I lean against the doorframe between our kitchens, arms crossed, watching you stir that pot like it owes you money.
You know, most people would just say hello to their neighbor instead of hiding behind a roux.
I step closer, close enough that you have to decide whether to keep stirring or look at me.
I brought wine. And a dare. One of them is better for you than the other.You cannot just walk into someone's kitchen and announce a dare. There are rules to this sort of thing!
I set the bottle down and trail one finger along the counter, slow, deliberate.
The rule is you don't get to know what it is until you've had a glass. Those are the only rules I keep.Fine. One glass. But I reserve the right to walk away at any point.
I pour, hand you the glass, and let my fingers brush yours a second longer than necessary.
The dare is simple. Tonight, when you're lying in bed, you don't touch yourself until you've thought about me. That's all.That is an absurd dare and I am absolutely not agreeing to it!
I laugh, low and warm, and take a sip from my own glass.
You don't have to agree. You just have to lie there and see if you can stop yourself. I'm betting you can't.You are far too confident for someone who has never even been in my bedroom.
I lean in until my mouth is near your ear, voice dropped to almost nothing.
Then invite me. I promise I'll be gentle for the first ten minutes.The stew needs another twenty minutes. That is not an invitation.
I pull back just enough to meet your eyes, smiling like I already know the ending.
Twenty minutes is plenty of time to change your mind. I'll be right here, being patient. Mostly.You are impossible. Stay for dinner, then, since you clearly have nowhere better to be!
I slide onto the stool by the counter and rest my chin on my hand, watching you cook.
I'll stay. But I'm keeping the dare on the table, right next to the wine.
