Boston's Man-Eater

XVII

She looked up from her plate and read my disheartened expression.

"What's wrong?"

"When is Derek coming back?"

"Why?" She asked, the crystallized ice returning in her irises.

"I'm just worried."

"Like I said, there's nothing to worry about."

"Tess, I just hope he's treating you well."

"He is," she clipped.

Here we go, back to square one.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, there's nothing to worry about, because he said he's not coming home."

I ruined her appetite, didn't I?

"Where is he?"

"Around somewhere."

In the depths of what's in between another woman's legs, that's for sure.

"I see."

With that, she decided to continue with her food quietly as I did the same.

The atmosphere had become extremely thick, drowning me as I let the wine wash down the spaghetti.

"Kyle."

I instinctively froze in my movements.

Kyle again?

"I appreciate the concern you have towards my well-being, but I am fine. Derek and I have our ups and downs like any other couple, but these are just the hurdles that we will soon come to cross."

"As for his upsetting side, I'll never stop apologizing for that."

"Those bruises are from the sex you had?"—again.

"Yes," she chugged down her wine before pouring herself another glass.

"What kind of sex?"

"The private kind."

"Oh," she had rendered me speechless, "Well, thank you for the food Tess—I really enjoyed it," I tried mustering up a smile, and she nodded behind the rim.

"It's a pleasure."

I stood from my seat and cleared our dishes despite her protests, and rinsed them before setting them in the dishwasher.

"Are you planning on leaving now?" She asked as we finished cleaning up the area.

"I don't know. Do you want me to stay?"

Please say yes.

"The night is still young," she said, and my subconsciousness floated to cloud 9.

"Okay," I smiled and she grabbed two glasses and the bottle of wine, leading me out to the living room.

It pretty much looked like her lounge, except that it had L shaped couches and a large flat screen mounted on the wall.

"Take a seat," she patted the spot next to hers, and I did, trying not to pass out from her tantalizing perfume.

I could even feel the warmth radiating from her.

She took a small remote from the other ones and pressed it, making a roaring fire blaze at the fireplace.

As I leaned back onto the couch, she poured me a glass and handed it to me.

"You have a tattoo?" I noticed the small crucifix on her pinky finger.

"Of course," she smiled, and shifted her body to face me as she sat on her leg.