
“And?” he coaxed, then stuffed a piece of fried zucchini into his mouth that their server had just set on their table.
“Well, this might sound kind of vague, but…” She paused, suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed. Still trying to find myself at my age? What the hell?
“What is it?” he asked.
“I want to be really comfortable.”
“How so? I’m not sure what you mean. Financially?”
“No, not that. Well, that would be nice, but that’s not quite what I meant. I think I’d like to work from home,” she said, “except I’m not sure what I’d do. I spent years dressing up for someone else. Now I’d love to just dress down and push myself. I know I could do it. Just not sure what I’d do.” She probably wasn’t making any sense.
“Can’t you just do what you were doing in the office? You could freelance or work as a consultant,” he said.
“Yeah,” she said as the smile returned to her face.
“Open up,” Thomas said, then perched a piece of their appetizer at her lips to tease her, knowing full well what he was doing for her. It was no secret to either of them that just being near one another was perpetual foreplay.
The salad and bread were absolutely perfect, light yet satisfying, and between that and the conversation Cheri somehow felt completely restored.
Walking back to the jobsite was just as nice as walking to the restaurant. She was so proud to be on the arm of this tall, handsome man, but as they took a shortcut that led them past her old office pangs of remorse pained her once again.
“Hey,” he said, sensing her discomfort and giving her hand a reassuring squeeze, “it’s gonna be okay. Maybe sometime down the road, when you’re where you’re supposed to be, you can try to apologize again… if you even want to. On the other hand, it might be best to just let it go.” With that, he kissed her sweetly on the forehead.
“I guess I have to get used to that,” she said with a faint smile.
Noah pulled her car out to the street for her. “Here ya go, miss,” he said kindly, handing the keys back to her. “Nice little ride ya got there.”
Cheri thanked him and walked around to inspect the tire that had been low before lunch.
“Something wrong with your car?” Thomas asked, looking at her with concern.
“No, just checking,” she said. “I had to put some air in that tire on the way over.”
“A slow leak?” Noah asked and came around to check the wheel. “Looks okay right now.”
“I think it just went flat because it’s been a gazillion years since I drove it last,” she said. “I’m sure it’s fine.”
As if there was no one around, Thomas winked at her again. “Personally, I think you’re more than fine,” he said, grinning at her.
Cheri blushed as both men chuckled.
“Um, I guess that’s my cue to get back to work,” Noah said.
“Thanks, man,” Thomas said before he walked away.
“He’s a nice guy.” Cheri came back around the car.
“Yeah, a real keeper. Most of my guys and gals on this crew are. Anyway, I’ll stop by on my way home,” Thomas said. “Maybe you can cook me dinner?”
“It’s the least I can do,” she said. “You’re okay with microwaved eggs and stale coffee, right?” she teased.
“I’m okay with you,” he said, with a serious edge in his sexy voice that nearly knocked her off her feet.
She turned around and gazed at him, and could feel their passionate pull even though they weren’t standing close together. Despite their agreement to just be friends for a while, she desperately yearned to kiss him, and her passion seemed to rise several degrees every second. Feeling feverish for him in every way, she somehow found the strength to get back in her car and head home, hoping she wouldn’t melt in her seat during the few minutes’ commute.
At a stop sign, she picked up her phone to see if she’d missed anything. It was just an email, and she thought it best to wait till she pulled into her driveway to read it, in case it was another nasty message from her former employer. The last thing she wanted was to die over a bad case of road rage.
Pulling into the driveway, she opened the email and was happy to discover it was a response to the résumé that she’d sent out. It was to the head-hunter company that could help find her a job.
Feeling much better and more encouraged, she practically skipped up her walk. When she gripped the doorknob and reached down to put her key in it, she discovered it was already unlocked. “Damn it, Cheri,” she scolded. Her head had been caught in a perpetual fog for months due to her drinking, and she was still doing dumb and careless things in the wake of it, even without a drop of poison in her system. Cheri lived in an okay neighborhood, but D.C. was a small city, a microcosm of larger ones, so it changed from block to block. It was never a good idea to not lock up, and she had to chalk that up to another lesson learned, another reminder that she should have listened to Thomas’s sage advice in the first place. She hated admitting that he was right, but he often was.
She sat on her sofa to read the head-hunter’s note more thoroughly. It told her that she could interview for temp and permanent jobs right away, but they needed to meet with her in person first, to reconnect after such a long time. Cheri was thrilled, and her first impulse was to text Thomas with the good news, but then she decided to savor it herself for a little while. He’ll be over at dinnertime, she thought. It can wait. She responded to the head-hunter to ask if she could meet with them the next day, and a reply came back shortly after that tomorrow would work.
Feeling relaxed, she could focus on the dinner menu.
She wanted to make Thomas a tri-tip, but it wasn’t something she had in her fridge, so she walked around the corner to the fresh market. “What’s the best way to cook it?” she asked the friendly butcher, who always wielded his hacksaws and knives with a smile.
