Artful Attractions (16 page)

I roll my suitcase into the closet and plop down onto the bed. No TV’s except one downstairs, dodgy cell reception, Amy does have wireless hooked up and I did bring my laptop. So I will be out of commission for most of the stay with technology. Yah! No more nine a.m. calls from Brian. For a few days at least.

Three short knocks on my bedroom door.

“Yes?” I call out.

“It’s me, we’re going to be eating soon. Come down and socialize.” Amy calls from the other side. 

“Sorry, I was just relaxing and soaking up the beauty of this room. Be down in fifteen.”

I slide off the bed and tug off my clothes. I dig out a pair of jeans, my black rubber bottomed moccasins, a long sleeve dark green scoop neck cotton tee. I pony up my hair better and apply a light amount of makeup sitting on the perfect little pink stool. I spritz on my favorite Chanel perfume and apply some chap stick. I love being able to go totally casual here. I feel more like myself. Sure, I love the dressing up and wearing heels. Plus, I love being naked at home all the time. But this is nice to be able to sit back and relax and not have to try so hard. I’ve never pretended around Brad. Except I didn’t tell him what I do for a living. Although that shouldn’t really matter because we’re supposed to be friends. Even though that’s a disaster waiting to happen.

I open the bedroom door and close it behind me. Hiding the fact that I just left my dirty clothes on the floor. I only do that when I’m on vacation. It’s some unwritten rule I have. I leisurely take the stairs down to the main sitting area, allowing my fingers to cascade down the smooth wooden banister. Each floor has twelve foot ceilings with thick moldings. Amy’s done an amazing job to keep the Victorian theme throughout the house. The main living space has three complimentary ivory Italian leather couches with intricate wood details and long wooden legs, with high curved backs. They don’t appear to be very comfortable but they are. Brad is sitting with his mother and sister.

“Hey guys,” I say, walking in and taking a seat on the open couch.

“Hi,” Brad greets with a smile. He’s changed into dark denim jeans, a black long-sleeved tee; kind of like mine and black boots.

“So are we eating at the famous Vino’s tonight?” I ask whoever is listening.

“We were just talking about that. Brad says he would love to but mom and I would rather stay home, thought you two should go together,” Amy says plainly. But the twinkle in that naughty eye of hers tells me she’s up to no good. This isn’t match making time.

“I came to see you two so I’ll stay and eat here. What are we having?” I smirk and cut her little plot off at the knees. “Aren’t you going back Brad?”

“I’m not allowed.” He frowns, facing me, he’s sitting forward his elbows resting on his knees, appearing unhappy. 

“No son of mine is stopping by for five minutes and leaving his old mum to play poker with a bunch of sissy’s. Plus he’s not visited me in nearly six months. I see you, Alexis, more than I get to see him. If it wasn’t for this visit he’d probably have waited until Christmas,” Mama Ruby states.

“Ah, well shame on you Brad.” I shake my finger at him with a playful smile. “If my mom was as wonderful as yours I’d have bought her a house next to mine long ago.”

“Yep, and if your mom was like mine she’d be over all the time and begging to know when you’re getting married and going to give her some grandbabies,” he adds with a deeper frown, his bottom lip turned out into a sexy pout.

“Trust me Brad, it’s much better than the alternative,” I reassure him and give Ruby an extra special wink. She and I have talked about this before. Amy is a forever singleton and her other son is divorced but has a daughter. They aren’t close so she’s been banking on one of her favorite kids to pop out a grandbaby before she keels over. Ruby’s migrating into her early sixties. Brad’s around thirty-five, Amy’s thirty-eight, I believe, and I’m not sure about the other son. Ruby’s been a single mom for most of her life. Their father died before Amy was ten. I’ve heard so many stories over the years about the family. It’s cool I now know three of them instead of just the two.

“I suppose it is. But I need to head to Vino’s today or tomorrow. Either is fine with me,” he explains rubbing his goatee.

“I think we should make Brad cook dinner and all of us ladies set up for a poker game in the dining room,” I suggest. Amy’s face lights up.

“That’s a great idea!” she giggles.

“But we need stuff for him to cook,” Mama chimes in.

