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I wiped my face with my sleeve and took Cohen’s outstretched hand.
‘Sorry about that. He’s bigger than you and he just gets excited.’
I released a sigh and rubbed my aching tailbone. ‘It’s okay.’
Cohen brushed off my backside and helped to straighten my tank top. His fingers brushed against my waist, and the heat of his hands through my top caused my heart to thump in my chest. Bob’s indiscretion was forgiven and the only thing I could concentrate on now was Cohen and how amazing his deep-blue eyes looked, highlighted by his baby-blue shirt.
As if realizing his hands were still against my waist, Cohen dropped them and stepped back. ‘How about that beer?’
‘Actually I was wondering if you had plans tonight.’
He took another swig. ‘Not unless you count drinking alone and messing around on my guitar.’
I smiled. ‘Well I was cooking dinner downstairs and made enough for two. I thought I’d invite you over as a thank you for all that bat business.’
‘Sounds great.’
He returned his guitar to its stand in the corner, ducking from the pitched ceiling as he did so. He patted Bob’s head then followed me downstairs with the bottle of beer still dangling from his hand.
As soon as we entered my apartment, the vibe felt all wrong, like I was trying too hard. There were candles burning on my fireplace mantle, and soft jazz music playing in the background. God, was I old or what? I needed to remember that he was a college kid, more likely to listen to the latest indie band or hip hop sensation. I contemplated blowing out the candles and changing the music, but instead decided to shrug it off. I didn’t want to call more attention to it, and Cohen didn’t seem to mind in the least, wandering ahead of me through the apartment.
I crossed the living room, following Cohen through the rooms I’d meticulously decorated with light earth tones in creams and browns to coordinate with the dark wood floors.
When I turned for the kitchen, Cohen followed dutifully. The kitchen was small but was remodeled before I moved in, and boasted state-of-the-art fixtures and appliances. I cringed when I remembered I’d also lit a few candles on the center granite slab island.
‘Smells awesome. What’d you make?’
Of course his mind was on the free meal, not the ambience. God, get a grip, Liz.
‘Basil pesto pasta with grilled chicken.’ I opened the double door fridge and pulled out a bottle of white wine. ‘Would you like some?’ I held the bottle up for Cohen to inspect.
He drained his bottle of beer and set the empty next to the sink. ‘Sure. Where do you keep the glasses?’
‘Behind you.’ I nodded to the mahogany wine cabinet on the far side of the kitchen that held numerous bottles of wine and had racking where the wine glasses were stored.
He retrieved two of the glasses, while I concentrated on uncorking the wine.
Cohen’s hands met mine on the bottle of wine and corkscrew. ‘Let me.’
I stepped back and allowed him to open the wine, taking the opportunity to watch him uninterrupted. His hands were large, tapering to long, slender fingers with neatly trimmed nails. The backs of his hands were lightly covered in fine blonde hairs I could see when they caught the light. Everything about this man was attractive. From his clean cut features, to his broad shoulders to his flat stomach. Something about the idea of being with him excited me. But I had never felt so unsure before in the presence of a man. He was friendly and polite, but he didn’t seem overly interested.
While Cohen poured us each a healthy glass of wine, I pulled the serving dish of pasta from inside the oven, where I’d set it to keep warm. I removed the hot loaf of French bread next, and placed it on the stone block to slice. Cohen helped me move everything over the barstool seating area at the end of the long island. I grabbed the butter and a green salad from the fridge and joined him on a stool.
He removed his pager and set it beside him. ‘Hopefully I don’t get a call tonight.’ It was strange to think that at any moment he could be summoned away, his evening interrupted. ‘Cheers.’ He clinked his wine glass with mine and we both took a sip. It was my favorite white wine, Santa Margherita Pinot Grigio. It was crisp and refreshing and paired perfectly with the light pasta meal.
I watched Cohen take a bite and chew. He closed his eyes just briefly, savoring the bite of crisp basil pesto and pine nuts, balanced by the heavy cream. ‘You’re a great cook,’ he offered after several more bites.
‘Thanks.’ I relaxed a little more in my seat and began eating.
We kept up an easy conversation during dinner, pausing to tease each other, or smile and sip our wine. It was nice. Though I enjoyed cooking, I rarely did so for myself. It just seemed like too much of a hassle for one person. I usually ate a bag of microwave popcorn or a bowl of cereal for dinner instead, but it was nice having someone to cook for.
Cohen’s pager rattled nosily against the granite island. He picked it up and frowned as he read the message.
‘What is it?’
He shook his head. ‘I can’t go on a call if I’ve had more than two drinks.’
Oh. ‘Is it okay if you miss one?’
