Doing his best to keep himself from diving into work as he flipped open his brand new Apple MacBook Pro, Rod instead x’d out of all of his work stuff – and even his personal email - and did a little surfing, a little online shopping – finally buying himself an antique gun he’d been coveting for a while – and skyped with a friend from Asia that he hadn’t spoken to for a while when he noticed he was online, but the chat rapidly descended into work talk, so he excused himself in order not to get caught in that trap.
Instead, realizing he’d lost almost two more hours of his life to the Internet, he headed for his huge gourmet kitchen and began to prepare breakfast for them.
Minutes later, everything was perking along nicely – the bacon his chef always had precooked and ready for him to just heat up in the microwave was almost done, along with a seasonal fresh fruit salad. Her cup of coffee – strong and dark like he knew she liked it – was waiting to be brewed in the Keurig; he’d already scarfed most of his first cup of the day down and would probably have to make another before they ate. Scrambled eggs – liberally adulterated with cheese but nothing more because he wasn’t sure of her exact tastes - were on the back burner to keep warm, and his one weakness, his one true indulgence that he allowed himself every Sunday was warming in the oven – giant, big as your head cinnamon rolls. He had his chef trained to make two of them – and two only – on Fridays before he left his boss to his own devices for the weekend. He’d learned just how Rod liked them, with lots of sugary cinnamon and tons of cream cheese frosting sitting in a bowl on the counter, waiting to melt into the tops once he took them out.
He was being extremely generous with her, considering he was giving her one of his precious rolls. He hoped she realized just how special that meant she was to him. He’d dated women for months who had gone wanting when it came to that particular vice of his.
Just when he was congratulating himself on being so benevolent, a whirlwind that was being swallowed up by one of his button down shirts darted past him, right to the treasure chest in which she had voluntarily placed her phone and her keys last night, upon arriving.
But, of course, when she flipped the lid up, there was nothing there. “Where is it? Where’d it go? It was right here last night . . .”
By the time he got there to tell her where they were, she was already on her hands and knees on the floor, peering beneath the beautiful antique mahogany buffet and peering here and there, muttering invectives at the cell phone gods for not having kept better track of it for her.
Rod wasn’t being much help because he found himself mesmerized by the sight that greeted his eyes. She was facing away from him in much the same position into which he had put her last night on his bed, straining to look under the furniture, his big shirt obscuring the majority of her more exciting bits, but still he didn’t think he’d ever seen one of his shirts ever look so good on anyone, including himself.
For a long while, he stood there, slack jawed and dry mouthed until, finally, he reached down without thinking and took a hold of her, at the very private root of her, making her jerk her head up at the sudden – not to mention extremely intimate – contact with a resounding thunk.
“Oh, dear, Sunny, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you do that.” He immediately abandoned his more interesting post in favor of practically hauling her out from under the furniture.
“Don’t – no, God damn it! Stop it! I have to find my cell!” she protested very loudly and very petulantly as she actively fought him. “I’m expecting a call from -” absolutely no one that mattered as much as getting him to cease and desist. She realized, as soon as his hand made contact with her rump that she should immediately reconsider her words, her tone and her actions. He’d draped her unceremoniously over the back of the big overstuffed couch, holding her there with ridiculous ease by the mere placement of his hand on her back.
He’d only planted a few swats before he patted her behind, saying, “I would suggest you not move – even a millimeter – before I get back.”
As much as she wanted to get up and continue to search for her things – and she really, really, did – Sunny somehow managed to do as she was told. She craned her head around a bit to see what he was up to, but that the extent to which she had moved. She had a feeling that his little foray into his study wasn’t going to mean anything pleasant for her, and she knew she didn’t want to make things worse.
When he returned, it was with something in his right hand that she couldn’t see well because of the angle.