“Yeah and I need beer desperately,” Brad finishes.

“Brad and I will go to the store and you two get stuff set up. We both know the town well enough—or at least I do. So we shouldn’t be long.” I stand and make my way to the door. “Well come on, we don’t have all day,” I tease and open one of the double doors.

He follows me out drooping his shoulders and we take the BMW into the nearest tiny town to pick up groceries.

He slings a twelve pack of Coronas into the cart. “Why those? That’s a lot,” I ask.

“I’ve converted since we last drank beer together,” he explains tossing in a lemon and a lime into the cart. “But, I do the correct way with a lime and you madam do the crappy way with a lemon,” he teases and throws an orange at me, which I catch.

“Do we need this or are you flirting with me, Bradley?” I tease and toss the orange back at him.

“Does it matter? You’re my sister now,” he chuckles and throws the orange into the cart.

“No I am not.” I hit the end isle and throw in some fudge stripe cookies. He picks them back out the cart and places them back onto the shelf.

“Those are gross. Try these.” He throws in some Cameo cookies. They have no chocolate in them. I think I might actually beat him senseless here in the store. A girl needs her chocolate.

“They don’t have chocolate. Are you crazy?” I grab the pack out of the cart and shake it at him. He snatches it out of my hand and mockingly lays it back into the cart caressing its plastic wrapper like it’s made of gold, with a sly smile. I roll my eyes and stick my nose up into the air, folding my arms animatedly over my chest trying to hold back a laugh.

“Those are better than chocolate trust me. I’ve been to culinary school. I’ve studied in Paris and I’ve studied in the US. I think I know what I’m talking about when I pick out packaged cookies,” he states pushing around his education in a sarcastic way. Teaching me a little more about him that I had no idea about. He grabs some steaks, potatoes, and a bunch of other items that I can’t keep track of. And the same blue bottle of Ice Wine I purchased for him on Thursday.

“Someone must have liked my gift.” I pick the bottle out the cart.

“No, I like Ice wine and I haven’t drank your gift yet,” he corrects and I carry the bottle like a baby to the register. I pull out a few hundred dollar bills and go to pay the cashier. He snatches the money out of my hand and hands the lady a credit card.

“I was going to buy this.” I motion towards the full bags.

“I’m a gentleman, Alexis. Get used to it or shop by yourself,” he goads and stuffs the money back into the top of my purse.

We load up the car together. Which is nice. I’ve only ever been grocery shopping as an adult with Becka. No one else. We listen to music back to the B&B and I snag most of the bags to take inside and he kicks my butt with his foot as I go up the steps. “I’m a gentlemen and I’m supposed to carry those too,” he says, annoyed.

“Too bad. You can’t have everything in life.” I wiggle my butt and open the front door carefully with my hands full and carry the groceries into the kitchen. He sits his down on the counter and starts to unpack it all and arrange it however he does in the fridge, leaving out items he’s cooking with for tonight.

I sneak out the cookies he made us get instead of the others and I peal back the lid. I pluck out a cookie and just as I’m about to put it into my mouth he snatches it from between my fingers. “No. You’ll spoil your dinner,” he chides and takes the cookie and the bag from me with childish enthusiasm. 

I genuinely frown. “That’s not fair,” I whine placing my hand on my hip. 

He lays the cookies on top of the cabinets so I couldn’t even reach them unless I got a step ladder. Then he takes a step closer to me so we are toe-to-toe and I can feel the heat from his thick, delicious body. He takes the cookie I was going to eat and fits the entire thing into his mouth and chews it slowly so I have to watch.  Moans of food pleasure and the crunch of the cookie are the only noises that steep the air between us. A naughty smirk curves up from his lips and I inhale deeply and huff, frustrated in a playful sense, not angrily. The heady mix of his cologne mixed with soap fills my senses and I have to grab the counter to steady my suddenly weakened knees.

“Can I have a beer with a lemon then please?” I ask like a child, innocently batting my eyelashes.

He chuckles and smacks his lips as his tongue cleans the remnants of the cookie from his mouth. It’s sexy to hear. I know that sounds ridiculous but if you find yourself as attracted to a man as I do Brad you’d feel the same. I’m bordering on unhealthy territory here.

