Chapter 31

Chapter 31

Poppy

It's officially Freak Out Friday.

I made it through my first workweek with Julian, each day building up to tonight: our first date.

I've paced a new hole in the carpet of my closet, and don't ask me to confess how many outfits I have tried on.

I throw my hands up. "This is ridiculous. He's seen you in an old stained shirt and yoga pants from high school," I mutter.

That's what I love about us. He's seen me not at my highest, not with a filter of makeup on. We have a slew of embarrassing moments behind us.

"I don't need to worry," I state as I grab a pair of jeans. I want to look hot but still be myself, and with Julian, I feel like I can be authentic, not just a posed picture on a dating website. It's rare and precious these days. There's so much pressure to be perfect and none to be real, which is what the foundation of a good relationship should be built on. Fake sinks; real floats and weathers the storms.

I glance at my watch and feel the onset symptoms of a heart attack sinking in. I've got fifteen minutes before I'm supposed to meet him at his apartment. He's cooking dinner, a task no man other than my brothers has ever done for me.

I close my eyes. "You'd like him, Peter," I whisper to a ghost.

Then, I inhale a fresh breath of air and push away my pain. I commit to a pair of skinny jeans and a black v-neck silk blouse. I've showered, and yes, I used my pumpkin spice body wash – I like it. I've freshly blown out my hair, which took twice as long because I obsessed over every lump and bump. I opted for a fresh, clean face with just shimmery gold eyeshadow, mascara, and nude gloss.

Contrary to what Harper thinks, my entire cabinet isn't pumpkin spice. I grab my favorite perfume, Orange Blossom by Nest, and dab it on my neck and wrists.

I grip the bottle of wine I'm bringing harder than I should. It's a wine bottle, not a stress ball; loosen your grip, or else your fingers will sever the top off like a sabrage.

As soon as I step out into the hallway, I smell the most delicious scent of oregano and basil. I knock on the door with drool dripping from the corner of my lip.

The door swings open, and I edge back at his rugged beauty. He's wearing dark-wash jeans and a navy shirt. Simple, because a man with his face needs nothing else. Preferably not even the clothes, just stand before me nude like the statute of David and let me admire your god-like body.

A dishcloth is slung over his shoulder in the sexiest way possible. He's grinning ear to ear, his stormy eyes lighting up when he sees me as if actual fireworks were going off.

It's the way he looks at me, not just my body; it feels like he's seeing my soul. That's what first attracted me to him.

My arousal begins to pump. Hold your horses, ovaries, I think to myself; we haven't even said 'hello' yet.

"Hey," he says.

"Hi," I smirk. We both just smile at each other. It feels like a weight has been lifted off our shoulders.

He reaches out, the warmth of his hands radiating through the fabric of my blouse as they find my hips. His touch sends a shiver of anticipation up my spine.

He bends towards me, and I can feel the gentle pressure of his breath against my skin just before his lips meet mine. The kiss melts me right into his hands. His fingers gently press into my hips, anchoring me in the moment, grounding me in the electric connection between us. His tongue swirls around mine like a shark schooling fish.

Oh, he's a good kisser. I have a feeling he's good at everything.

It's a slow and cautionary kiss, making me feel like I could fall in love with him.

"Hmmm," he moans in satisfaction, "I've been counting the hours of every single day till I could kiss you," he whispers.

I push on my toes, grabbing his shoulder with my free hand as I deepen our kiss; he follows my lead, mimicking my passion. My fingertips push into his hard muscles, my soft stomach meeting his sculpted one. We kiss like two teenagers sneaking out behind a tree.

Slowly, he spins me, guiding me back and into his apartment. He kicks the door with his heel.

"Fuck, Pumpkin," he growls.

I feel his hardness push against my core. His hands slip under my shirt, pressing against my heated skin. We're moving so fast, but I don't want it to stop, which is insane given my past. At the same time, it is completely logical, given how safe I feel with Julian.

"I made us dinner, but now I only want to eat you."

His statement sends me into overdrive. I feel like my face makes some dazed cartoon-like gesture.

He pulls away. "Too much honesty?" He raises a brow with a slight worry in his eyes.

I shake my head and swallow.

He slowly grins. "Come on. I'll feed you first."

First? What does he have planned for the after? I need to know so I can stress over it the entire time.

I follow him to his kitchen and set the bottle of wine down.

"I didn't know what you liked to drink, but wine felt very adult-ish," I tell him.

"Adultish?" he asks with a sparkle of humor in his eyes.

He goes to the stove and stirs the boiling water. A smaller pot is simmering next to it with a delicious-smelling red sauce.

"Well, to be honest, I stressed over what to bring. Beer felt too cheap, liquor felt too…" I giggle but continue my no-filter honesty, "whorish. The wine felt refined."

