“Tomorrow? I’d blow off the game tonight but we’re in the middle of a huge battle and I don’t want to let the party down.”
Ugh. How can I get upset at a guy who respects his friends? Unlike me, because I’m already mentally thinking up a good reason to cancel my normal Friday evening supper and drinks with Ingrid. Instead, a bit of good friendship slips in.
“Can I text you later? I normally have a Friday supper thing. But I’ll see.”
“No, don’t cancel your plans. Besides, if you get home later and I’m around, I can come over.”
Booty call? Or game call? Ugh. This man.
“You need some help cleaning up before I go?”
“Ha. As if. There’s still plenty of food left over. I’m going to have seconds in about twenty minutes. Unless you want to take some with you?” Normally, I try hiding my voracious appetite but I don’t think he’s likely to judge.
“No, you enjoy it. Game nights are always a junk fest, so I’ll be good.”
He tilts his head towards the hall.
“I gotta go.”
I’m not gonna lie. I’m disappointed. I want him to stay. There’s something about him that I like. Maybe it’s the easy way I can talk to him. Or perhaps it’s because I’m trying to figure out what this thing is between us. Either way, I don’t want to be alone. Still, I walk him to the door.
“What time do you normally stop playing?”
“Late. At least midnight.”
Our eyes meet.
“I might still be awake then.”
That’s code for you can come over if you like.
“I’ll text when I’m done to see if that’s true.”
Is that code for anything?
Maybe it’s just me, but it seems as if my hallway has gotten much narrower. He seems to fill the space. I step a little closer. The internationally recognized invitation to kiss. Message received, it seems.
Okay. So it’s not a grab me in his arms, sweep me off my feet kind of kiss. Instead, it’s a peck on the forehead. And a whispered, “Talk to you soon.”
And he’s gone.
He’s gone and I’m still confused. What does a forehead kiss mean? Friends kiss on the cheek. Lovers kiss on the mouth. What the hell does a forehead kiss mean?
That’s it. This confusion isn’t healthy. I have a new plan for the night. Devour the Chinese food, turn off my cell, and fall asleep reading some Cicero. In Latin.
Friday morning.
There’s a reason why Ingrid is my best friend. That reason is that I can call her at six am and have her meet me in my office for breakfast so I can tell her all about Evan. Well, not all about him. Not the nerdy bits. Just the sexual frustration bits. All she needs to know is that he’s hot.
“How hot?”
“Think a cross between Matthew McConaughey and Bradley Cooper.”
Yea. I’ve put a lot of thought into this since last night. I know how my friend works.
“How is that even possible?” Ingrid nearly chokes on her bagel. “What genetic code exists in Newfoundland to create such a creature? If there’s a town on this island capable of making a man like that, tell me where it is and I’m there.”
Ingrid was born and raised in St. John’s, and yet she’s managed to hold on to her parents’ general sense of self-righteousness that they brought here with them when they emigrated from Norway.
She takes another bite of her bagel.
“Sorry, Jill, but you must have it bad for this guy if that’s where your mind is going.”
“That’s just it. I don’t understand this. I mean, lust I get. You know I understand that.”
She doesn’t need to grin that way.
“I don’t know, Ingrid. It’s stupid because I’ve hardly spent any time with him. And yet, I feel like I’ve met someone important here. Which is why I don’t want to screw it up by making the first move.”
“Why not? Then you’d know. If he kisses you back, then it’s all good.”
“And if he doesn’t, then what? Then I’ve wrecked any chance of getting to know him because we’ll have this awkward kiss between us. And then I’ll have to find someone else to do the work on the house, and I’ll end up reading all those text messages over and over and driving you and me nuts.”
By nature, I am not neurotic. I swear. Pacing and dithering and generally being wishy-washy over a guy is atypical. And Ingrid knows it as much as I do.
“Sit down. This office is the size of a broom closet. There’s not enough room for all that movement.” Her long blonde hair is swept back in a loose braid. It’s a little unnerving having a Scandinavian beauty as your closest friend, especially one who oozes creativity from her pores. She’s the host of a local news talk show and knows everyone. Unfortunately, she’s also opinionated and judgmental.
“Now, here’s what you are going to do. Forget supper with me. Go out with him. And be upfront. If you don’t want to test his interest by luring him into making out with you, then do what you do best. Be blunt.”
“Do you know how much I hate you when you’re right?”
“About as much as you love me when I’m right. Now enough about you. You haven’t even asked how it’s going with me and rough neck.”
This is an ongoing saga with Ingrid. Her affair with a married oil worker from Scotland is a source of much strife, mainly because she’s under the impression that he’s actually separated from his wife despite all signs that point to him being a dirty old liar.
She’s just launched into a précis of their latest email exchange when there’s a knock on my door. It’s not even nine. I can’t imagine any students of mine being on campus this early in the morning during the summer semester.
For the second time in a week, Evan manages to surprise me.
“I come bearing tea and scones,” he says, leaning against the door frame. His hair is windblown. The grey knit sweater he was wearing the first time I spotted him is tight across his shoulders and chest. A green t-shirt is visible around the collar line. I could rip the clothes off him where he stands.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had a meeting.”
