mine. “I like how we are together. And I like that you’re here now.”
“As do I.”
She takes another sip of her drink, licking away the marshmallow foam that sticks to her lip. She manages to leave a little behind.
“You missed some.” I rub my thumb over the spot.
I’m not disappointed when Charlene’s fingers wrap around my wrist and her lips close over my thumb, swirling slowly, eyes locked on mine. These kinds of real conversations aren’t always easy with Charlene because we’re both so guarded. But we can communicate incredibly well in other ways.
When she releases my thumb, I replace it with my lips. I didn’t kiss Charlene last night, except for maybe once or twice. Which drives her crazy.
Charlene loves making out. She would kiss until her lips are raw if I let her. Sometimes I deny her, so the next time we’re together I can capitalize on how much she seems to love the simple act of kissing.
I stroke inside her mouth on a leisurely sweep. Charlene moans, low and sweet, fingertips dragging softly down my cheek as she opens wider, inviting me deeper. Which is the exact moment I disengage and retreat to the other side of the couch.
“Your toes should be dry now. I can put on a second coat.”
She’s still clutching her mug in one hand. Her eyes dart down, and she exhales a shaky breath.
I take my time with the nail polish, making sure each toe is perfect before moving on to the next. I know Charlene is still trying to figure out what’s going on here. My being here, unannounced, bringing her flowers and chocolate, painting her toenails for fuck’s sake—I’ve never done any of this before. Not in two years. And I’m starting to see very clearly how that needs to change. Because tonight I’ve realized something very important. Up until now, I’ve only seen the side of Charlene she thinks I want.
And while I adore that she likes to try new things and experiment with sex positions and ridiculous toys, I think I might enjoy this just as much.
Once I’m done, I clean up the discarded Q-tips and tissues and take them all to the kitchen. I toss everything in the garbage and wash my hands, then root around in Charlene’s cupboards for a snack. She has an odd balance between holistic stuff and junk food. I hit the jackpot when I find a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos stuffed in the back of the cupboard. I check the fridge for beer, but Charlene isn’t big on it, so I’m unsurprised to come up empty handed. She has ginger ale and lots of milk. She also has a container of onion dip, which will go perfectly with the Doritos. I snatch the Godiva bag from the counter and bring it with me to the living room.
Charlene’s expression goes from hopeful to crestfallen. “What’re you doing?”
“I thought you might want a snack.”
“Doritos and onion dip? Why did you even come here if you’re going to eat that?” Charlene seems annoyed, angry even.
“Would you like me to find something else?”
She throws her hands up in the air. “Yes! You ruin making out when you have Dorito breath.”
“I didn’t come here to make out. I came here to spend time with you.”
Her brows pull down. “Why can’t we do both? Why does it have to be one or the other? Or do you not . . . want me like this? Do you need me to change?” She motions to her attire, her confusion endearing, and painfully understandable.
I drop the snacks on the coffee table and sit down beside her. “I always want you, Charlene.”
“So why the Doritos? I don’t get it. You come here with gifts, paint my toenails, tease me with that kiss, and then pull out gross-breath snacks like it all makes some kind of sense. What the hell?”
She’s definitely angry, which seems to defeat the entire purpose of me showing her I want more than sex. “You know that I care about you, don’t you?”
She purses her lips, eyes roaming over my face as if she’ll find some kind of explanation there. “Yes. I know that.”
“How?”
“What?”
“How do you know?” I ask, because I want to understand what I do to make her see that, since I honestly don’t know.
“You take care of my needs before your own. You understand when I take things farther then I mean to, and you always know where my limit is. You’ll let me try