"And you want us to be refined tonight?" he asks with a raised brow. He grabs a wooden spoon and begins to stir the sauce.

"Honestly? No. But I think we should try to get to know each other more. Wine allows that. It's slow and savory."

He puts the spoon back down and comes toe to toe with me. His aftershave overtakes the kitchen aroma.

My nostrils widen, and I find my body leaning closer to his.

"I like the idea of savoring every inch of you, Pumpkin," he kisses me. Just a simple peck that has my toes edging forward, wanting to bow down to him.

When he turns, my eyes drift down his body, landing on his sculpted ass. I've never checked out a man's backside before, but with Julian, I want to study every inch.

"I didn't know what type of food you prefer, so I took the safe option and made spaghetti and meatballs with garlic bread and Caprese salad to start. Please tell me you're a woman who actually eats carbs?"

"I do," I reply. "When did you have time to make all this?" I walk deeper into his kitchen, allowing my nose to lead the way. If I were blindfolded, I'd swear I was in a five-star restaurant.

"I bailed on my last meeting," he admits with a guilty smirk.

"Julian! That was with Edward Jacobson. Debbie said his office planned that meeting three months ago." Edward Jacobson is a General and works in the Office of Homeland Security.

"I called him personally and told him I'd fit him in tomorrow," he says, grabs two dishes, and begins to plate the spaghetti.

"I need to know this as your secretary," I playfully scold him. I turn to grab my phone so I can open his calendar and make a note of it, but I remember I left my bag in my apartment.

"Pumpkin, we're not working. I waited all week to see you and not talk about work," he grabs a ladle and starts to spoon the sauce carefully over the pasta.

"You're right," I admit. I just want to be great at my job. I need to outshine everyone since I'm secretly dating my boss.

"At least let me help you then."

"Don't worry, I got it covered."

"Your sling?" I asked when I noticed that he wasn't wearing his arm sling.

"My arm isn't hurting me right now," he glances up, "And I want to be able to touch you with both hands."

My front teeth sink into my bottom lip, his eyes watching my every move. He shakes his head, "If we keep eye-fucking each other, we will never make it to the dinner table."

Harper would say the human body can survive weeks without food but only hours without an orgasm.

Thankfully, I don't say that out loud.

"How'd the furniture shopping go?" He turns, opens a cabinet, and grabs a large tray. "It better be fucking worthy of an interior design magazine since it cock-blocked me."

I giggle, "It went well. I ordered a couch, a coffee table, and a TV stand, but I still have a lot more to find. I'm thinking of trying some antique stores. I don't want everything to look too new. I want some character, but I don't want to border on grandma chic." I admit.

I look over his apartment; it's spotless and so well-designed. There's a clear theme, which is masculine, modern, and wealthy. Actually, it doesn't really seem to suit Julian. He's casual, manly with a ‘don't fuck with me' attitude. He's more aged leather sofa and rustic wood. His apartment is designed for Julian, the CEO, with polished grey and black-streaked marble and refined abstract art.

"So I already know you can cook, but are you secretly an interior designer as well?"

"Heck no. A girl Kent dated was the interior designer. I already owned the apartment, but when I knew I was moving back, Kent had her finish the place for me. As for my cooking, you haven't tried it yet, so don't be handing out a Michelin star yet."

"That's a lot of trust in Kent. I would have worried he put a stripper pole front and center."

Julian bursts out into laughter. "You know what, I never thought of that, but you're right."

I run my finger over his marble kitchen island. "I'm scared to set a glass down without a coaster in here," I blurt out.

"Make your mark, Pumpkin," he replies. "It's nice, but I want to live in it, break things, get stains. There's no point in owning nice things if you can't use them. If something gets too ruined, I can always replace it." He grabs steaming hot bread out of the oven and then begins to slice it. The sound of the crust cracking and flaking off makes my mouth water.

"Ready?" he asks once he's finished.

I nod and lick my lips. My stomach is clawing for a taste of his food.

I look over at his empty dining room table. "Can I set the table at least?"

"We're not eating in here."

"We're not?"

"Nope," he slyly smirks, "I've got a surprise for you. Just bring the wine," he says as he lifts the tray. It looks heavy, and immediately, I want to offer to hold it. I'm not sure he should be exerting his injured arm this much. I bite my tongue because I know it's a sore topic for him.

"Could you get the door?" He asks.

"Sure," I open it. "Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

We get into the elevator, and he presses the button for the rooftop where the pool is. I feel his eyes watching me as I hide my excitement. The doors open, and he leads me past the pool to a small section of tables. My feet slow, and I almost drop the wine.

I look up at him. "Julian..." I'm speechless. And that's when I feel my feet slip and tumble down the slippery slope called falling in love.