“Don’t mind me,” Ingrid says. “I’m late for work as it is.”
There might be a way she could be more obvious about sizing him up, but it might involve her taking out a measuring tape and asking to measure his biceps.
She’s barely out of sight when I get a text from her.
-More McConaughey than Cooper. Dare I say maybe even Christian Bale? Yum.-
Only Ingrid would think that. Regardless, Evan is none of them, really. Maybe I am delusional because he looks better than any hunky Hollywood icon I can think of. Certainly more real.
“How was your game last night?”
“Terrible.”
“What? Why?”
“Because I shouldn’t have left your house last night. Not without doing this.”
Okay. Flick your mind to all those hot kisses you’ve seen in the movies. You know the ones. The guy walks into a room, strides purposefully towards the object of his desire and doesn’t stop until he’s kissed her senseless. That’s the kind of kiss this is.
A “where have you been all my life” sort of kiss.
A “you haven’t been kissed until you’ve been kissed by me” kiss.
His confidence in his skill as a kisser of merit is evident in the way he moves so effortlessly from cupping my face to holding me so I don’t tumble to the floor in the unexpected heat of the moment. As if he knew the very instant when my body gave up its own will and succumbed to the overwhelming need to just be part of him.
Message received. Loud and clear. And sort of minty.
“Did you come here with that all planned?” Yes. I’m a little giddy. And breathless.
“I don’t know about planned, but it was top of mind.”
“You spit out your gum before coming here.”
“You have an unusually high perception skill.”
“I
don’t know what you’re talking about, but let’s do that again.”
And we do. Two more times, once pressed up against my office door, and then again maybe five minutes later. Okay. Closer to two.
I don’t know where time has gone, but it’s getting close to teaching time.
“Let me walk you to your class,” he says as he swings a backpack over his shoulder.
Do I want that? Do I want his nephew to see us together?
“Eddie won’t be in class today. He’s still out home.”
“That’s spooky.”
“What?”
“How you can read my mind.”
“That’s not spooky. It’s just common sense.”
“Whatever.”
“Whatever? You just incapacitated me with kisses and now you’re giving me the whatever? Fickle female.”
Honestly. I don’t know how to react around him. The traditional Jillian rules of flirting just don’t seem to apply here.
“I’m kidding,” he says, giving me a playful nudge with his elbow. “Let me carry your bag for you. Then you can enjoy your tea.”
“So aside from coming by to start my morning off perfectly, anything else bring you by?”
“Two things, actually. First, I was hoping to maybe get started on the work this weekend. When you’re dealing with outdoor work in Newfoundland, it’s better to let the forecast set your hours and this weekend is looking good.”
“Absolutely. Do you work shirtless?”
Might as well put it all out there now. If he’s going to come on all strong, then he best be prepared for the hot mess he’s getting himself involved with.
“I charge extra for that. But maybe we can work out a special payment plan.”
“What? Letting you strip my walls bare isn’t enough?”
“Dr. Carew, I have a suspicion you are a very naughty woman.”
“There’s nothing suspicious about it. And this is my stop.”
Normally, I love having a class on the same floor, in the same building, as my office. Now I’m sort of hating it.
“I might still be here when you finish. Cell service is crap in the tunnels, but you might find me over where the kids hang out playing magic.”
“Doing what?” He’s a magician now? How am I ever going to explain his hobbies to any normal person?
Oh, Evan. He’s hot, right? Manly man. Works in construction and loves the environment. But he also likes to pretend he’s a dwarf, and he dabbles in the black arts. This is not going to be easy.
“Propediem te videbo.”
And now he speaks Latin?
“Don’t looked shocked. I Googled it. Means ‘see you soon.’ But I guess you know that.” He winks.
Yea, he might have Googled it, but at least he gave more than the standard vale, which is what most would come up with.
I’m used to dating smart people. Intellectuals need to get frisky too, you know, and brains turn me on. But this guy is smart in a way I’ve never encountered before. What am I saying? He’s everything in a way I’ve never encountered before. He’s a bit of a paradox. Body of a Greek god. Mind of a geek. And he kisses like a sex god. Whatever this is between us, it’s going to be fun.
Sunday afternoon.
Remember what I was saying about sex god? Let’s amend that to kissing god. And third base god. Because that’s all I’ve gotten so far. Yea. And he’s slept over and everything. In my bed. Where he had no issues in showing me just how skilled he was in certain pleasurable areas, and yet, refused to go the distance. And it’s not like his equipment is faulty. That’s not the issue at all. He just said he would sooner wait a little.
What? Wait! Who does that?
I made the mistake of asking if he was a virgin. It went better than you might expect. He laughed about it. Which was good. But then he told me that since I’d gone so long without “it” that he thought we should just play around for a while. So that when it happens, it’ll be worth waiting for.
This is a first for me. I’ve never been halted. I’m used to being the one to put the brakes on. It’s fun. But it’s also frustrating. Especially when it’s hot enough out to scald you and he’s working in nothing but shorts. And work boots. Which is an oddly erotic look.