“I suppose a lemon and a Corona is okay.” He licks his lips. Oh boy look at that tongue. Woo wee, my panties just dampened and it’s stifling in here. My veins are on fire.

Then he grabs the lemon off the counter and a chef’s knife from the knife block. He expertly slices it in half quickly and the next thing I know there are perfectly sliced wedges for me to use. The middle of the kitchen has a butcher block so you can cut anything on it without a cutting board. Every house should have one of these. It’s easy clean up too. I go into the fridge and pull out two bottles of Corona I push my forearm to the caps and twist. It snaps the lids right off. I toss the lids in the trash and I slip my lemon wedge into the neck of my beer, handing him his.

“Cheers.” I clink it and take a swig. He sits his down and segments the lime perfectly too. “You want some help with cooking?” I offer. Even though I can cook some, I can’t be of much help to someone with as much skill as him.

“No you go spend some time with your favorite people.” He waves me off. I want to chime in and say he’s one of my favorite too, but I can’t.

I leave out to find Mama and Amy in the living room catching up.

“Hello Alexis, how was the store? Is my bro cooking?” Amy asks and I drop down on the other couch and sip my beer.

“Yes, I offered to help but he won’t let me. So what’s up?”

We get into a long conversation about how the Bed and Breakfast has been doing. Very well as it seems. Mama talks about her doctor’s visits which are all good. She talks about Mikey the other son who I couldn’t remember the name of. He’s the middle child. Apparently three kids in four years was how Ruby worked it. Of course she goes off on a tangent about being so old and being one of the only women of her group of friends without a grandbaby to care for regularly. Ruby maybe in her early sixties but she looks about fifty five and her doctors say she’s in great health. Fingers crossed she makes it another thirty years.

“Make Amy get pregnant,” I tease.

Amy’s eyes widen in horror. “I don’t do babies. Not my own anyhow. If I had a girlfriend to carry them I would but I couldn’t meet a woman up here doing the job I do,” she states and my mouth falls open. I had no idea Amy was gay.

“You’re a lesbian?” I ask, surprised, and she giggles bashfully, covering her mouth.

“I didn’t tell you? Oh I kind of assumed you’d realized by now I guess. Yes, I’ve been strictly dating woman since I was about twenty-two, maybe a little older. I tried the man thing but it’s never worked for me,” she explains.

“If you don’t want to carry a baby but want a surrogate, I’d do that for you,” I offer. I know she’s pushing forty and it’s getting to the scary age in life for a woman to carry a baby. But I’m only twenty-five. I’ve got a good ten more years to carry kids. I don’t want any myself. Not because I don’t actually like kids but I’ve just accepted that I will probably be alone for most of my life. And the men I date are going to pay me for it. I’m okay with that. Believe it or not, I enjoy my job.

“You are just too damn sweet,” Ruby says. Sounding like Brad that night in his apartment.

I shake my head. “No, I just love Amy and I want her to have a family if she wants one.”

“I appreciate it, Alexis. But no thanks. The thought of raising a baby on my own without a wife isn’t appealing to me. Not in this place especially. It’s too big for me and a baby. I’d need a whole family here.”

I nod, understanding. This place is huge and it would need a lot of people to fill it. So I switch subjects and move into Brad’s apartment situation and my new job of decorating it.  Pleasant aromas start to filter into the living room from the kitchen. I don’t think I’ve ever had a man cook for me. This will be another first for today. After getting the drawn out input from Amy and Ruby, they decide that Brad should have zero say in his apartment décor and if I need any help to email Amy. Which I’m fine with. Brad doesn’t seem very interested in sprucing up his apartment himself. He sleeps on an air mattress and uses a beanbag chair for Christ sakes. So I’ll do my friendly duty and make it beautiful for him, on his dime of course.

“Dinner is served,” Brad declares standing in the doorway. A white chef’s apron wrapped around his waist, his sleeves rolled up. He is perfect. I wonder what he looks like under all that clothes? Oh great…My mind’s in the gutter again. It’s getting worse. Damn me.

We all make our way into the dining room where the table has already been set with plated meals and cloth napkins. It’s very refined.