Stroked

-Chapter 5-

-Chapter 5-

~Amy~

"You look like a mess..." He drags his eyes across me while I stuff a piece of burnt toast in my mouth.

"...but, you do look like a happy mess. Come on spill the details." I shrug and offer him a piece of my toast and he shakes his head.

"No, you're a horrible cook Amy, sorry, but it needed to be said." My best friend, Ian, says while sipping from his mug of black coffee. He pulls back with a smile.

"See? That tasted good, because it was store bought." Ian smiles and I drag my fingers through my nasty, greasy mess of hair.

"Next time you come over, how about you cook me breakfast?" I ask, hoping one day he might offer, but he's no better a cook than I am. We're both rotten at the whole culinary thing.

"Alright, you'll get a bowl of semi-fresh strawberries and a glass of milk." He takes another sip of his coffee and then he gets back to business.

"So, details?"

I sigh and take a seat with him at the horrible kitchen set up my apartment holds. It's a microwave, stove kind of deal with an eatery on the side with a wooden set of chairs and a sturdy table. It's ideal enough.

"I met a guy--" Ian grabs my arms suddenly.

"Who? What's he look like? Is he blind or deaf?" I widen my eyes at that last bit.

"Calm down Ian..." I try to remove myself from him and his death grip.

"Sorry."

"It's fine." I state, just for the benefit of my friend's feelings, and then continue.

"His name is Oliver, he's a painter I met at that art exhibit I told you about. We ate at the cafeteria and later on he came over to the store and we went out for Italian, it was delicious."

I munch a little bit more on my toast and avoid eye contact, somehow it just seems strange to meet eye-to-eye at this moment. Ian grip loosens a little.

"Ooh, a painter! How lovely, is he you know...by any chance...uh..." Ian widens his eyes at me.

"No, sorry, I don't think he's gay."

Ian releases his hands and leans back in the squeaking chair that rockets back and forth.

"Another one bites the dust, damn." Ian toys with his coffee cup and then returns his focus to me.

“, and by delicious do you mean the after-dinner sex? Or..?”

Yes, Ian, I met the man and had sex with him after I practically had sex with my dinner; yes, it was that good, in fact the ice cream was, maybe, better.

I reach over to smack him and after he calms down from his hysteria of laughter he speaks up again through munching of toast.

"Do you like him?"

The question kind of startles me, but I guess I kind of expected it to be asked anyways. Ian and my sister have always been so...involved, with my love life. It's always expected.

"I'm not sure yet." I answer honestly.

Truth be told, Oliver is kind of mysterious; a wild card. He gets excited sometimes and then runs off. He buys everything, yet, we hardly know each other. I don't know if getting into my pants was his goal, but he was just so nice, or maybe too nice. Since I don't know a lot about him I guess you could say I'm the fool.