Heidi's Guide to Four Letter Words(48)

“I need to ask you a question, and you have to promise not to make fun of me,” Brent states as he finishes rinsing out the mixing bowl in my sink.

Is he going to ask me if he can touch my boobs? Oh, I hope he asks me if he can touch my boobs. Touch them! They’re all yours!

When he turns around and leans against the sink as he dries off his hands, I decide to make it easy on him and move to stand right in front of him. With my hands on my hips and my chest pushed out, I know I look like a superhero getting ready for battle, but whatever works. Maybe he’ll be so mesmerized by them he won’t even ask and he’ll just reach right out and grab them.

“I promise I won’t make fun of you,” I say.

“This is embarrassing,” he mumbles, running one of his hands through his hair as he tosses the towel to the counter next to the sink.

My boobs are making him nervous. Oh, maybe this is why he hasn’t made a move on me yet. He’s got boob nerves! Nope. He’s got tit nerves. Yeah, that’s the good stuff. Tits.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You know what—you don’t even have to ask. Just go for it. Just reach right out and grab ahold of what you want,” I suggest, taking a step closer so he doesn’t even have to lean forward.

Boy, I should really get a gold star for being so helpful.

“Okay, I’m just gonna do it. I’m just gonna go for it,” he says with a nod, pushing off the counter to stand up straight, the motion causing his chest to brush against mine.

Oh, that’s nice. Do it! Do it already. Go for it!

“Heidi Larson, I don’t want you dating anyone else but me,” he blurts out.

“What the shit?” I mutter as my hands slowly drop from my hips.

He looks a little surprised that I just cursed, but I don’t know how to take it back now. I thought he was going to make a move on me, and instead he’s asking me to go steady. My boobs are sad, but it’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. He was nervous to ask me, and here I am standing in front of him with nothing but dirty thoughts on the brain. I need to fix this, fast.

“I mean, that’s the shit!” I shout a little too loudly. “Oh jeez, I don’t know why I can’t stop saying shit.”

Brent laughs, sliding his arms around my waist and pulling me against him. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and smile up at him, pushing up on my toes to give him a kiss.

“So, does that mean you want to go steady with me?” he asks with a wag of his eyebrows.

“Will I get to wear your class ring and letterman jacket and make all the girls in town jealous?”

“I have a hoodie that smells like me you can have. Will that work?”

Only if I can sleep in it with nothing on underneath, with you sleeping naked next to me, I think to myself.

“Oh, you betcha!” I chirp.

We stand here in my kitchen wrapped in each other’s arms, and I think this is it. This is the moment when he’ll just swipe everything off the counter and toss me up there. I won’t even care if he breaks some stuff. Stuff can be replaced. This moment of counter sexy times cannot.

His hands grip tightly to the back of my dress like he’s trying to hold himself back, and I want to scream at him that he doesn’t need to hold back. I am fully on board for whatever dirty thought is on his mind.

The timer on my oven chooses that exact moment to go off, because of course it does.

“Nightmare Bars are done!” Brent cheers a little too excitedly, letting go of me and quickly scrambling over to the oven.

With a sigh of defeat, I watch him put on a pink, frilly oven mitt and remove the pan from the oven. After letting them cool for a few minutes, I cut them into squares and we each dig in. Surprisingly, Brent’s Nightmare Bar creation tastes much better than it looks, and we both eat half the pan before he looks at the clock hanging on the wall in my living room.

“I better go. I’ve got an early morning tomorrow for work. We’re still on for dinner with your friends tomorrow night, right?”

I walk him to my door, trying to not let any disappointment show. It’s fine. I’m not sad. He’s a sweet man and he wants to take things slow. There’s nothing wrong with that. Just because I’ve suddenly become sexually liberated doesn’t mean we have to jump each other so soon. He doesn’t want either one of us to date other people, he’s making future plans with me that include meeting my friends, and he even mentioned wanting to meet my parents yesterday. He can bake, he cleans up after himself, he opens doors and pulls out chairs for me, he makes me laugh, he gets me all hot and bothered when we kiss, and he’s sweet, and thoughtful, and kind. And who cares if he doesn’t make any first moves? This is a good thing.

Brent gives me a kiss on the cheek, and I stand in the doorway, watching him walk over to his house, waiting to close the door until he’s inside. Slumping my back against it, I tug my cell phone out of the pocket of my dress and pull up Aubrey’s contact information, bringing it up to my ear as it rings, and I slide down the door onto my butt.

“I don’t think Brent wants to have sex with me,” I say in greeting when she answers my call.

“Well, hello to you too. What do you mean he doesn’t want to have sex with you? Didn’t you tell me you guys have been making out like porn stars the last few weeks?”