Damian (13 page)

I laughed when she slapped me again.

“What?” I asked innocently and feigned a hurt expression.

“Don’t be smart with me. You knew exactly what I meant. Stop imaging me naked period,” she ordered. I could tell from the tone in her voice that she wasn’t really upset.

“I can’t make such promises,” I teased. “Plus, it’s too late. That image of you is permanently seared in my mind.”

And there was the eye roll again. “Which image? The one with me naked with or without the clay?” she asked sarcastically.

I cracked up. “Whichever one that will bring out more feistiness out of you,” I taunted.

Before she had a chance to respond, I moved in for another kiss—this time, a long, deep kiss as I took my time to taste the honey-sweetness of her lips, my tongue moving rhythmically with hers as we moved in and out of each other’s mouths.

When I finally pulled away from her, I saw her eyes were still closed as she lingered in the moment of our kiss. I smiled knowing that she must have also felt the electric-tingle on her lips where our lips had met. “Okay, let’s hail a cab. I’m down to have a private wet clay party with you.”

She nudged me playfully as she rolled her eyes yet again.

“You know, if you keep rolling your eyes so much, it may get stuck like that,” I began as I forced a straight face, “And well, I hate to be superficial and all, but … I’m not sure I can be seen with a girl with her eyes permanently looking up—even if she’s the hottest girl I know.”

Anticipating another slap from her, I jumped out of the way just in time to miss her hand. Then I pulled her into my arms again and kissed her gently on the forehead and whispered, “Luckily for me—and you, for that matter—that hasn’t happened to you yet.”

“You sure know how to make a girl feel special, huh?” she teased back.

“Until now, I never found a need to make a girl feel special,” I said before realizing what I had just said. I saw the same surprise I felt inside reflected in her eyes.

“Here’s a cab,” I said abruptly. I motioned to a cab that was slowing down next to us.

It was not until tonight that I realized how dangerous it was for me to hang out with Alexis. But now, I had fallen too deep into this unfamiliar rabbit hole. Because as much as I wanted to fight it, I knew whatever it was that I was feeling right now with her, I wanted more of it.

***

“This place is amazing,” I said as I looked around the brightly-lit pottery studio. There were about a dozen potter’s wheels lined against the floor to ceiling glass wall facing the street. From the window, parts of the San Francisco skyline was visible to the right while the Bay Bridge lit up the San Francisco bay towards the left.

There was an earthy smell with subtle scents of paint and clay that permeated the room. I watched Alexis move around the room with some comfort and ease, I could tell she loved it here. Like the bar was to me, this place was the place she felt most at ease and in control. She was in her element.

“So show me some stuff. I’d love to learn.”

She looked at me skeptically. “Are you sure?”

“Yes!” I exclaimed, and to my surprised, I really was. “And didn’t you agree to teach me?”

“I did?” she looked at me blankly.

“You don’t remember anything when it comes to me, do you?” I teased. I knew I was walking in new territory. Most women hung onto my every word, but Alexis seemed to be different. She was giving me a run for my money.

“Okay, sure. Well right now, I only have porcelain clay in my stash, so we’ll have to use that. But normally, for someone who’s never thrown on a wheel, I’d use a different clay.”

“Oh why’s that?” I watched her intently as she pulled off two orange-size balls of clay from a long rectangular plastic bag of off-white clay.

“Because porcelain is actually one of the more difficult clay bodies to work with,” she explained as she threw one of the clay balls onto the center of her potter’s wheel. “For beginners, I’d start them off learning on a sturdier clay body, like stoneware. It has some grit in the clay, which helps the clay hold its form better and is more forgiving to mistakes. Porcelain has minimal grit, so it’s like working with room-temperature butter. It can collapse on you with one minor mistake.”

“So why do you use it?”

“Because it’s my favorite clay to work with.” She turned on the wheel, which started spinning at a fast speed. Then she moved her hands together—one over the other forming an X shape—and brought her hands down on the clay.

“Why is that?” I intrigued by this whole new world that I wasn’t familiar with.

“Well, I love the delicate pieces that porcelain creates, and well ...” she paused and I thought I saw her cheeks flush the stunning peach glow that always made me feel odd inside.

