My foot never leaves Brant’s crotch. Brant’s gaze never leaves mine.
“Bon appétit,” says the server, oblivious, then departs.
And as I continue to torment Brant beneath the table with my cruel toes, I’m just another diner in the restaurant, innocently cutting into my steak and slipping the first bite past my lips. “Mmm,” I moan, our eyes still locked on one another. “Delish.”
He shuts his eyes again, issuing a small moan of his own as I continue to drive him crazy under the tablecloth.
“Aren’t you going to try yours?” I ask lightly.
“You’re evil.”
“What was that?”
“Nothing.” He struggles to pretend like nothing’s amiss, grabbing his fork and knife like a caveman and gracelessly cutting himself off a chunk, stabbing it into his mouth, and chewing demonstratively. Then, through his mouthful, he blurts, “Tasty.”
“Orgasmic, even,” I suggest.
“Explosive,” he agrees, his wetted eyes growing more and more crazed by the second.
I lean forward a bit and bring my voice down. “This is pretty mean, isn’t it?”
“The meanest,” he agrees.
“Especially when I still turn you down for sex after this.” I take a forkful of mashed potatoes, moaning as I eat them. “Wow. These are particularly succulent.”
“You’ll turn me down? Really? After working me up?”
“Try the potatoes.”
“Babe, I’m going to have the worst case of blue balls …”
“Potatoes,” I repeat, tapping my plate with my fork.
He scoops up some potatoes just as mannishly, shoveling so much into his mouth that his cheek bulges. Then he chews, his unblinking eyes locked on me as I continue to massage him.
“You have so much tension down there,” I note.
“Let’s skip dessert,” he says through his bite.
“But that’s my favorite part.”
And then I pull my foot back. I see him lurch forward, as if pulling my foot away had more of an effect on him than putting it there in the first place. His jaw hangs open, staring at me in disbelief across the table. I innocently return my attention to my plate.
He sputters before finally getting his question out. “Who are you?”
I just smile and enjoy my meal above the table, as I’ve finished enjoying the one beneath it.
Finally, after a few more bites of his steak, he shakes his head and says, “You’re like night and day, Nell.”
I swallow my mouthful. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, just days ago you turned me into your art exhibit and … I’m pretty sure the message behind that was you didn’t want anything to do with me. And then, through a great effort—”
“That wasn’t quite the message.”
“Through a great effort of mine,” he presses on, “I convinced you somehow this afternoon to actually interrupt your busy artist schedule go on a date with me.”
“Still haven’t declared this a date yet.”
“And now you’re … so fuckin’ frisky that I’m feeling caught off-guard. Me. Brant Rudawski. I’m caught off-guard. I’m blushing and shit. This isn’t me.”
“Your last name’s Rudawski?” I ask, then take a sip of my water.
He sets down his utensils, eyeing me from across the table. “Forgive me, Nell. I’m just gettin’ a lot of … mixed messages. I know you’re into me. You have to be into me. Basically everyone is. Even dudes.”
I chortle into my glass, then experience a sudden wave of regret. I don’t mean to lead him on so strongly. I’ve always been a bit like the kitty that races up the curtains, then can’t figure out how to get back down. I can’t resist an impulse when it takes hold of my mind. Those impulses are the reason I’m an artist.
They also happen to get me in trouble.
“When we first met,” I reason with him, changing my demeanor to something a touch more serious, “I think it’s clear to say I got a certain impression of you, Brant.”
“A naked one,” he agrees.
“Second time I met you, I got a similar impression.”
“Another naked one.”
“So forgive me,” I say, lowering my voice and leaning forward, “if I might need a little time to sort out whether it’s you playing me, or me playing you.”
He nods slowly. “What you’re telling me is, you want to get the hell out of here and play a bit somewhere else?”
His leg is bouncing excitedly under the table. His eyes gleam with a hunger I know has nothing to do with the steak he just crammed in his mouth. I worry that I’m pushing my luck here with a guy I barely know, once again following in my dad’s footsteps, being totally fucking reckless and irresponsible.