56 Days (Black) (7 page)

“God, weirdo,” I uttered, “quit looking at me.  Get dressed.”

I smiled at him and snapped my bra closed.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered.

I turned my back to him,
flustered.

“Hey, turn around.  Don’t be like that.”

His voice was soft… caring.  I turned towards him.

“I’m just not used to guys being like…”

“Like what?  Nice to you?”

“Something like that,” I murmured.

“That’s all going to change.  I promise.”

*
****

The ride home was the best hour and a half I had ever spent in a
vehicle.  I nestled into Jack as he lazily rubbed his hand up and down my arm.  We alternated between holding hands, his hand in my lap, mine in his… with Buster continually infringing on our affection.

He asked me a thousand questions; I asked h
im a million.  He seemed honest.  Forthcoming.

He let me pick the music.  I flipped through his iPod; his tastes were similar to mine, everything from
Bauhaus to The Beastie Boys.  I chose a playlist he had created titled “Road Trip.”  It seemed fitting.  The first song was “No One’s Gonna Love You” by Band of Horses.

“
Aw, I love this song,” I whispered, laying my head on his shoulder.

He craned his
neck and kissed my forehead.  “Me, too.”

When the city came into our view, he lightly squeezed my thigh.  “I meant it when I said I wanted you to spend the day with me.  Do you want to?”

“Yes,” I answered, too quickly.

“Your place or mine?”

I thought about my place. 
Was it clean?
  I mean, it was generally picked up, but his house was like a museum.  I didn’t want him to judge me because I had a sticky coffee table.

“I don’t know,” I said.  “My place may be a little… much for you.”

“I want to see it.  Honestly, I can’t wait to get there.”

“Okay, buddy, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

We got lucky, finding a place to park less than a block away.  Jack carried my bag; I pulled Buster by the leash.

When I opened the door, I quickly looked around. 
Oh, God, he’s going to know everything about me now.
  My love for all things… weird.  Better to get this over with now, I guess.

“Wow
.”  He looked around with a smile on his face.

“Too much?”

“No, I just need a minute to take it all in.” 

He walked over to my life
-size Dracula prop.  I had a bidding war with some guy on eBay last year over it.  I ended up winning the bid, paying just over 300 dollars for it.  Totally worth it.

“Wow,” he repeated, looking around.  “This is… amazing.”

I took a deep breath and exhaled.  “Thank God.  I thought that you would want to call the whole thing off once you got in here.”

He picked up a few different robot figurines from my
bright green bookshelves, studying them.  He wound one up and watched it slowly move its legs until colliding into another metal friend.  He ran his fingers over my pink, tufted couch and picked up a fuzzy pillow shaped like a rocket ship.

“Want a drink?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he responded, kicking off his boots and socks.  He followed me into the kitchen.

“Beer or
water?  Those are your two big choices.”

“Water
… holy shit.  It’s like a cupcake exploded in here.”  He laughed aloud.

My kitchen was even worse than my living room.  I had pink frosting colored walls and every Kitchen Aid appliance
in every color sold on my counter.  I had purple hanging lanterns strung the length of the room, stapled to the ceiling every three feet or so.  Mixing bowls in every color were shoved into every crevice of space.

“Yeah, i
t’s a lot to take in, right?”  I grabbed a water bottle from the refrigerator and planted it in front of him.

“Honestly, I love it.  I feel like I knew nothing about you before I got in here.”
  He played with a small Eiffel Tower statue on the bar. 

He picked it up and gave it a shake.  “Ever been?”

“What?”

“To Paris?” he asked.

“No, but I want to.  Once plane tickets to France start selling for fifty bucks, I’m totally there.”

He sat down on one of my stools.  I had recovered them last year in pink glitter vinyl.  He just sat there smil
ing at me, his grin nearly splitting his face.

“Want me to make you something?”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I mean,
do you want me to make you some cookies or something?  We’ve got all day and nothing to do.”

“Well,” he answered, “I don’t know if we’ve got nothing to do.”

He had kept his promise, stopping on the way back for condoms.

“Keep that thing locked down, Jack.  We just got here.  You think you’re freaked out now… wait until you see the bedroom.  You’ll probably want to go home.”

“Doubt it.  And yes, let’s make some cookies.”

I washed my hands after I pulled my hair up into a high bun with an elastic band I had secured around my wrist.  I always wore that band.  A
baker’s habit, I guess.

“What kind
do you want?” I asked him.

“Surprise me.”

In less than an hour, we were sitting on my couch across from each other, eating homemade oatmeal chocolate chunk cookies.  He had three before he pulled me into his lap.

“I’m ready to see that bedroom now,” he whispered, kissing my
lips.  They tasted sweet.

I got up and grabbed his hand, pulling him from the couch
.  I opened the bright pink door, welcoming him into my space, a space that very few men had ever been allowed into.  So maybe I had some trust issues.

The hardwood floor was covered with a
white, faux fur throw rug.  The bedframe was whitewashed and iron, dressed in white down bedding with silver stars strewn throughout. Flush against my bubblegum pink walls were a few pieces of furniture that I had painted a shade of light aquamarine. I had distressed them to perfection.  Dozens of throw pillows in every color and fabric were tossed around sporadically.  There were several framed photos of Rachel and me strewn throughout.

“I’m sensing a theme here.  You like pink, right?”

“I never wear pink clothes, but I love pink paint.  Weird, huh?”  I turned the bedside fan on the highest speed.  “Sorry it’s so hot in here.”

