Page 22 of Inside Out
“If music be the food of love, play on.”
~William Shakespeare
“Music fuels the soul and becomes the rhythm of the heart.”
~Romeo Bradley
“Ithought we’d eat at the kitchen nook since it’s a bit more intimate than a formal dining room. Is that okay with you?” I asked Jules. God, I sounded as breathless as I felt. He’d rendered me senseless with his kisses, and I was still reeling. Then again, I liked the sensation that I was floating and the only thing keeping me tethered to the ground was his hand.
“It sounds perfect to me.”
Before he arrived, I set the table with my good china and crystal wineglasses then placed the salad bowl and matching crystal carafe filled with my homemade vinaigrette dressing. I thought about lighting candles but decided it might be too much. Damn, I was so out of practice at this. I had wound myself up so tight before he arrived I practically vibrated with nervous energy while somehow managing to be rigid at the same time. It was a recipe for a disastrous evening, but Jules fixed that with a simple kiss. His lips were even softer than they looked, and I could easily spend hours kissing him, learning their shape and memorizing his taste.
“Please have a seat, and I’ll bring the rest of our meal over,” I said, reluctantly releasing his hand.
“Are you sure I can’t help?”
Oh, there were so many ways he could help me. Take off my clothes, kiss me all over, put me out of my fucking misery by joining his body to mine. I knew that wasn’t what he was offering though, so I smiled and said, “You can carry the chicken parm over to the table while I get the breadsticks if you want.”
“Sure.” Jules slipped his hands inside the oven mitts I’d set beside the steaming casserole and carried it to the table, placing the dish on the chrome serving rack. Jules wearing my oven mitts was such a small thing, but it felt as huge as the lump in my throat. I really liked seeing him in my space and liked him touching my things. His presence settled and grounded me in ways I never expected. Jules fit as well in my kitchen as he did the light blue sweater and dark denim jeans he wore.Too soon, Romeo. Take it slow.
I placed the breadsticks in the bread basket and grabbed our bottle of wine. “You have excellent taste in wine, Jules.” I lifted the bottle and began pouring a fair amount in his wineglass.
“I’d love to take credit for it, but I asked the guy working the wine section what paired best with chicken Parmesan. He started talking about the different types of notes and accents found in wines then must’ve taken pity on me when my eyes glazed over and pulled two different types from the shelf.”
“The guy knows his wine. Would you prefer to drink something else? I have a variety of beer, liquor, and soda. I never know what I’m going to be in the mood for and tend to grab a little of everything.”
“This is fine, Rome,” he assured me. “I enjoy a glass of good wine, but I don’t know enough to choose a decent one without help.” Jules took a sip of his wine then licked his lips. “This is delicious.”
I wanted to lean across the table and taste it on his lips but instead picked up my glass and took a sip. “I love a good cabernet sauvignon.” Neither of us said anything while we filled our plates with perfectly seared breaded chicken smothered in Lily’s scrumptious marinara sauce and melted mozzarella. I took the tongs and gave the salad another quick toss before filling my bowl and asking, “Can I interest you in a tossed salad, Jules?”
He chuckled, and a wry grin spread across his face. Jules cleared his throat then said, “I’ve been known to enjoy it on occasion, but I usually like to get to know someone first.”
“Oh my God! Did I say something really inappropriate? Why must the younger generation take the tamest of words and phrases and turn them into something dirty? Did I proposition you without knowing it?”
Jules’s chuckle turned into a deep-bellied laugh which I couldn’t help answering in kind. “Kids these days,” he said, imitating the shaky voice of an elderly man.
I groaned. “How bad is it?” I asked. “Did I just offer to blow you under the table?”
Jules laughed until tears ran down his face. “Not quite.”
“What then?” I asked, but Jules shook his head. Groaning, I pulled my phone out of my back pocket and googled the phrase. My heart sank to my knees. According to the urban dictionary, I had just offered to give Jules a rim job. “Dear God, take me now.”
“Is that my cue to pounce, or are you praying that the good Lord calls you home right this minute?”
I laughed and snorted at the same time which only added to my list of clumsy first-date transgressions. It was a miracle Julius didn’t jump to his feet and run out the door. “I would totally understand if you left my house and never spoke to me again.”
Julius stopped laughing and reached across the table for my hand. “I’m not laughing at you, Rome.”
“You’re laughing near me then?”
“You have to admit the situation is a little funny.”
“I didn’t want to be funny. I wanted to be suave and sexy.”
“You could do that without breathing because it’s part of your genetic makeup. Sometimes suave comes across as unapproachable, and I…” He let his words trail off while he carefully chose his words.
“Want to approach me?” I suggested.