“What is it?” I asked, wondering why she was blushing.

“I love how it feels in my hands when I’m on the wheel—it’s buttery smooth and cool to the touch. It feels almost seductive.” There was a pure expression of happiness on her face as her hands gracefully placed pressure on the clay that was now a cone shape as it spun on high speed on the wheel.

“Okay.” I wasn’t sure I understood half the words she had said, but I wasn’t about to admit it. I don’t know why, but I was really enjoying this moment with her, watching her work on something she was so passionate about, and listening to her talk about it.

“Let me show you first. As a beginner, watching is just as important—you learn a lot from watching. I’m going to make a simple cup, and then I’ll help you with yours.”

“Good idea,” I agreed quickly.

So for the next fifteen minutes, I watched her hands move effortlessly with the wet clay spinning on the wheel as it transformed into an elegant cup before my eyes. She talked me through everything she was doing, explaining what she was doing, and why she was doing it. I watched her in awe as she moved. When she finally stopped the wheel when her cup was finished, I watched as she pulled out a wire tool and rang it through the bottom of the cup a few times, and then effortlessly transferred the cup onto a small flat piece of wood.

“So we’ll need to let this clay dry a little before we can trim the rough edges and make designs on it,” she explained as she placed the wood holding the cup onto a table near the open window where a gentle breeze was drifting in.

Then she turned back to me and gave me a wicked smile.

“What?” My eyes narrowed suspiciously at her.

“Now, it’s your turn.” There was a gleam in her eyes, like she was in on a joke that I wasn’t aware of.

I chuckled. “How hard can it be?”

I saw a smirk on her face that caused the cute little dimple above the left corner of her lips to appear. “Well it comes more naturally to some than others,” she replied vaguely.

“Well, I will tell you that I was quite a master at Play-Doh at the tender age of eight.”

She laughed, and it was one of those warm laughs that caused something to stir inside me—something that I wasn’t familiar with.

“Okay, wise ass. Let’s see what you can do,” she challenged as she handed me the remaining orange-size ball of clay.

I took the clay confidently from her and threw it on the wheel, like I had seen her do half an hour earlier. But unlike what I had seen with her clay, mine did not land in the center of the wheel. Instead, my aim must have been off, because the clay landed in the yellow tray that was underneath the wheel.

I heard Alexis stifle a giggle as she turned her face away from me.

“I meant to do that.”

“Right.” I could clearly see the amused expression on her face.

“I just wanted to hear that beautiful laugh of yours.” I winked at her as she rolled her eyes.

“Don’t use me as an excuse for your failures,” she teased.

“Ouch.” I feigned a hurt expression as I carefully threw the clay on the center of the wheel.

Ignoring my comment, she moved to my side. “Okay, you should grab some of the water from the bucket to wet the clay. Now you want to start spinning the wheel at a decent speed, not too fast though or you’ll lose control of the wheel.”

I obeyed and grabbed some water with my hands and wet the surface of the clay. Then I flipped the switch to the potter’s wheel and waited for the wheel to start spinning.

Nothing.

Why isn’t it moving?

I sneaked a quick glance at Alexis and she had another smirk on her face.

Damnit, what am I not doing right?

“I think you’re looking for the foot pedal.”

“I knew that.” I saw the foot pedal by my right foot and stepped on it.

When the wheel started to move, I placed my wet hands over the clay and instantly knew why Alexis liked to use porcelain—it felt amazing in my hands—wet, cool, and silky soft. I looked up at her as she smiled at me and immediately wondered if she would be this wet and silky soft to the touch. I was immediately turned on as my thoughts drifted to her naked body and the warm wetness between her thighs.

Just then, Alexis’s laughter broke through my sexual daydream of her. When I came back to reality, I realized what she was laughing at. Somehow I must have spun the wheel too fast without realizing it and most of the clay was no longer on my wheel. Instead, it was spattered all over my apron and face.

“I would have loved to see you at work during your Play-Doh days,” she said before breaking into a fit of laughter.

“Okay, so maybe this is a lot harder than you made it look.” I looked up at her and a smirk spread across my face. “But I blame it on you.” And before she could stop me, I grabbed her hand with my wet clay-covered hand and pulled her down toward me.

