Lucas
Brittany didn't say anything for a while and I thought that I messed up with my question. Was it too inquisitive? I took a business communication course back in the day and I thought that maybe there would be a course on guidelines on what to say when you meet an old friend. An old friend who probably thought you were a loser and left without a word after having a good night together.
"Hmm… sorry. That was rude. I just…I just thought I would be meeting Clarissa. I didn't expect you." I said in apology.
"Yeah, I am sorry for not informing your office beforehand. The company felt you needed someone with more expertise to handle the redecoration." She seemed to have gotten herself back and I wanted to praise her for her cool and calm personality.
"Okay, that's no problem. What do you need to ask me about? Wait, are we going to pretend like we don't know each other? Why… Why did you leave the country? How is your mum and br-" she cut me off
"We are not talking about what happened and what didn't. We are here now and we are going to talk about the mutual project and nothing else." There was a coldness and finality in her voice that shut my mouth.
Cold, hard, and brutal didn't describe Brittany. She was a soft witty girl who was always happy. She kept lists of things she wanted to do and forced me to create one.
Normally, she would dissect the restaurant's architecture, lights and food. But here we are, she wanted me to pretend that we don't have a past. I could do that and I did until biology took over.
The change of leadership over the home redecoration was immediate and she didn't get the address of the property because I mentioned it was my family's house in Los Altos, she looked scared and requested time to visit the toilet. We had a happy time in that house, my happiest moments in that home were built by time spent with her and my Grandpa. Her reaction made no sense to me.
After almost ten minutes, I thought to check on her. That's if the restaurant would understand that I need to see if she's alright. They didn't, so we settled on a female worker to check up on her.
I had a thing with panic attacks and I just hoped that Brittany was not having one. But come to think of it, what exactly brought on panic attacks at the thought of the house? She was the one who fucking left. Without a fucking word. Changed her number and shit.
She made everything complicated. And she was making me lose my practised cool in a public space. I was getting angry and it made no sense. To calm down, I asked for wine while waiting for her.
There is so much that you can know about a person's sexuality from the way they walk. A part of my demands before having sex with a woman is to watch her walk, weird? I know. I missed Brittany's walk earlier but I saw it when she was coming back from the toilet.
She walked confidently, poised but her facial expression concluded it all. She would like to take things slow in bed, I bet she liked giving control to the other person and cuddling after. My heart tugged at the thought of someone else rolling in the sheets with Brittany.
She started speaking immediately after she sat down "I have not been professional and I apologize for that. Okay?"
At my nod, she continued from where she stopped. I prepared to just sit there and not disrupt the balance that she was trying hard to build.
Okay, Brittany was good and thorough. I looked through the proposed change and I have to agree that it was a beautiful one. She showed me pictures of what the new interiors would look like, couches, floors, and styles would be changed and the only addition I asked was lights.
When we got to the budget part, I further realised how people like Maggie like to flaunt their-another person's wealth. According to Brittany, Maggie told them to spare no expenses. I directed them to spare expenses and she was able to cut down the budget while retaining quality.
I wasn't the one that started what led to another big mistake in my life. She did.
Just after we finally ordered a meal, she said I looked good. In her words, my eyes are still beautiful. It felt great that she thought my eyes were beautiful and so, I flirted right back.
The thirty minutes that I scheduled for the meeting with the decorator was long gone but with Brittany, I don't usually have the concept of time. I asked that we go to a private booth at the end of the restaurant and she didn't object.
I wanted to talk about her sudden disappearance eight years ago but she insisted on talking about the architecture of the United States. Some things about her had not changed like how she still rambles about 'home designs' and how she can't hold her alcohol. We both know that she knew what she was doing when she asked if I still took all the control in bed.
Or maybe she was a bit tipsy from the wine when she said that. My manhood on the other hand needed no reminder that she was my exact type of woman. So, as you might have already guessed, I got hard straight up.
"Sorry I said that. I am… we are done with the…you know, work talk," she apologized. "Do you have anywhere to be right now?"
"No, not until later tonight. You?"
I had important places to be and even more important and urgent tasks to attend to but the only thing that mattered was later tonight.
Later tonight for what? Was that why she was asking if I still preferred my woman the same way?
"What are you doing tonight? Are you married or something?" I really didn't want the answer to my question. In all the million times that I've thought of Brittany, I never imagined her married or with kids.
Thankfully, there was no ring on her finger and she confirmed that she was not married. However, she refused to tell me what or who she was doing that night. We were sitting beside each other as opposed to the normal sitting across setting of restaurants, so it was easy to hold her hands.
The last year that Brittany left me, I was starting to think of Brittany as more than a friend. I saw her innocence and beauty and I think I jerked off once to the thought of her.
The details of our last night together were fuzzy but I remembered that I told her that I had feelings for her. Those feelings, or rather plain desire, resurged at the touch of her hands. I wanted more than her hands.
I wanted to see what she tasted like and so I moved to kiss her. Our lips were just touching and I stroked my hands around her neck, she moaned. If I had any self-control, it broke at that point.
There are no words for how great she tasted. A mixture of wine and wildness. I wouldn't know if she wanted to let out moans because I devoured her mouth.
I swallowed her moans and breathed her like oxygen. Oxygen what? Kissing had never felt so good and I never wanted to break apart from that woman.
Her hands were fisting my shirt, one of my hands was holding a side of her face and the other was roaming her waist. This is a reminder to stay off waiters with the name Charles because he fucking interrupted one of the best make-out sessions of my life with the clearing of his voice.
Or maybe he saved me.