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“Would you like to hear today’s specials?” the server asked.
“Sure.” Mike smiled at him.
“For our appetizer, we have a burrata caprese salad, and for our pizza of the day, we have our posh Hawaiian pizza.”
“Ooh, tell me more about the pizza.”
Across the table, Charlotte glared at him rather comically.
The server seemed to have similar feelings about Hawaiian pizza. He let out a small, world-weary sigh. “It has grilled pineapple, prosciutto, fresh mozzarella, and arugula.”
“I’ll have that one, please,” Mike said.
“And for you?” The server turned to Charlotte.
She pointed to the pizza she wanted on the menu. It had porcini and sausage.
It did not sound as good as the special.
When the server left, Charlotte said, “I can’t believe you ordered Hawaiian pizza.”
“It’s not Hawaiian pizza,” Mike said. “It’s posh Hawaiian pizza.”
“Mm-hmm. What is it with you and fruit on pizza?”
He shrugged and had a sip of his cider. “I can’t believe you ordered Get Out of My Trash! again.”
She pressed a hand to her chest and looked outraged. “It’s a very sophisticated cider.”
“Sure it is.”
“Well, I’ve had this cider fewer times than you’ve had Hawaiian pizza.”
“That’s just due to lack of opportunity. Besides, I’m having posh Hawaiian pizza, remember.”
“It doesn’t sound like you’ll let me forget, does it?” she muttered.
Then she met his eyes over her glass and smiled.
He laced his fingers with hers. “I’m glad we’re doing this again.”
“Me, too. Even if we’re not doing it properly, due to your unfortunate taste in pizza. The server didn’t seem impressed.”
Perhaps she’d shut up about this if he kissed her.
However, they were seated on opposite sides of the table, and he’d have to save that for later. He settled for sliding his other hand up her leg, just above the inside of her knee. Her lips parted slightly.
The best part? He knew it was all real.
Mike had debated between many restaurants for their first real date. Mason had told him of a tapas place that sounded good, as well as an upscale barbecue restaurant. But in the end, he’d decided they should go back to the site of their first practice date and redo it as a real date.
So here they were, at Anne’s in the Junction. By coincidence, they were even seated at the same table.
Insulting each other’s food and beverage choices was somehow different, now that he’d kissed her, now that this was real for both of them.
Charlotte looked particularly lovely tonight. Rather preppy, with a short-sleeved white shirt, an argyle vest, and a headband.
Yes, he was very much digging her look.
“I’m surprised you didn’t get the roasted eggplant pizza,” he said.
“What are you—oh.” She snorted. “We’re so mature.”
“We are.”
He held up his glass and clinked it against hers, and they smiled at each other.
Their pizza arrived, and his looked delicious.
“Mine’s more colorful than yours,” he said. “How about that?”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s not all about color.”
“I like colorful things. Not poison dart frogs, but your vest, for example. Very colorful.”
She looked down. “Is it too much?”
“No, it’s perfect.” He bit into his pizza, careful to take a bite with both prosciutto and grilled pineapple. “Mmm, that’s just perfect, too.”
“I’ll take your word for it. I’ll be over here with my uncolorful pizza.”
They did not trade slices of pizza this time.
But afterward, they took an Uber to Treatzz, where they each got a bubble waffle with two scoops of ice cream, and they tried each other’s flavors.
“I’m glad you didn’t get the olive oil,” he said. “Olive oil doesn’t belong in ice cream.”
“I agree.”
“Wow! We agree on something!” he said with exaggerated shock. “I might not have been able to kiss you afterward if you’d had olive oil ice cream.”
She bumped his shoulder as they walked up Ossington. “Oh, come on. You would have kissed me.”
He pretended to seriously think on this. “You’re right,” he said quietly. “I would have kissed you.”
He held a napkin up to her mouth and wiped a drop of melted lemon meringue ice cream away. Their faces were so close together now, and for a moment, he had to stop walking, transfixed by her mouth.
And then she did something truly naughty.
She bit her lower lip, just the way he’d taught her. Slowly, deliberately.
His pants felt a bit tight.
“Mike,” she said, “you should probably eat your ice cream so it doesn’t keep dripping.”
He looked down and saw a drop of chocolate ginger ice cream on the sidewalk.
“That’s a travesty,” he murmured. “It’s all your fault for distracting me.”
