Her head cocks to the side. “Why are you nervous?”
I shrug, slightly embarrassed. “I’m putting a lot of money into this, counting on it bringing back our clients that we’ve lost. My dad has already shared his disapproval on the renovation. Sometimes, I feel like I’m under a microscope, with him watching and critiquing my every move, waiting for me to mess up.”
“Anything worth doing will scare you first,” she says.
“That’s true,” I reply.
With the way she’s looking at me, it’s like her words are more personal—perhaps on the edge of something that neither of us has named yet.
“Well,”—she places her fork down on her empty plate— “I’m stuffed. Thanks for bringing the food over.”
“You’re welcome.” I smile down at her. “Warning: now that Ma knows you wanted her food, she’ll be sending more every week.”
“You told her about me?” she asks, sounding surprised.
“I don’t usually take tons of leftovers with me. She knew something was up. Plus, we’re friends, right? No reason not to tell her the truth.”
“Right.” She nods her head as her cheeks turn a bit pink. “Of course.”
I glance down at my watch, knowing it’s already late enough to go home and go to bed. But instead of saying good night, I find myself looking for reasons to keep the conversation going.
“What are your plans for the rest of the evening?” I ask.
She shrugs. “I was just going to put on a movie.”
“Anything specific?”
“You trying to decide whether it’s worth it or not to do another movie night with me?”
I smile. “Is that an invitation?”
“Come on.” She laughs as she places her plate in the sink. “Make yourself useful and grab that bottle of wine.”
Relief floods my body as I realize we may be able to get back on track with our friendship. I obey her order and follow her to the couch with the bottle of wine in hand.
We each take a seat at the end of her long couch. She leans against the side, knees bent, feet angled toward the middle of the couch. A new drama has released this week that she clicks on without asking if I want to watch it. The movie is not something I would choose to watch on my own, but I find that I enjoy anything when I’m in the company of Eva.
I refill our glasses and place the bottle on the coffee table, then lean back and get comfortable.
The movie gets started, and just like usual, my attention bounces between the screen and the woman sitting beside me. When I look out of the corner of my eye, I see her smiling at something happening on the screen.
She is always so open, wearing her emotions on her sleeve. It’s an endearing quality; one I used to think was a sign of weakness. Now, I think it might be the opposite.
I turn back to the screen just as the couple in the movie starts to kiss passionately while stripping each other’s clothing off before falling to the bed.
My dick twitches while my brain starts picturing me and Eva doing the same. Within seconds, the actress on the screen is screaming and panting her pleasure.
Eva releases a snort. “Wow. That might be the worst fake orgasm I’ve ever heard.”
“You think you could do better?” I ask curiously as I look from Eva back to the screen.
She points aggressively. “There is just no way that’s how any woman experiences sex. Like instant pleasure that requires her to scream like a maniac. Come on.”
“Yeah? Are you faking orgasms often?” I arch an eyebrow curiously.
“Only every time I’ve had sex with a man.”
I nearly choke on my wine as several emotions flow through me, one after the other. “What … do …” I stop to try to figure out what to say. “You’re joking.”