The great thing about living in a house that’s attached on both sides is that you only have to pay for half the amount of insulation. He started with the back of the house so he’s able to do all sorts of inappropriate things that might get him arrested for public indecency at the front of the house. Then again, if the neighbours on the back of the house happen to look out their window at the wrong time, then we could have a problem. Imagine the reputation I’d have in the neighbourhood.
“Oh, that’s the professor with the kinky boyfriend.”
Boyfriend. Is it too soon to start calling him that? He hasn’t even met my friends yet. I haven’t met his friends. But you just know when you’re with a guy and he’s boyfriend material. At least I do. For starters, they wouldn’t be waiting to seal the deal. Plus, this afternoon I’m going to do something I’ve never done in my life. I’m going to a Magic tournament.
Yea. Magic. And not the abracadabra kind either. Turns out this collector card game has some cards worth a ton of cash. Evan is selling off a lot of his rare cards.
As you might have suspected, there’s not a lot of money in St. John’s for eco-friendly retrofits. It’s still a bit of a niche market in a city that only recently got on the curbside recycling bandwagon. No. You’re not in a time warp. This is real. The twenty-teens and only now getting on with saving the environment.
What there is money in is selling cards to university students too young to have collected certain ones.
“Like hockey cards?” I’d asked.
“No. Like a game. You’ll see.”
The more I get to know Evan, the more I realize there’s a whole culture of gamers in this city I had no notion of.
We’re currently on the way to his house to pick up these cards. He’d told me he lived on LeMarchant Road, but I wasn’t expecting this. When he said he’d bought a house, fixed it up, and was renting out some of the rooms to friends of his, I was expecting more of a boarding house type of set-up. But this?
He’s pulling into a driveway of one of the older heritage houses, likely one that belonged to a shipping merchant back in the late nineteenth century. It’s the kind of house someone who couldn’t afford the grand manors that were built in my parents’ neighbourhood would have built. A manor still, just not quite as ostentatious. I always preferred these houses.
The sign out front reads: “This heritage house is 100% energy efficient thanks to Sharp Eco-Refits.” His cell number is attached.
“That’s fantastic advertising. You can put a sign outside my house if you like.”
“Something has to work soon. Word of mouth isn’t cutting it.”
“I didn’t really think about it, but I guess if you could come over a day or two after I emailed you, and start right away, then you’re not quite overwhelmed with work.”
“I’ve sunk a small fortune into doing up this place. If it wasn’t for the rent for the rooms, I’d have to go back to my old job.”
“You weren’t always in construction?”
“Hardly. I’m a software engineer. I learned the basics of construction working for my uncle to help pay for university. I worked in computers for about ten years before I got tired of sitting at a desk all day. Hold on, I’ll get that for you.”
I don’t think I’ve ever had a guy open a car door for me before. Not in a normal day-to-day situation anyhow. A fancy date, sure. But never just a general “hold on, hotness, let me get that for you.”
“Now, I’m just warning you. Most of these rooms are rented by my friends. And some of ‘em, well. You’ll see.”
Okay. Picture this. A beautiful historic home on the outside. And inside, as soon as you walk into what could be a beautifully grand foyer, you are greeted by a long table with green astr
o turf instead of a table cloth. Arranged on this table are all manner of figurines. And standing there are grown men in pyjama pants and tshirts with food stains.
“Don’t judge,” Evan says. “They’re in the middle of a marathon session of War Hammer.”
“Judge? Me? Hardly.” I’m waiting now for my pants to erupt in flames, so big is my lie. “Do you play this?”
Please, God, let the answer be no. I can’t have this image of Evan. So far I’m diggin’ the sexy geek. Mainly because I haven’t seen the geek as much as I’ve heard about it. But I can’t bear to think of him this way.
“Nah, no time for new games. I keep to the vices I know.”
Alright. So he doesn’t play with figurines. My libido can handle this.
Beyond the table is a wide, sweeping staircase. Bannisters line both sides of the double halls. That’s when I spot the plexiglass. There’s a fake ceiling below that gives the illusion of a cathedral ceiling. There’s also glass extending from the base of the bannisters to the ceiling above. It’s a little unusual, but in a weird way, adds to the beauty of the place.
“I did that to save on the heat. Too much heat was getting trapped in empty space. This way we keep the look, but save on energy,” Evan says as he unlocks a beautiful old wooden door.
“Home sweet home.”
It’s beautiful. More modern than I would have suspected. And clean. I don’t know why I’m relieved by this, but I am. Date a lot of grad students or heavy readers and you’ll soon recognize how books and papers go from smart-looking to clutter in a few short moments. My office at home is a stellar example. But this place is masculine and neat.
“I won’t be long, just need to grab a few things. Make yourself at home.”
The first thing I do is check out the books on display. A lot of fantasy and science fiction. That’s cool. I’ve read some of these titles. A whole shelf dedicated to magazines on energy and construction. And then, there’s a shelf with a series collection of dragon sculptures.
I think I was expecting more Star Trek figurines and less true art. I’m feeling a little shallow, truth be told. I was expecting it to be more like Sheldon and Leonard’s apartment on The Big Bang Theory. Instead, it’s a cool place.
Passionate Kisses 2 Boxed Set: Love in Bloom Page 139