“It would be best to serve it tomorrow,” he sputtered out from beneath his busy mustache. “A nice salt, pepper, and garlic rub would be delicious. Let it dry out in the refrigerator for a day, then serve it. This is for dinner tomorrow, no?”
“I was hoping to serve it tonight,” Cheri said.
“It’ll still be edible tonight,” he said with a wink and a smile. “Either way, you’ve chosen a delicious cut, one of my best, but it’ll be better if you wait.”
Yeah, like everything else, she thought with a groan. “What would be good for tonight?” she said as it occurred to her that the tri-tips would make an excellent celebration dinner the next day, after her meeting with the head-hunter.
“Fish or chicken?” he asked.
“Chicken,” she said; remembering the erotic moment when Thomas once fed her prawns still made her head spin.
“We have game hens,” he said, then walked around the counter and pointed to a crate of new potatoes. “They can be served with these.”
“How do I cook them?”
“Boil ‘em first, then smash each one individually. Sprinkle with garlic, salt, pepper and parmesan, and roast them on a cookie sheet beneath the hens. Perfecto!” he said, kissing his fingers.
&
nbsp; Cheri smiled. “And how do I season the hens?”
“A lemon and little tarragon. That’s all they need.”
“I think I love you,” she replied with a teasing wink.
The butcher’s face scrambled into a strange expression at her random compliment. “Perhaps not,” he said, “but the man you do love will love such a feast!”
“Thanks,” she amended, blushing as red as the tomatoes nearby.
As she finished her shopping, she recalled all the meals she and Thomas had eaten together. There had always been some kind of alcohol involved, and she realized her drinking had been more ongoing than she thought. She quickly decided they didn’t need wine or champagne to enjoy one another’s company, at least not the regular kind. Instead, she found a selection of non-alcoholic drinks in tall, skinny bottles, and she was sure that would be just as romantic, leaving them sober enough to remember it and talk coherently.
During her walk back from the store, Cheri regretted her decision to hoof it. She was still thin, without an ounce of fat on her, but her drinking had cost her a lot in the way of fitness, endurance, and stamina. By the time she stepped up to her front door, her weakened arms were aching with the pain of carrying her bags.
She prepped the food exactly as the butcher advised. She rubbed the hens with lemon, butter, tarragon, and a pinch of salt, then let them sit. As the new potatoes boiled, she went to her room to pick out the proper dinner attire, something hot but not too hot, as she wanted to try to honor Thomas’s no-sex rule. He had been right so far, and there was no sense in doubting him. Still, there’s no harm in being sexy, she decided, as she did want to keep the fires stoked. It was kind of erotic to tease and flirt without giving in. It was also nice having a conversation that didn’t end in mauling, not that she ever minded the mauling. It didn’t take her long to settle on the perfect outfit, tempting but also temperate.
She set dinner on simmer and went up to her room to take a catnap. She was more worn out than she realized, and there was nothing like being able to crash when she needed to. Cheri loved naps, though, and she laughed at herself as she put that second on her list of heart’s desires: “Nap whenever I want to.” Thomas had challenged her to dare to dream, and that was one dream she could really get behind. Wouldn’t be great for a job application but it sounded sweet now.
When she awoke from her sweet, intense sleep, Cheri texted Thomas to tell him that dinner would be ready when he got there.
“Can’t wait,” he wrote, making her smile from the inside out.
She freshened up and dressed, then ran down to put on the apron that hung in her kitchen, the perfect sexy complement to her high heels. She glanced in her mirror and was proud to see herself looking so perfect, as perfect as the meal she’d prepared. She’d somehow done a complete 180 from the hangovers that plagued her life just a few days prior, and she knew it was all for the better. She could not have predicted things would ever turn out so well.
When he arrived, he offered her nothing but praise. “I had no idea you were so multi-talented.”
She loved the way he looked at her, but that expression still encumbered her with fleeting jealousy. She tried to push it aside but somehow couldn’t. Did he look at other women that way? She took a deep breath and tried to remind herself that it was only dinner, and that they were going to take it slow, even though, once again, they seemed to be spending every moment they could together, every chance they got.
“I was gonna make steak for you, but the butcher suggested letting it marinate overnight.”
“These hens are huge,” he said, leaning over the table to kiss her. “I might need a doggie bag.”
“Well, we could share one if you want.”
“I’ll share anything with you, Cheri,” he said, then cut into the chicken and took a bite.
Cheri waited and watched him for a moment, as she wanted to see his face when he tasted her cooking. She was quite displeased when it scrunched up as if he’d bitten into something rotten or poisonous. She felt even worse when he rocketed out of his chair and spat it out into the trashcan.
“What’s wrong?!” Horrified she’d just poisoned him, she glanced at his plate and then hers.
“It’s bad,” he said. “Tastes like a salt lick and kinda burned my mouth.”
“But how? I just bought it fresh this afternoon,” she protested, “and I only used a little salt.” She quickly put her nose down to smell the closest chicken, and she didn’t catch any sort of rancid aroma. She touched it and put her finger to her tongue, and it was super salty, which was very confusing.
