“They didn’t fit the bill?” He asked casually and wiped his hands on a dishtowel. She still hadn’t made eye contact with him.
“They were fun.” She paused to ponder a moment. “I guess that’s good since I’m looking for fun.” She shrugged and continued to bread the chicken, placing some into the pan of hot oil. And finally she glanced over her shoulder at him. Her eyes were blank, but she smiled. “Enough about me, how are things going with Joanna?”
He debated on whether or not he should tell her that he had ended things with her. Instead of committing himself to a decision, he changed the topic back to her; he was clearly not done with his questions. “If you’re only looking for fun, I’d be happy to oblige.”
Her smile faltered and she turned back to watch the chicken cook. “Right, well since that would be a disaster of epic proportions. I’m going to stick with strangers they are the safest kind of fun.”
“Strangers and safe don’t usually go hand in hand.” He said evenly.
And then she surprised him, she moved towards the breakfast bar and gripped the edge of the counter and stared right at him. He raised an eyebrow at her boldness and leaned in waiting for her to gather her courage. “Maybe not, but you my friend are not the answer.” She leaned closer and looked him square in the eyes. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a bit turned on. He liked watching the fire in her eyes. It was a rare occurrence and he was absolutely mesmerized by it. “Read my lips.” She whispered and then she killed him, by running her tongue over her lower lip. Her now moist lips, glistening as she enunciated each word slowly and thoroughly. “Not. Going. To. Happen.”
“What a shame, I am tons of fun.” He smiled his eyes still on her wet lips.
“Don’t I know it.” She murmured. “Make no mistake about it; I love your kind of fun. I love having fun with you. But we both know I’m looking for a different kind of fun.”
“That kind of fun is my specialty.” He didn’t skip a beat, and he thanked God, because he was struggling with the marathon his heart was running, and the party that was going on in his very thin pants.
She closed her eyes for a moment, and then turned abruptly back to the stove, and turned the chicken. “You my friend are chicken cutlets. Fried, messy and oil will shoot at you if you get too close.” And when the oil shot out of the pan, she ducked. “See!” She said as she lowered the flame.
Jake looked at her, shifting in his chair to accommodate his hard on. He was trying to wrap himself around the idea that she had just compared him to their dinner, and what that meant. “I’m a chicken cutlet?”
“Yes!” She said as she stared at the frying pan. “I can’t afford to get burned. I’m more in the market for stew. You know? It takes forever to cook, it’s good for you. It comforts you.”
“I comfort you.” He didn’t want to mention that they’ve been taking forever to admit there is more than a friendship between them. He rubbed his temples. Maybe he was stew, after all.
“Yes, but you’re not stew. You’re so far from stew.” She began to fix a salad, and grabbed another bowl from one of his cabinets. She looked over at him. “Do you get what I’m saying?”
“Not at all.” He admitted, and threw his head into his hands. He peered at her from the cracks between his fingers and saw she was biting her lip, holding back a giggle.
“Come on Jake. Let’s just drop this before I compare your to apples and oranges.” She reached out and grabbed one of his hands. “It’s okay to be chicken cutlets. I bet you Joanna loves chicken cutlets.” She raised her eyebrows, obviously trying to either, turn this conversation on him or lighten the mood.
“Joanna and I are done.” He removed his hands from his face and stared at her. She cocked her head to the side as confusion crossed her features.
“I’m sorry. What happened?” She said softly.
He wanted to tell her, you happened, but he stopped himself. He reworded his answer in his head and then spoke. “I’m beginning to think I want more out of a woman.” He shrugged his shoulders. “The fast rides and flings are getting old, not to mention I’m not getting any younger.”
She looked surprised, but masked it very quickly. “No more ride or die chicks?” She laughed. “You’d be bored in a week.”
He shook his head. “Wrong. Just one ride or die chick, and I’d never be bored of her.” Her mouth dropped open slightly, and remained like that as she just stared at him. “Close your mouth or you’ll catch something.” He said before looking over her shoulder at the stove. “Cara? Your chicken cutlets are burning.”
She closed her mouth with a smacking sound and then muttered a few curses as she grabbed the frying pan that was shooting oil. He leaned back against his stool and grinned as he watched her rescue their dinner and play with the hot oil.