He nodded. ‘I don’t like to, and I have to make it to at least fifty-percent of all calls to stay active, but it should be fine.’
He turned off the pager and went back to eating.
Cohen suddenly dropped his fork against the side of his plate, the clinking sound startling me. ‘Are there nuts in this?’
I looked from the pasta to the panicked expression on his face. ‘Um, yes, there are pine nuts in the sauce. Why, what’s wrong?’
He leapt from his seat, his napkin fluttering to the floor. ‘I’m allergic. Where’s the bathroom?’
I was too stunned to answer and instead pointed down the hall. Cohen took off jogging in the direction I’d indicated. The first door he opened was a broom closet. I quickly followed behind him to steer him into the guest bathroom farther down the hall. He fell to his knees over the toilet bowl and threw up nosily.
Eek. I cringed away from the sound of him coughing and vomiting. I felt terrible. How was I supposed to know he was allergic to pine nuts?
Once he was finished, he wiped his mouth with a wad of toilet paper and sank to the floor and sat with his back against the wall. I reached over and flushed the toilet. Cohen’s eyes met mine and he groaned. I don’t think he’d realized I was still in the room with him. His skin was pale and he was covered in a thin sheen of sweat.
‘Are you okay?’
He nodded. ‘I think so.’ He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the wall. I took a washcloth from the basket near the sink and wet it with cold water. I wrung it out and knelt down near Cohen. I pressed the cool washcloth to his forehead.
He briefly opened his eyes. ‘Thanks,’ he croaked.
‘I feel terrible, Cohen. I didn’t mean…’
‘You didn’t know. It’s okay. I should’ve asked, but I didn’t see any nuts.’ He closed his eyes again and relaxed against the wall while I continued to dab the cool cloth against his flushed skin. He really was beautiful. I’d never recalled thinking of a man as beautiful before, but Cohen truly was.
He opened his eyes and studied me. I realized I’d stopped moving the cloth and was just staring at him. ‘What?’ he asked.
‘Nothing.’ I moved the cloth to the back of his neck.
He dropped his head between his knees, giving me better access. ‘That feels nice.’
A pain sprang through my chest and I stood abruptly, suddenly needing some space away from this tender moment.
Cohen stood a minute later. ‘Sorry I ruined dinner.’
‘Are you kidding? You do not need to apologize. I could have killed you.’
He chuckled. ‘I’m not deathly allergic. I just get really sick. Seriously, I’m fine now. And it tasted really good.’
‘Before you threw it up?’ I said wryly.
‘Exactly.’ He smiled.
I rolled my eyes. Boys. ‘Do you want to go lie down?’
‘Ah, sure. If you’ll come with me.’ He grinned. ‘We can watch a movie.’
‘Sounds good.’
After we quickly cleaned up the kitchen, Cohen led the way back upstairs to his apartment where Bob was eagerly awaiting our return. Cohen kept him from mauling me, and I made a halfhearted attempt at petting him, but it was so obvious I wasn’t a dog person, Cohen just laughed and told Bob to go lie down. Bob flopped himself unceremoniously onto the wood floor and laid his head on his paws.
I looked around the living room for the first time noticing there was no TV. Before I could question how we were going to watch a movie, Cohen led the way to his bedroom.
There was a large flat screen television mounted on his wall across from the bed. ‘This okay?’ Cohen held up the DVD case for a romantic comedy I hadn’t yet seen.
I stifled my surprise that he owned the movie, and nodded instead. ‘Sure.’
‘Okay, pop it in. I’m going to go brush my teeth.’
He tossed me the case and I caught it easily. ‘I’m on it.’
I put the DVD in and settled on his bed and began watching the previews. I scooted over to my side, the side of the bed farthest from the door, remembering his notion that he’d protect me if anyone broke in. I scolded myself thinking a side of his bed was mine.
Just when I was starting to wonder what was taking him so long, I heard the sound of water running and a shower curtain being pulled back. Dirty thoughts flashed through my mind. Was that an open invitation to join him in the shower? Other than the odd lingering glance, Cohen hadn’t indicated he wanted to be anything more than friends. I had never really had a close guy friend, so this was sort of new territory for me, but I liked it.
A few minutes later, just as the previews were wrapping up, Cohen came back in the room, dressed in a pair of loose-fitting gym shorts and a white V-neck T-shirt. He settled onto the bed next to me, folding the pillow in half under his head and punching it into place. ‘Sorry, I decided to take a shower too.’
‘No problem.’ I looked over at him and smiled. His tan skin was delicious against the white cotton shirt. And he smelled like crisp, clean soap and a hint of spicy cologne.
I shifted closer and breathed him in.
‘What?’ He smirked.
‘You smell good.’
‘I do?’
