Green Eyed Daydream #Wattys2016

Chapter 22

Tuesday Night

Tyler's POV

I glance at the clock, it's nearly seven. Carrie should be here any minute. I take a sip of wine, and give the sauce another stir. Hopefully she'll like the meal I'm preparing, and more importantly, hopefully she'll feel more comfortable being with me. I have to remind myself to keep taking baby steps with this girl. No grand romantic overtures, and certainly no groping of any kind. I know we agreed to keep things 'friendly,' but I have other plans. Just got to restrain the part of my brain that's telling to me go into alpha male mode. As soon as the thought forms in my brain, an image of me taking Carrie right here on this kitchen counter flashes before me. Damn, but I want this girl...badly. Jesus, Tyler, chill the fuck out! I shake my head at my own thoughts.

The doorbell rings, and I can feel my heart rate spike. She's here.

I open the door, and can't help but fucking stare. How is it possible that she looks cuter every damn time I see her? She's wearing a long ass dress that goes all the way down to her ankles, and a cardigan. She's basically covered up head to toe, I can barely see an inch of exposed flesh on this girl, and somehow it's the sexiest sight. Her bright smile and beautiful eyes greet me along with a shy, "Hello."

"Hey there," I say, and finally tear my eyes away from her. "Come in."

She enters, and walks past me quickly, as though trying to avoid having to give me a hug.

"At first I wasn't sure if I had your address right," she tells me, entering the living room.

"Why is that?"

"I didn't know you lived in such a luxurious place. I mean, you're on the 42nd floor, that's like living 400 feet in the sky," she says, and walks over to the windows. "Holy moly! Look at your view! You have the whole city at your feet," she says, with an awestruck expression on her face.

"Well, I work hard. But I guess I play harder," I tell her.

"Do you own this place?"

"Yup. This penthouse was my first big time purchase. It's my sanctuary. I hardly ever bring anyone here," I confess.

"Well, it's quite the bachelor pad," she says, and walks over to the art I have hanging on the wall. She looks intently at it. "This piece, it reminds me of the paintings you have at Slate."

"I like modern art," I say, walking over to stand next to her. I have to struggle not to reach over and touch her. "It's less literal, more open to interpretation."

Carrie tilts her head to the side and stares at the painting before her.

"So, how do you interpret this one?" she asks, arching an eyebrow at me.

"Well, I think the black line represents a male energy, and the red circle the female. See how the black appears to slash right through the red, it cuts into it with such force that you see it lose its perfect line and splash into a smear of diluted color. It's a pretty powerful image," I tell her, and watch her expression, as it changes from curiosity to shyness.

"Wow, I guess it's all lost on me, I just see a black line and a red circle," she says, and shrugs.

I love how honest and open she is. No pretenses, nothing that rings false.

"Well, maybe one of these days I'll take you to the Museum of Modern Art so you'll get a better taste of what it's all about," I suggest.

"Maybe," she says, and smiles at me.

"Let's go to the kitchen, I have to check on how the dinner is coming along," I tell her, and lead the way down the hall.

Carrie sits at one of the bar stools at the counter, as I check the fish.

"I hope you like salmon," I say, and take the pan out of the oven.