Jack turned me
to face him, gently pulling my shirt over my head.  He kissed my lips softly, his hand moving to my back, manipulating the clasp of my bra.  When the straps were free, I sat on the edge of the bed.  He lowered to his knees in front of me and helped to unbutton my shorts, pulling them down my legs along with my thong.

He pressed kisses into the tops of my thighs, gripping my waist with his
thick fingers. 

“Come here,” I whispered.

He stood and pulled his t-shirt over his head. 
God, would I ever get tired of that?
  I reached out and worked on the button of his jeans, slowly pulling at the zipper.  He tugged at them, pulling them off and kicking them to the side.

I placed my hands on his hips and dragged my tongue along his abdomen. 
Until I met Jack, I had never been intimate with someone so ridiculously in shape before.  I mean, I had dated a few skinny guys, yeah, but nothing like the man standing in front of me.  It was intimidating, causing me to think differently about my own body.  He constantly went on about how he loved my shape, but I felt too buxom, maybe… a little too “jiggly.”

I looked up at him.  The
fervor in his eyes told me everything I needed to know. 
Fuck it.
  I pulled him into the bed and rolled him to his back.

*
****

We spent
all afternoon under those sheets, only leaving once to take Buster out.  At dinner time, I offered to get takeout, but Jack insisted on cooking.  I sat on the stool and watched him.  He wore my ruffled blue apron with the red cherries on it… and nothing else.

I tried to get dressed, but Jack insisted that if he was going to be naked, I was going to be naked.  He let me wear the thong
at least, you know, for sanitary purposes.  I wasn’t a fan of anyone sitting in the nude on my furniture, myself included.  I wasn’t
completely
raised by wolves.

I didn’t have much in the pantry
but, somehow, Jack found ingredients to make spaghetti.  He talked the whole time he cooked, seeming comfortable in the kitchen.

“You like to cook?” I asked him.

“Well, both of my parents cook.  Pretty much at every meal, actually.  We rarely had cereal out of a box or any kind of soup out of a can.  When my mom makes dinner, she makes enough for ten people to eat for a week.  I guess I cook like that too.  I end up eating a lot of leftovers,” he said, smiling.

“That sounds awesome.  I can’t ever remember my mom making dinner for us, really.  Well, not unless you count frozen pre
-made lasagna or macaroni out of the box.  My dad sometimes grilled, but I don’t remember him much anymore.”

Jack left his station and came to my side, kissing my shoulder.  “You want to talk about that?”

“No, go back to the stove.  You’re going to burn our dinner.”

He kissed me softly and retreated back to
the cooktop, his perfect ass showcased by the ruffled ribbon of my apron.

“El, if you want to talk about that stuff, I’m a good listener.”

“I’m sure you are, but I’m not in much of a sharing mood.”

I laid my head on the counter and studied him. 
He was pure, fucking perfection.

“What do you say about a sleepover?” he asked,
looking up over his glasses at me.

“Here?”

“Yeah, here, unless you want to come to my house… but we’re already here now.”

“You don’t have stuff,” I mumbled.

“Yeah, I do.  I have extra clothes from the weekend that I never wore.”

No one spent the night here. 

“Well, I have to work at 5.”

“So,” he countered, “I’ll get up and leave with you.”

He was wearing me down.  I was running out of excuses. 
Did I even want an excuse?
  I mean, he was great and I was starting to really feel something for him.  Oh, God. 
I was starting to really feel something for him. 
Fuck.

“I… I’m not sure.  I’ve got laundry to do tonight…”

“I’ll help you with laundry, Elsa.  I just want to be with you.  I promise that I won’t make it a habit, spending the night.  I just can’t swallow having to leave you tonight.”  He leaned across the counter and pressed a long kiss to my lips.  “Do you want me to leave?”

“Doesn’t Buster need to go home?”

He smiled.  “I know what you’re doing.  You’re trying to get rid of me.  Buster can eat people food for tonight and I can take him out for a walk later.  He’s good.”

“Okay, fine
, but don’t fall in love with me, mister,” I joked.

He stirred his sauce.  “Maybe it’s too late.”

*****

We sat down around the coffee table with our plates.  Jack finally conceded to letting me put on some clothes.  I
changed into one of his ribbed undershirts and a pair of girl-cut boxers.  He settled on a pair of loose pajama pants and no shirt. 

I was embarrassed that I didn’t have an actual dining table, but
my apartment was 650 square feet. 
What was a girl to do?
  Besides, most of my dinners consisted of the frozen variety.  And… I usually ate alone.

“No table?” Jack asked.

“Nope, unless you count my Goodwill special.”  I knocked twice on my chipped green coffee table.  I had scrubbed and painted it with the leftover paint from the bookshelves.

“I’ll make you something.”

“No, Jack.  I appreciate it, but I can’t afford anything you can make.  Three-thousand dollars for an end table?  I’d probably have to sell a kidney to be able to pay you.”

He grinned.  “I wouldn’t charge you, El.”

“Still… no, thank you anyway.  I would be sick to my stomach the first time I spilled water on it.”

“Well, if you change your mind…
” he answered.

I twirled a huge bit
e of spaghetti with my fork and shoveled it into my mouth. 

“Jesus Christ,” I mumbled.  “This is fucking awesome.  I had the stuff to make this?”

The door buzzer rang.  Buster slid towards it, scratching his nails on the floor.  Jack yelled, “Buster.  Come now!”

I wiped my mouth on a paper towel and popped up.  “Be right back.”