Page 60 of Kiss My Glass
“I reallywantto let you but, no surprise, I have to think about it,” I say. “And don’t say anything more right now because I might have a panic attack. This is the scariest conversation I’ve had in my whole entire life.”
“I hear you.”
Danny’s smile is kind, and my urge to hyperventilate starts to subside.
“Nate’s cooking tonight,” he says. “Chicken pot pie. Our mom’s recipe.”
“Biscuits or pastry on top?”
“Biscuits. Nate makes a fine light and fluffy biscuit.”
“Hot damn,” I say. “I’ll race you to the shower.”
ChapterThirty-Two
DANNY
Unlike Frankie, I have been in love before. Or something that only felt like love because it didn’t feel like this. I’m not making much sense, mainly due to the fact that someone appears to have let off fireworks in my brain. I’m trying to stay cool but inside I’m like that Kermit the Frog GIF where he’s waving his arms around like a lunatic.
Frankie’s in the shower, and I’m lying in bed wondering when it will be safe to tell her that I’m pretty sure I love her. Maybe she’ll never want to hear it, and every time I start, she’ll make the mouth-zipping motion? Maybe she’s the kind of person who’ll consider it a given, so there’s no need to say it out loud.
I’m not that kind of person. I like to express myself freely and I like to hear that my affections are returned. Growing up, Dad was pretty sparing with the emotional declarations but Mom made up for that. Of course, that meant all of us Durant kids were fixated on pleasing Dad, because his compliments were so scarce. Poor Mom, who was unfailingly kind, loving, and supportive, must have felt like chopped liver at times.
Frankie’s got the opposite problem. No issues with her dad that I’ve picked up on, but plenty with her mom. Seems the parent we feel least connected to is the one who occupies most of our brain space. Thanks, Freud.
It’ll be a test for us two when Frankie’s mom returns. Frankie’s emotions will be running high, and I’ll have to make sure I don’t add to her load. Which will be tough for me because I’ll want to have her all to myself. But Frankie’s needs come first, so I’ll have to keep any selfish tendencies in check.
The shower’s still running, so I grab my phone and check my emails. Finally, one from the producer guy. Shit,okay, the first pitch meeting with Netflix went really well. No commitment yet but definitely a favorable response. He should know more in a week or so.
I won’t get my hopes up. Well, I won’t get them up any higher than they already are, which is almost certainly too high. So many unknowns, but – duh – that’s how it is. Only a psychic can see into the future and even then, they’re mostly full of bs. I had a reading once and they said I was going to have six kids and live on a farm. Might as well have taken my thirty bucks and set fire to it.
Footsteps on the stairs and Frankie appears, wrapped in a towel that she drops to the floor. She’s naked and glowing all over, and I am suddenly hard as a rock.
“Come here.” I intend to sound chill. I fail.
She raises an eyebrow. “I just had a shower.”
“I can make it quick.” So much for keeping selfish tendencies in check.
“That bad?” she says, with an amused, knowing smile. “Oh dear…”
She saunters over, and slowly peels back the covers. The urgency of my condition is exposed.
“My, my,” she says. “Whatever can we do?”
Holy shit. She grabs a pillow and kneels on it beside the bed. Fair call, these wooden floors are as hard as I am. Oh –fuck!– she wraps her hand around the shaft, and then lowers her head, and her tongue circles and teases the tip before she takes me fully into her mouth and?—
Excuse me a moment. I’ve lost all capacity for rational thought.
I emerge from a haze to find Frankie now sitting on the edge of the bed, smiling at me.
“No words,” I say. “I’ll return the favor soon as I can.”
“Yes, you will,” she says. “But now, you need to get your butt out of bed and into the shower. If I miss out on chicken pot pie, I won’t be answerable for my actions.”
* * *
The pie is sublime, but the atmosphere around the dinner table is … tense. Nate’s jaw is set so tight it’s a wonder he can open it to eat, and Shelby looks like she’s been crying and might burst into tears again any second. Neither of them is saying a word. Frankie and I exchange more than one “uh-oh” look as we eat.