She rolled her eyes.
How could a woman look so cute when she rolled her eyes? It was unfair.
He didn’t look cute when he rolled his eyes.
“Can I try your fig goat cheese?” he asked. “I don’t think goat cheese belongs in ice cream, either, but since it’s your favorite, I’m curious.”
She held her bubble waffle away from him, curling her hands around it protectively.
“Come on.” He smiled. “I’ll give you an orgasm.”
“You’ll give me an orgasm anyway.”
Well, busted.
He stroked a thumb over her jaw—he’d learned she particularly like that spot.
“You play dirty.” She held her cone-shaped bubble waffle toward him.
The fig goat cheese ice cream wasn’t as good as the chocolate ginger but not as weird as he’d expected.
“Admit it,” she said. “You want to eat it every damn day.”
“No, I want to eat you every damn day.”
She burst into laughter.
Okay, maybe his delivery needed a little work, but they were having fun.
They walked toward his apartment, and once they were done their ice cream, he got to hold her hand.
Why had he avoided dating for so long? It wasn’t that hard.
While waiting for a stoplight, he kissed that spot on her jaw again, and the way she arched her neck as she told him, once more, that he played dirty, was lovely.
He wished they weren’t still ten minutes away from home.
As soon as they were inside the door of his apartment, they slipped off their shoes, and he came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. He swayed his hips.
“See, we’re dancing,” he said.
To his surprise, she didn’t protest; instead, she leaned back against him and shut her eyes. He figured they should have some music, so he started humming “Beauty and the Beast.”
Her eyes flew open. “Oh, God. Did you hear me singing in your shower last weekend?”
He switched to humming “Gaston.”
“Oh, no,” she said. “I thought I was quiet. I never sing in front of anyone.”
“Why not? You have a nice voice.”
“I’m not sure I’ll be able to look you in the eye again, now that I know you heard me.”
“That’s okay. I’m flexible. You don’t have to look at me.”
He continued to sway his hips as he began kissing her neck. His hands roamed over her body, cupping her breasts through her clothing. He caressed her nipple at the same time as he lightly bit her neck.
She squirmed against him, her ass pressing against his cock.
“I love the preppy look you’ve got going on today,” he said. “Too bad I have to ruin it.”
He pulled her vest and shirt over her head in one move, then undid her bra.
“Yes,” he murmured, “you’re so beautiful, Charlotte. I can’t believe I get to touch you.”
“Then touch me. Now.”
He chuckled as he flicked his thumb over her nipple again, but this time, there were no clothes in the way. He nuzzled the base of her neck and squeezed her breast.
“Is this how you want me to touch you?” he asked.
“Yes, and...”
He opened the button on her jeans with one hand. He was still standing behind her, his body pressed against hers, as he slid his hand inside her jeans, but over top of her underwear.
“Like this?”
“Not quite.” She looked back at him. “You’re really damn infuriating, you know.”
He laughed softly. “Show me what you want.”
She guided his hand inside her panties, and they both groaned as he stroked her wet folds. His cock was rock hard, but he paid it no attention as he slipped his fingers over her entrance and pressed one inside. He couldn’t get very deep, due to the angle when he was behind her, but she gasped all the same.
He slid his finger in and out of her as he stroked her clit with his thumb, planting kisses up and down her neck. When he massaged her breast in his other hand, she jerked against him.
He paused for a moment. “Good?”
“Keep going, you idiot.”
“Tsk-tsk. That’s no way to talk to the man who’s bringing you untold pleasure.”
“Untold pleasure? You sure have a high opinion of your...self.”
She’d lost her ability to talk clearly, and he smirked.
When he circled her clit the next time, she stiffened in his arms and clenched around his fingers.
“Oh my God.” She collapsed back against him.
He carried her to bed and rolled her onto her stomach once he’d removed the rest of her clothes. She was so lovely to look at. Naked. In his bed.
He made quick work of his own clothes, rolled on a condom, then rubbed the tip of his cock over her entrance. She moaned in frustration until he slid inside her from behind.
Yes. This felt good. Right.
He wasn’t the most experienced in the bedroom, no. But somehow, she responded to everything he did. Somehow, he was capable of making her feel good, and that was what mattered.
She gripped the pillow in her hands, and then she turned her head so she could kiss him.
Her lips on his. When he was buried deep inside her.
