Operation Mitch’s Seduction is underway. Now that I have Lucinda’s assurance she isn’t attracted to him and doesn’t think he is in to her, my conscience is clear. I barely got any sleep last night after she had left to go to her own room. I couldn’t stop thinking over what she said about him acting interested in me.
She urged me to be upfront and tell him how I felt. My confidence level has not risen quite that high. I envy people born with a natural self-confidence which flows from them in everything they say and do. Or maybe it’s how they were raised? Were they praised constantly as a child? Where does it come from and more importantly where can I get my dose?
Instead, I’ve come up with a plan to seduce him and get him to see we can be more than friends.
Arriving at the bakery bright and early this morning despite it being Monday and the bakery is closed, I whipped up decadent chocolate truffles. I’m usually here on Mondays working anyway catching up on paperwork or planning the week, but this morning I’m taking the chocolates to Mitch on the pretense I need him as a tester and to thank him for his rescue last night.
I’ve poured myself into a pair of white short shorts and a snug green tank top. The new bra I bought while shopping with Olivia lifts and smooshes my breasts together giving the illusion I have decent cleavage. I applied a fair amount of makeup this morning after watching several online videos and battled my hair into submission with a ton of product. The results don’t look half bad.
Sounds started filtering from his apartment over an hour ago. That should be enough time for him to wake up. I don’t want to wait too long and have him disappear for the day. Picking up the plate of truffles, I take a deep breath, throw my shoulders back, and head for the door.
My steps slow while I traverse the steps wearing the three-inch heel sandals I squeezed my feet into. My ankles wobble, my heels throb, but damn they look good.
Holding the plate in one hand, I smooth my clothes with the other and wiggle to straighten my new cleavage and then knock on the door before I lose my courage.
Mitch opens the door and I get an inner thrill when his gaze wanders from my head to my toes and back up again. I watch his Adam’s apple bounce as he swallows.
“Good morning. I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time, but I need a taste tester.” I hold out the plate of chocolates. “And I wanted to thank you for rescuing me again last night.”
He steps back and holds the door open. His white T-shirt stretches taut across his chest. “I’m always happy to taste anything you have to offer.”
Smiling, I sashay past him putting an extra sway to my hips. So far so good.
I slide the plate onto the narrow counter in the kitchen and pick up a chocolate and hold it up to his mouth. He stares at me over my hand and obediently opens his mouth. I place the chocolate on his tongue trailing my thumb against his full lower lip.
He closes his lips and chews the chocolate while keeping his gaze on mine.
“Delicious.”
Of course they are, I perfected the recipe years ago, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“Then they’re ready for me to sell in the bakery?”
“I should try another one to be sure.”
I expect him to take another one from the plate, but he continues staring at me, so I pick up a truffle and hold it up to his mouth. He opens his lips and takes the chocolate from me dragging his lips over my fingers the entire way.
I swallow hard when my womb clenches.
A tingling starts in my core and radiates out.
That is beyond the friend zone, right?
The sound of birds singing suddenly fills the room. For a second, I think my imagination is overloading and dipping into cartoon mode like when the princess falls in love with the prince and animals sing to rejoice.
“That’s my mom.” Mitch strides across the room to answer his cell phone resting on the coffee table in front of the couch.
His ringtone for his mother sounds like something out of a fairy tale? How sweet is that? Mine is the theme to Jaws.
“Hi Mom.”
While he talks to his mother, I maneuver around the peninsula of the counter to lean my hip against the edge in what I hope is a sexy pose. Briefly, I try to paste a come-hither look on my face, but thankfully his face is momentarily pointed away and doesn’t see the expression I am certain comes across looking like a choking victim.
I shimmy to expose a little more cleavage and cock my hip out a little more planting my hand on my waist.
My ankle wobbles and then collapses.
Making a mad grab for the counter while my body careens towards the floor, my hands slap against the edge.
A rip of material echoes around me.
I’m frozen in place while gripping the edge of the counter as if I’m attempting to do a squatting pull up.
Hastily I leverage my arms up onto the counter and try to stand. A shot of pain seizes my ankle and I wince. Resting as much weight as possible on my opposite foot and holding on to the counter, I stand.
That isn’t what concerns me the most, however.
The cool draft of air against my backside is priority number one.
I swivel my head in Mitch’s direction and almost sob in relief when his back is still turned towards me. He is busy describing the renovations on the house to his mother.
Swatting at my ass with one hand while the other supports my weight against the counter, I find the split material and the cool skin of my lower cheeks exposed.
Why had I let Olivia talk me into buying a thong? She said panty lines would show with these shorts and a thong wouldn’t. Yeah well, clearly, she hadn’t anticipated this.
I inch my way around the counter using it as a crutch and keep my front towards Mitch in case he turns around. If I can just make it to the door and down the stairs, I have a sweatshirt in the bakery I can wrap around my waist.
Thank God I drove this morning instead of walking. I didn’t want to perspire and smudge my makeup and my feet aren’t prepared for a long hike in heels. Looks like my ankles and shorts weren’t prepared either.
The cold metal of the door handle is in my grasp behind my back when he spots me at the door.
I smile and grip the handle tighter.
“I just remembered I left the oven on downstairs.” Hopefully he will believe the blatant lie and not know that making truffles does not require an oven.
Mitch frowns and raises a finger signaling for me to wait a minute. I shake my head and shuffle backwards out the door.
Pain stabs at my ankle and I grab for the railing to gain my balance. I consider plopping on my butt and scooting down the stairs but then the image of splinters on my ass nixes the idea.
Bending over, I unstrap the sandals, tuck them against my side, and limp down the stairs into the bakery.
The door opens just as I finish tying the arms of my sweatshirt around my waist. Whirling around while holding onto the back of the stool I am using for balance, I expect Mitch to be standing in the doorway, but it’s Bobby.
“Hey, I saw your car and wanted to stop in and check on you after last night.”
“Oh, hi Bobby. Come in. I’m fine, just clumsy.”
Straightening the sweatshirt to make sure my backside is adequately covered I smile in his direction.
“The way he rushed you out of there I was afraid you had gotten burned.”
“No, no, I’m fine, really. I’m sorry about that. I ruined the dinner.”
“We can have another go at it sometime.”
He wanted another date? Why wasn’t he running in the opposite direction? He really is a sweet guy. My pulse doesn’t jump at the sight of him though. My breath doesn’t hitch in my chest, and his smile doesn’t make me melt. It would be so much easier if I felt that way about him.
“Um…”
He pushes his hair off his forehead and adjusts his baseball cap. “Yeah, I kind of thought that was the way the wind blew. It was obvious there’s something going on between you two.”
“It was? I mean, I’m sorry, I was having a nice time with you.”
“Don’t worry about it. Make sure he treats you right.”
“I will. Thanks, Bobby.”
Perhaps I should have said there is nothing definite between Mitch and I, but that might have sounded like there might be a chance for Bobby and I and there isn’t. There’s no spark. Certainly not the raging inferno I feel with Mitch.
Locking the back door, I limp my way to the front of the bakery using every counter and chair for support. I want to get to my car and get home before Mitch ends his call and comes looking for me.
Operation Mitch’s Seduction will have to be put on hold until I put ice on this ankle and buy sturdier shorts.