Page 10 of Heal Me

“I’m trying to learn ASL. I’ve taken two semesters, but I’m not that good at it yet. I’m enjoying it, though.”

That effort alone would have made me like Gunnar, but add the sweet way he agreed to help me out tonight and his absolute hotness, and I’m in deep trouble. Not that I’m worried because Gunnar seems interested, too. I don’t think I’m imagining that. “Well, if you ever want to practice, let me know. I’m happy to help.”

Gunnar’s eyes twinkle, and I can’t decide if it’s with mischief or interest. Maybe both? “Thank you. I will. Now.” He leans closer. “Is it my turn to ask again?” I roll my eyes and make a ‘go ahead’ gesture. He’s clearly unconcerned with the rules. “Okay, so, this may be boring, but people would expect your boyfriend to know the answer to this probing question.” He waggles his eyebrows, and I can’t help but laugh at his antics. “What’s your favorite color?”

I nod seriously. “Very probing question. Definitely a must ask.” I gesture at the walls. “Although you wouldn’t know from the bland décor, my favorite color is blue. All shades.”

Gunnar glances around, then raises an eyebrow. “So why not paint a wall or four if you think it’s bland?”

I wrinkle my nose. “I would, but the loft actually belongs to my parents. They claim they bought it as an investment, but if you ask me, it’s really so they feel like they still have some control over my life. And my mother chose the decor. If you met her, you’d understand. Neutrals are fine, though it would be nice to have a bit of color.” I sigh and look around. “I suppose I could buy some throw pillows or something.” Before I get too distracted, I bring the question back to him. “What is your favorite color?”

“I don’t really have a favorite.” As I open my mouth to protest his non-response, he clarifies. “I have more of a favorite color palette. I love earth tones. Dark hunter green, burgundy, gold, warm browns and bronzes. Autumn is also my favorite time of year. I never understood how Erik lived in Arizona for as long as he did. Who chooses to live in a desert? It’s too fucking hot, and everything is shades of brown.” He chuckles and shakes his head. “Anyway, I think it’s your turn to ask a question.”

“You’re too kind.” I wink, and as I ponder what to ask, I can’t help but marvel at how well this is going. If I’m honest, I’m having a much better time with Gunnar than I’ve had on the last dozen dates I’ve been on. He’s engaged in the conversation and actually curious about me, or so it seems. There is definitely chemistry between us. So much chemistry, I’m eager to keep the conversation going. Possibly indefinitely. I turn completely sideways on the couch so I’m facing him and use the opportunity to move a little closer so our knees are touching. “How about another easy one? What is your favorite food?”

He squints at me. “Are we talking main course or dessert?”

I shrug. “Both?”

He gets a faraway look. “Dessert is definitelyKrumkaker. They’re these little waffle things similar to pizzelle, but rolled. My grandma would make them at Christmas. And she’d makeraspeballer, which are these Norwegian potato dumplings. But only on Thursdays. I can’t remember why, but she’d never make them on any other day.“ He lets out a little groan that makes my body take definite notice. “We’d eat them with lamb or beef stews.”

He points at me, and I assume it’s my turn to answer the question. “Am I allowed to say my favorite food is anything I can have delivered?”

Gunnar snorts. “No. That isn’t a food. That’s a lifestyle.”

I sigh. “Fine. Well‌, I guess my favorite food is cheese.” I sit up straighter. “Wait! Cheese and olives.” I point at him. “And grapes! Ooooh.” I close my eyes and imagine my favorites. “That really crusty bread with olive oil and spices for dipping. And wine. Red wine. And dates.”

Gunnar throws his head back and laughs. It’s so genuine and carefree that I can’t help but feel a little proud of myself. He’s so full of joy, and I grin, even as I fight the overwhelming urge to crawl into his lap and kiss him breathless. He smooths his hands over his beard and smiles. “Good picks. And I love your enthusiasm. Anything else to add, or are you done?”

Now it’s my turn to laugh. “Done. That’s it. I could live on that every day of my life. Seriously.”

He takes a sip of his ale. “I believe you.” He laces our fingers together again. “Now, next question?”

I drain the last of my ale and tilt my head to the side, looking directly into his eyes. The ease of our conversation, being in my own home, and the alcohol, are combining to make me very comfortable and relaxed. Possibly too relaxed, as my desire to get up close and personal with Gunnar begins to override good judgment. “You know…” I drag a finger up the neck of the bottle, slowly circling the lip. “We are supposed to have been dating for months.” Gunnar’s pupils expand as his eyes follow my fingertip. “One would assume that after this long, we’ve slept together.”

He swallows heavily and nods. “Yeah. That makes sense.” His voice is husky and sends ripples of pleasure through me.

Mon dieu, what would he sound like in the heat of passion? “I think it’s very important for me to know a few things. So I will ask them all at once.” I set my empty bottle on the coffee table and tuck my feet under my body to keep me from crawling into his lap.

However, it seems to encourage Gunnar to move so close my shin is now pressed along his wonderfully thick thigh. Does he know he’s playing with fire? “Okay, shoot.”

I lean forward, keeping my voice low. “Boxers, briefs, boxer briefs, or nothing at all?”

Gunnar grins and leans in to meet me, his rumbly voice lighting up every nerve in my body. “Those are some pretty heteronormative assumptions there, Joce.”

Even with my heart beating a million miles a minute and my cheeks flaming, I refuse to look away. “You are right. I have made some assumptions that I shouldn’t have. Allow me to rephrase.” I reach out and run a single finger along the top of his suit pants. “What do you wear under your trousers?”

Gunnar’s chuckle is deep and filthy, and it goes right to my balls. “Usually I wear boxer briefs.”

My brain gets hung up on what he might wear in unusual moments. “What do you sleep in?”

His eyes lock on mine, and he hesitates long enough for the sexual tension to ratchet up so high my balls ache. “Nothing.”

Fuck, I’m only human, and he is most definitely not playing fair. I give in to my urge to drape myself over him, straddling his hips, weaving my fingers into his thick hair. His pulse thrums under my forearms, beating as quickly as mine, and I press my nose against his neck, inhaling him like I’ve wanted to all evening. “What is this amazing cologne? It’s been driving me to distraction.”

Gunnar groans and settles his hands on my hips, his fingers digging in as I drop gentle, open-mouthed kisses along his neck.

“Um, it’s actually not cologne.” His voice is breathy and distracted, and it sends delicious shivers up my spine. “It’s Jack Black beard oil.”

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