“Maybe I just got a bad bite,” he said then cut a piece off from the bottom of the bird, one he had to spit out as well. It was so bad that he hurriedly grabbed the first drink he spotted to rinse his mouth out. “No pun intended,” he said, “but that’s just…foul.”
“Why don’t we try this one?” she said, with a sinking feeling it was going to be more of the same.
“Let me,” he said, but it was more of the same.
Cheri’s lip quivered. “Maybe it’s the plumbing,” she said, trying not to cry. “I mean, I used tap water, and—”
“They don’t put salt in the drinking water, Cheri,” he said sympathetically.
She got up and checked her container of salt and noticed that it was nearly empty. A quick look at the foil lining the roasting pan revealed an excess of salt in the juices. “Oh shit,” she said. “I-I’m so sorry, Thomas. I guess I wasn’t paying attention.” It didn’t make sense. She’d been sure she’d only used a small amount.
He pulled her to his hip. “C’mere,” he said. “It looked and smelled great, just like you. You were trying so hard to impress me. Maybe you overdid things a little.”
“Or maybe I got the directions mixed up. The butcher said to rub the steak I bought with a bunch of salt, so… Oh, I don’t know,” she said, flustered as she tried to remember what she’d done. “I didn’t mean to ruin dinner.”
“Nothing’s ruined, Cheri. Just set them in water and let them soak overnight. That should take care of the salt, and we can eat them tomorrow,” he said. “Meanwhile, why not eat the steak?”
“It has to sit overnight, too. I didn’t cook it yet,” she said sadly, nearly unable to control her quivering lip.
“How many hours has it been?” he asked, ever the optimist.
“I don’t know. Maybe four,” Had she screwed up the dinner? What an idiot! Someone must’ve snuck in the house and sabotaged her food. That seemed more believable. Or not
“Let’s take a look,” he said.
She had put the steak in the crisper all by itself on a plate, and it was coated with seasonings, precisely as the butcher had instructed.
“I’ll bet it’s good to go now,” he said. “You know what’s great about steak?”
“No, what?” she asked with a shrug, still embarrassed about the chicken.
“It doesn’t take long to cook. Do you have any veggies?” he asked. “We can sauté it all together.”
She smiled. “And no, um…dessert, right?”
“Right,” he said, looking up to the ceiling, as if he was praying for strength. “We have to try to be good,” he said, playfully admonishing her. “If it makes you feel any better, you’re killing me here.”
“Thomas…” she said sensually.
“Yes?” he replied.
“I really don’t know how to cook a steak,” she confessed, batting tears from her eyelashes.
“That’s okay,” he said. “I can handle my meat,” he teased. “Yes, ma’am,” he said with a mock bow. “Now, milady, I’ll do the cooking, and you go ahead and set those salty birds in the biggest pot you’ve got, filled to the brim with water. They’re totally salvageable. As for the potatoes, we’ll broil them. We can give all that another try, tomorrow maybe.”
She watched him sauté onions and the broccoli and said, “That looks good, but I was gonna save it for tomorrow, after I meet with my recruiter.” Aka th
e head-hunter.
“The recruiter?” he answered with a smile. “That’s good news.”
“Yeah,” she shared. “They can find me temp or permanent work, whatever I want.”
“I vote for temp, but I’m only thinking of myself,” he said, then cupped her head and kissed the top of it.
She pressed her fingers into his forearms as they paused to touch each other. Cheri couldn’t help but savor the wonderful feeling of that momentary contact, which was far more succulent than any recipe they’d ever be able to whip up on the stove. “I would love to pick and choose my schedule,” she said, “but I also need lots of dough.”
“This might be one of the few times you get in your life when you can take it easy, seeing as how you have a really great friend around who’s willing to back you.”
“Thanks, Thomas,” she said, then accepted his incredibly warm and comfortable hug.
“I have a proposition,” he said.
“You do? I’m almost afraid to ask,” she teased.
“I say we find something to watch and eat our dinner in front of the TV. We can cuddle, but maybe a movie or some old reruns will help us take our minds off, uh…things. Is there anything you’d like to watch?”
It was a simple suggestion, but it sounded like the best idea in the world. They ate their amazing dinner, put the chicken away for the next day, then returned to the couch and settled on a rom-com that happened to be Cheri’s favorite. She respected Thomas greatly for his willingness to sit through a chick flick with her, but neither of them seemed to be able to pay much attention to it, since their chemistry had them both squirming.
They struggled to get comfortable, and it was clear to Cheri they were both in agony over this no-sex rule. They couldn’t help but enmesh their limbs. Cheri draped her leg over his legs, half-sitting on him, and grinded her center against his massive thigh. Thomas braced her with wide, broad hands, and they kissed far more passionately than the couple on the screen. His mouth was so sweet, so hot, and Cheri breathed deeply, drawing in his scent, an aphrodisiac like none other.
His hands roamed, seeking the firm curves of her buttocks. When he found them, he broke into a sensual massage. He pressed against her and pushed her into him, and within moments they were in jeopardy of breaking their own rules, of smashing through their healthy boundaries from both sides.