He licked his finger and brought it between her legs. It took a moment to find her clit when she kept bucking her hips against him, but he could tell when she suddenly stilled and made a soft mewl.
He circled her clit as he thrust in and out of her, planting kisses wherever he could.
When she tensed around him and cried out, she pulled him over the edge.
He grinned as he held her afterward, because this was utterly, utterly real, and it was more amazing than anything he’d dared to imagine.
* * *
The next morning, there were no spiders on the wall, so Mike didn’t ruin the mood by shrieking. Instead, he and Charlotte sleepily cuddled before he slid inside her.
And then, when she was sated from what sounded like two pretty spectacular orgasms—he couldn’t help feeling mighty pleased with himself—he pulled a small package out of his night table and handed it to her.
“You got me a present? Already?” she asked.
“Just something small.”
Or did taking it slow mean you weren’t supposed to give each other presents?
Ugh, he didn’t know these things, but he did know of a little store nearby that sold stuff he thought she’d like.
“In honor of our first real date,” he said, trying to sound like it was no big deal.
She was already tearing open the wrapping paper. She pulled out a set of washi tapes. One had a night sky, nearly black with golden stars and a crescent moon. Another had flowers. The third had toadstools—presumably not the poisonous variety.
“These are really cute.” She turned them around in her hand, then set them aside and picked up the stickers. Rather than sticker sheets, they were in a little plastic bag. She opened it up and looked at the nature stickers. Trees and flowers and such.
“For your day planner,” he explained.
“You’re the only who’s seen the inside of that day planner. Other than me, obviously.”
“You don’t want anyone to know that you like cute stickers?”
She shrugged, then kissed him on the lips. “Thanks, Mike. Nobody’s ever gotten me a gift like this before. You’re great.”
Though he felt awkward, he breathed out a sigh of relief.
It wasn’t just her words. It was the way she looked at him, the sincerity of it. Charlotte could be flippant sometimes, but not now.
He swallowed and turned away. “Um, right. I guess I should make you some coffee.”
She grabbed his hand before he could get up. “You’re bad at receiving compliments. I never realized.”
“It’s uncomfortable.” He swallowed again. “When you’re constantly told you’re shit and will never amount to anything, you get used to that. You keep expecting to fuck up, and you don’t believe any good things people say about you.”
He wasn’t usually quite so bad at it anymore, and if he needed to, he’d laugh and smile and change the topic.
But he wasn’t able to do that now. And all those things that he’d been told for years...they started to crowd his head again, in new and twisted ways.
This is what happens when you try to get close to anyone. How do you think you can have a relationship when you can’t even take a fucking compliment? You’re such a screw-up.
He clenched his hand and tried to silence his brain.
“Hey.” Charlotte’s hand was on his leg, grounding him.
Oh, God. She was seeing him like this, being all weird.
“It’s okay,” she said. “I don’t have to say nice things right now, even if they’re true. I can express my continued dismay that you ordered posh Hawaiian pizza last night. I mean, really, Mike? Pineapple on pizza? Are you for real?” She lightly smacked him on the shoulder. “Time for you to make me some coffee, and no damn decaf.”
She always knew the right things to say.
* * *
By the time they were having breakfast and Charlotte was on her third cup of coffee—geez, that woman could really knock back her coffee—Mike was feeling like himself again.
But he didn’t want Charlotte to leave.
“How about we extend our first date?” he said. “Let’s go to the island.”
She looked at him in horror. “You know how I feel about spontaneity and unplanned social interaction.”
“No, I don’t believe you’ve ever told me before.”
“Take an educated guess.”
He shrugged and spent a moment admiring her. She’d put on her clothes from yesterday. They were slightly rumpled, but she looked cute with her face scrunched up like that.
“So,” she said, “you want to take the ferry to the island? Walk around, go to the amusement park? Have fun?” She sounded awful cranky about the whole thing, but there was a glimmer in her eye.
“Yeah. I’ll buy you as many coffees as you need to get through the day.”
“I have plans with my friends tonight, so we’ll have to be back by eight.”
“No problem. I can’t wait to see you on a swan boat, eating cotton candy.”
“I’m not riding a fucking swan boat,” she said, though he had a feeling he could convince her. “But fine, we can go.”
“You are such a softy and a pushover.”
“Shh. That’s secret information.” She squeezed his hand.