I nodded. ‘Like soap…and…’ I leaned in again to try and identify it.
He smiled. ‘Come here.’ He held out his arm until I scooted against his side. He was warm and the firm muscles of his body felt amazing pressed against mine. It was times like this I couldn’t decipher his motivations.
The movie started but I was too distracted to concentrate on it, instead noticing Cohen’s bare feet which were long and tan, with fine light hair sprinkled on the top. Why had I never noticed before how sexy a man’s bare feet could be?
Cohen absently traced a slow pattern on the inside of my forearm, dragging his thumbnail down to my palm, and back up over the inside of my wrist. I wondered if he could feel my pulse jump at the simple touches, if he realized the effect he was having on me. I snuck a glance up at his face, and he seemed to be oblivious, absorbed into the movie. Despite my body’s urgings I didn’t want to be the aggressor with Cohen. I may have had no problem in the past taking what I wanted, but I wanted him to choose me. And I wouldn’t do anything to interfere, as much as I might be tempted to.
I swallowed and lay completely immobile, waiting for his hand to make a more daring move, but he continued right on skimming his fingertips softly along my skin, seemingly unaware of the fact that he was turning me on. I decided upon conducting an experiment to see what kind of response I could provoke from him. I placed my hand flat on his stomach and waited for several minutes for him to get used to the contact. Then, I let my fingertips drift along his washboard abs, slowly gliding over his ribs, and then back down, stopping just above the waistband of his shorts. His hand stilled on my skin, resting at my pulse point and I knew he could feel its insistent thrumming.
He lifted up on his elbow to look down at me. I knew I was flushed and pink like I’d been caught with my hand in the cookie jar. He placed a hand against my cheek, as if checking my temperature.
‘You’re warm. Are you feeling okay?’ His eyes met mine, narrowing with confusion and worry.
No I’m not okay, I’m horny as hell and you’re driving me crazy! ‘Fine, why?’
He shook his head, like he was clearing a thought. ‘Okay. I’ll just get you some water.’ He stood from the bed and crossed the room.
I don’t want any damn water, I want some cock! I fell back onto the pillow with a huff. This boy was going to be the death of me.
When Cohen returned with the water, I dutifully swallowed the big gulp he insisted I have before he would join me on the bed again.
Once that was done, he nestled me in against his body and placed his arm around me, his fingertips absently skimming along my shoulder. My skin tingled all over. I was hyperaware of each tiny movement of his fingers, wanting him to touch me elsewhere, to explore more of my body. But this time when he picked up my hand once again and began rubbing my knuckles with his thumb, I tried not to read anything into it.
‘Enjoying the movie?’ he whispered.
‘Mm-hmm.’ I didn’t trust myself enough to form actual coherent words just then. The room around us had grown dark except for the faint glow of the TV, and the air buzzed with sexual attraction.
He turned my hand over and held it in his, continuing to massage my palms with the pad of his thumb. It was simple and innocent, yet completely fucking turning me on.
Cohen held my palm up and looked at it. ‘Your hands are tiny.’
My breathing turned shallow and I waited in anticipation for what was building between us, hoping it would advance beyond the just-friends stage.
‘This is your life line.’ He traced his thumb along the center of my palm, sending a ticklish rush through me. He brought my hand closer to inspect it in the dim light. ‘And your love line. But it stops abruptly right here.’ He tapped near my thumb.
I let out the breath I’d been holding. ‘Yeah, I swore off the whole commitment thing years ago.’
‘Bad experience?’ He set my hand down between us.
‘Something like that.’
‘Want to talk about it?’
‘Not really.’ I never talked about him. Ever. Not even with Ashlyn. Cohen smiled at me sadly, like I was broken. I didn’t want him to feel pity for me. I didn’t want him to feel anything for me, except maybe desire. That wouldn’t be so bad. He picked up my hand again and laced his fingers with mine.
‘I’m here if you want to talk.’
‘Thanks.’ I gave his hand a squeeze. Against my will, I found my mind wandering to my parents’ brutal divorce a few years ago, which was the other part of the story. The part I was more comfortable allowing myself to remember. ‘My parents had the catastrophe of all divorces during my freshman year of college. They don’t speak at all anymore.’
‘Is that the reason you’re a commitment-phobe?’
‘It’s part of the reason.’ A small part. ‘What about you? Are your parents still married?’
‘I never knew my dad. He took off on my mom when she was pregnant with me. She was only eighteen.’
‘Wow. That must have been hard.’
‘Yeah, but we managed.’ His jaw flexed, and I backed off, sensing he didn’t want to answer questions about his past any more than I did.
Cohen continued to hold my hand throughout the movie and I rested my head on his chest, content with the silence between us.
