Page 87 of Rules Of Engagement: St. Louis
The dough was sticky under my hands, requiring attention that usually cleared my head after long days in court. Tonight it wasn’t working. My mind kept wandering to Naomi, fully flushed from the orgasm that had spilled from her as she sat on the shower floor.
I shaped the dough into a ball and placed it in an oiled bowl, covering it with a damp towel. Now came the waiting. Focaccia couldn’t be forced into rising faster than it wanted to.
My phone sat on the kitchen island, and I found myself staring at it. I could call her. But it wasn’t one of our scheduled days. Maybe I shouldn’t.
I picked up the phone, scrolled to her number, then set it back down.
The aroma of yeast and olive oil filled the kitchen as the dough began its slow rise. I opened a bottle of Barolo and poured myself a glass, then moved to the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city. The city lights twinkled in the darkness.
This penthouse used to feel like a sanctuary. Now the emptiness of it irritated me.
The timer chimed, it was time to shape the focaccia.
I punched down the risen dough, my hands working automatically while my mind continued to wander back to the sounds Naomi made when I was inside her, half moan and half prayer.
I pressed my fingers into the dough, creating the characteristic dimples, then drizzled it with olive oil and sprinkled it with rosemary from my balcony’s herb garden. I’d started it after our first trip to Italy, hoping she’d help me tend it someday. Now it just seemed pathetic to wish for that reality.
Into the oven it went for twenty-five minutes.
I refilled my wine glass and sat at the kitchen island, staring at my phone again. What would I even say? “Hey, I know we have rules, but I’m sitting here alone making bread and thinking about you.”
The wine was making me maudlin. I switched to water.
The focaccia came out golden brown, the crust crackling as it cooled. I cut a piece, still warm from the oven, and took a bite. The texture was immaculate, and the flavor delicious. My Aunt Bernice would approve.
But I was eating it alone in my kitchen, and that antagonized me to no end.
Naomi
In the kitchen, I made chamomile tea and sat at my small dining table with a book I’d been trying to finish for two months. The words blurred together as my mind wandered to Christian’s hands on my skin and how he fucked me Saturday night with so much passion and vigor. But what haunted me the most was his words:
“I can’t do this.”
It was apparent that our situationship had gone further than either of us expected and I could see it in his eyes and his reaction to me with Nathan Saturday night.
My phone buzzed and I glanced at the screen. It was a text from Journey:“How are you doing since our lunch conversation?”
I typed back:“Still processing.”
“That’s healthy. Take your time.”
Take your time. Everyone kept saying that, like time was going to magically fix the mess in my head. Like enough days would pass and I’d suddenly know what to do about falling in love with a man I was supposed to keep at arm’s length.
I abandoned the book and moved to my couch, pulling a throw blanket around my shoulders. The condo was immaculate, as always. No clutter, no family photos, only professional head shots and photo shoots of myself. Because that’s all I had was me. Sure my friends, my parents, and my girls at the business mattered, but when it came to making a house a home, this one was about as empty as an echo chamber.
My laptop sat open on the coffee table, and I took a moment to scroll through my calendar. Tomorrow was Tuesday—nothing scheduled until Thursday afternoon. Wednesday was one of our days.
The increase in my pulse let me know I was scared as hell about what I was about to do next. My phone was in my hands before I could talk myself out of it. His number was already pulled up, my thumb hovering over the call button.
What if he was busy? What if he were with someone else? What if…
I hit call.
He answered on the second ring. “This is Christian.”
I hesitated. “Hi.”
“Hi yourself. Is everything okay?”
