Page 32 of Left of the Slash
I turn the car into a residential area full of luxury houses. “I'm not even worried about that. I'm not falling in love. I'm just enjoying my time on the ride.”
Rob releases another sigh, one that he usually does when he's shaking his head. “Alright, bro. Well, go have fun, I guess. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Alright. I’ll see you.”
Rob and I hang up, and I can't help but wonder why he suddenly seems so concerned about me being wrapped around Olivia’s finger. My boys know that I'm in this to get what I want and to give Olivia what she wants, and that’s great, mind-bending sex. I get to unchain my dark devil and satisfy cravings that have been in the background of my life for years. I'm exploring and having fun learning about who I am and what I want. It has its struggles, like coming to the realization that I'm a sadist, but Olivia makes me feel like it’s okay to have a love for the darker things in life. If she’s down to explore with me, then I’m going to take the journey.
Before my thoughts can delve any deeper into my situation, my GPS tells me that my destination is on the left. I look over and turn the car into a horseshoe driveway that rests neatly in front of an all-brick, ranch style house that fits in perfectly with the rest of the ostentatious neighborhood. Her garage door is painted black, while the bricks are gray, giving the place an affluent, new age vibe. From the looks of it, Olivia has done very well for herself, even before she took over Obsidian.
When I reach the decorative glass door, Olivia opens it before I have the chance to knock. I see her dressed casually for the first time ever, and I'm amazed at how good she still looks when she's not even trying. She holds the door open wearing a simple dark green, spaghetti strap tank top with a lace neckline that decorates her cleavage, and low rise blue jeans that show the top of her dark green underwear that match her shirt. My eyes linger there for a second, but I manage to bring them up to meet her gaze.
“So, you just look this good all the time?” I ask before I can even say hello.
Olivia smiles, and I'm pretty sure I see her blush as she looks down at her clothes like she doesn't even know what she has on that warrants such a response.
“Umm, I guess,” she replies, strangely bashful. “You look good, too.”
I don't have to look down to know that my navy Polo and white pants don't hold a candle to how perfect she looks, but I take the compliment in stride with a gratuitous, “Thank you.”
“Come on in,” she says, stepping aside for me to enter but keeping her eyes fixated on mine, with a smirk that makes me want to forgo any plans for dinner and skip right to a dark dessert.
The inside of Olivia’s house is just as gorgeous as the outside. The entryway from the front door leads directly into a plushliving room decorated in blue, gray, and white. A royal blue accent wall is the perfect backdrop for a dark gray couch set, with a gray coffee table atop a white and blue rug. Watercolor paintings of blue, white, and gray cover each wall, leading into a white and sterling silver kitchen with a giant gray island separating the two rooms. Add in silver lights that hang from the ceiling like stalactites, and you have a very impressive house that feels like a home.
“Your place is stunning,” I say, looking around and being awed by each new thing I see.
Olivia steps around me and starts leading me through the living room and into the kitchen. “Thank you. You came just in time because I just finished cooking dinner.”
“I was wondering what smelled so good,” I reply, following her and coming to a stop at the massive island.
“I made parmesan crusted chicken with broccoli rice. I hope that’s okay.”
“Are you kidding? That sounds incredible.”
Olivia smiles proudly. “Good. Then have a seat right there at that island, and we can dig in in just a second.”
I sit down atop a white, padded barstool on the living room side of the island, and Olivia brings two plates of food over, both of them covered with the same thing: a single chicken breast covered in crusted parmesan cheese, and a heaping scoop of seasoned broccoli rice. While I eye the meal and my stomach starts to growl, Olivia grabs two wine glasses and fills them with Chardonnay. She places one next to each plate along with a glass of ice water, then she finally sits down next to me.
“I hope you like it,” she says, before picking up her fork and getting to work.
I watch her with a raised brow as she scarfs down her food with no regard for trying to stay “pretty” for me. She's just eating the way a person should, without any regard to how she lookswhile doing it. I love that she's comfortable, and it makes me more comfortable as I pick up my fork and follow her lead.
The first bite of chicken makes me moan as my taste buds detonate inside my mouth. How is it possible that this tastes so fucking good? Better yet, how is this woman single? As far as I can tell, she is literally perfect from head to toe, office to home, dinner to dessert. The broccoli rice hits just as hard as the chicken, and I find myself enamored by the meal. I eat it like I'm in a trance, barely slowing down enough to sip my Chardonnay before diving in again. It seems like only a few quiet minutes go by before both of us are finished and scraping the last remnants off our plate, trying to savor it down to the final crumbs.
After I'm finished and my fork clanks against the empty plate, I lean back and exhale. “Good lord. That was incredible, Olivia. How did you learn to cook like that?”
She smiles another proud smile. “My dad taught me. He was an amazing cook, and he made sure to pass it down to me. This was his recipe.”
“Well, he did an amazing job,” I reply, trying not to take away from the sentiment of her response. “I bet you think about him every time you make it.”
She nods, her pride still lingering even as her smile slowly fades. “Yeah, I actually do. I miss him a lot.”
“Diego was awesome,” I say, turning in my seat to face her. “He was always kind, always humble, and never treated anybody like they didn't matter.”
“Yeah, that’s exactly right,” Olivia says, and I can tell from the look on her face that she's remembering him right now.
“But he also didn't take any shit,” I add with a laugh. “I didn't spend almost any time in the executive wing back then, but I know Jon and his asshole buddies never stepped out of line when Diego was around. That’s probably why they were so aggressive after he passed. He was the one keeping thatbullshit at bay, and once he was gone they were finally free to be themselves. That’s the problem with society now. People are really pieces of shit on the inside, and as soon as the barrier is removed, or another piece of shit gives them a pass to be themselves, they just let loose like wild animals, and suddenly we’re all surrounded by pieces of shit.”
“That sounds eerily similar to our political climate,” she says with a nervous giggle.