She shrieked in surprised as she landed on my lap. “You just got clay all over me,” she complained. But from the tone of her voice, I knew she didn’t care.

“Well, I was so distracted with you, I ended up getting clay all over me.” My hand moved behind her neck. “So now, we’re even.” I pulled her face closer toward me and found myself mesmerized by her warm hazel eyes. I leaned down and kissed her—soft at first as I teased her lips gently with mine, but deeper with every passing second as my mouth moved with growing urgency as an insatiable hunger built inside of me. I heard her gasp for air as we finally pulled away from each other. I ran my hands down her back and under her shirt. My blood quickened as I felt her silky-soft skin against my callus hands, and I knew what—and who—I wanted to be doing at that moment.

I heard her sharp intake of breath as my hands reached for her bra hook, and I knew that I had it in the bag—she was ripe for the picking.

But to my surprise, when I began to unhook her bra, she grabbed my arms and shook her head.

“What’s wrong?” I was completely thrown off by what had just happened.

“I’m sorry. I’m just not ready,” she whispered. I heard the unevenness in her breathing and I knew she wanted me.
But why this then?

“But I thought you wanted this?”

“Maybe eventually if things go well,” she began as she looked up at me hopefully, “But I just don’t sleep with guys on the first date.”

Her words shocked me, and for a brief second, she left me speechless. Then I saw the clock hanging on the wall and an idea came to me.

“But it’s after midnight, so it’s technically the next day after our date.” I knew how convoluted my suggestion was. “Besides, we had our sushi thing several weeks ago. That was kind of a date, wasn’t it?” I asked hopefully.

She laughed. “Nice try.”

Ouch. This has never happened before
.

Then, to my surprise, Alexis broke out into a fit of giggles.

“What?”

“I think we should get cleaned up. You have clay all over your face and hair and it’s starting to dry up.”

“Are you going to help clean me off?” I gave her a seductive smile, hoping to put thing back on track.

“Yes, I’ll help. But don’t get any funny idea.”

“So a shower together to help each other clean the clay off is out of the question?” I asked innocently.

She rolled her eyes. “Come on, there’s a sink in the next room.” She got up, ignoring my question. Resigned to the fact that a wet clay party was probably out of the cards for us tonight, I got up and followed her to the sink.

Fifteen minutes later, we had gotten most of the clay off of us.

“Okay, so I have to admit something,” I began.

She looked at me with a raised eyebrow. “What is it?”

“I was never a master at Play-Doh.” I kept a straight face as I watched her react out of the corner of my eye.

Then we both burst into laughter, and I realized how much I enjoyed making her laugh.

For the next half an hour, I helped her clean up our workstations while she told me about the class that she taught on Saturdays.

“So should we take off?” I asked when we had put everything away.

She yawned and nodded in agreement. I pulled her into my arms and kissed her gently on the forehead.

“I had a really fun night, Alexis.”

“Me too,” she said softly.

“You know, you have no idea how amazing you are, do you?”

Our eyes met as she beamed. “You’re right. I have no idea. So you should keep telling me that so I’ll remember.”

I laughed, and this time, I rolled my eyes.

***

“I’ve never been on a date this long” she said as she yawned again when we walked through the front lobby door of our building.

“Same here,” I admitted.
She didn’t have to know that I can’t remember ever going on a date in my adult life.

“I had a great time. Swan’s Oyster Depot was fun and different. I never thought I’d enjoy raw oysters before tonight.” She smiled up at me, and the warmth of her smile emanated through me.

“I never thought I could have so much fun with someone,”
…when sex wasn’t involved
, I finished in my head.

We walked up the stairs in silence, and the memory of our first encounter on these stairs flashed through my mind. I smiled to myself at how much I was drawn to her even then.

When we got to her front door, she leaned up against me and kissed me on the cheek. “Good night,” she whispered to me. The smile that spread across her face seemed to cause a physical reaction I was not used to, and it had nothing to do with what was in my pants. My breath quickened and my heart drummed violently against my chest. I knew then that I didn’t want to leave her, that I didn’t want the night to end like this.