Random (Going the Distance) by Lark O'Neal Page B

give him the space to calm down.
    What is this? I glance at him, his brown-blond hair falling around his princely face, and I know I’m over my head. My body is still buzzing, and I’m afraid if he said, “Strip naked and dance on the roof and I will fuck you through the night,” I’d be tempted.
    My table fits exactly into the space created by the kitchen walls, with room to the sides for exactly one chair each. I have a tablecloth with embroidery on the edges that someone gave me when I moved in, and I brush away any crumbs that might be lingering, then put the cups and sugar and little spoons down. I have a pile of mismatched cloth napkins I’ve collected here and there, although I usually just use paper towels when I’m by myself.
    He comes to stand in the doorway. “Can I help?”
    “It’s ready.” I gesture for him to sit down. “Do you like sugar and milk?”
    “Please.” He smiles up at me. “This is actual British style tea, then.”
    “Technically New Zealand style,” I say, pouring. “But yeah.”
    “Was that where your mom was from?”
    “No, she was American. She was traveling around when she met my dad.”
    He nods. “Where was she from, then?”
    I offer the sugar, wishing it was cubes. “I don’t know, really. Some place in Idaho. She never went back, so it must have been a place to escape.”
    For a long moment he absorbs this. “You don’t wonder who your grandparents are, all that?”
    “No. I did when I was a kid, but if she thought it was better to leave, I trust her.”
    A frown draws his brows down. “I can’t quite figure you out.”
    I smile and wonder even as I do it if it’s enigmatic. “What do you mean?”
    “You’re not like any other woman I’ve ever met. Any person I’ve ever met.”
    Sipping my tea, I give him a wry sideways glance. “You just haven’t met many waitresses.”
    “Actually, I have had my share of love affairs with bartenders, servers, you name it.” He raises a rueful brow. “Just broke up with one.”
    “Let me guess.” I roll my eyes. “The bartender at the Spoon.”
    The eyebrows lift in sheepish acknowledgment.
    “Great.” I shake my head. “She hated me at first sight. I’ll never get the job now.”
    “Sure you will. She’s not hiring you.”
    “Oh, it should be a lot of fun to work with a bartender who hates my guts because her ex is—” I blush, trying to think of a way to finish that makes any kind of sense. “Kissing” seems a bit mild for what we just did.
    “Her ex is obsessed with you?”
    I scowl at him. “Don’t say that. I already have one obsessed person in my life. I don’t need two.”
    “Sorry. I was kidding.”
    I look at him.
    “Really.” He raises his hand, palm out, as if to swear in court. “Is the first one the guy I punched the other night?”
    “He’s not really obsessed. He’s just broken-hearted.”
    “You broke up with him?”
    I nod.
    “Because of me?”
    I lift one shoulder. “Not really. Partly.” I smile at the eagerness in his face. “Let’s just say you were the straw that broke the camel’s back.”
    He looks at my mouth, and his nostrils flare ever so faintly. It makes me shiver. “I wish I didn’t have to go to work.”
    “It wouldn’t matter. I wouldn’t be having sex with you today anyway.”
    He blinks, ever so slowly, and puts his cup down. “Really?”
    “It’s too soon.”
    “I see.” He reaches across the table and takes my hand. “Are you on birth control?”
    “Yes, but you’ll need condoms.”
    “When?”
    I feel more in control over here, but this is a weird conversation. “This is kind of ruining the romance, you know.”
    “Being safe just means we can go to the limits of our imaginations.”
    A buzz starts on the back of my neck, and he seems to know it, because his thumb moves over the center of my palm in a circle, very lightly. Every ripple moves further up my arms until my torso is engulfed and the hard, hot heat of arousal between my