The Art of Moving On | ✔

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE; part two

     When we get to Dres's place, I half-think we're going to just jump right into it. I'm honestly kind of amazed we make it through the door with our clothes still on. I don't know about Dres, but the car banter has successfully turned me way on. But Dres says, "I've got to walk the dogs" as soon as we walk in. Delta and Charlie are already waiting for us at the door, barking and jumping excitedly.

     "You want me to come with?" I ask dropping my bag in the living room. I walk over to help him put on their harnesses.

     "No, it'll be a quick walk. Why don't you get their food together? It's a cup of dry mixed with wet in the two bowls. There's a can in the fridge."

     He takes the dogs outside, leaves the front door open when he goes, and I fill up the dog bowls with hard food. I open the fridge to get the wet food and find the can in the door, a few shelves above a bottle of pink Moscato, which I take out, too.

     I set it on the counter and snap a photo to Grace and Halston with the caption 'dres drinks cheap wine?' Grace responds 'a man of my own heart.'

     Dres has always struck me as someone who drinks scotch straight, so it's strange finding trademark sorority wine in his fridge. The bottle's already open, but it doesn't look like much has been drunk from it. After mixing the dog food, I hop up onto the counter and pull the cork out. Dres won't exactly love me drinking his wine, or any wine for that matter, but it's helping with the nervous feeling in my stomach.

     Dres gets back, but its Delta and Charlie who come barreling into the house first. They head straight for their food bowls. I listen to him close the front door, can even hear the lock switch. He's slow as he walks into the kitchen.

     "You're sitting on my counter," he says, tone disgruntled.

     "And I'm drinking your wine," I respond, cheekily as he comes to stand in front of me.

     "That's not my wine," he says, same tone, as he eyes the bottle in my hand.

     "Your fridge, your wine." I manage to get another sip in before he grabs the bottle, stepping into my space so that my knees are pressed against his chest.

     He drinks from the bottle, hesitantly, and then wrinkles his nose. "Oh, that's disgusting."

     "Well you bought it." I take the bottle back and have another sip. I like it. It's fruity.

     "It's not mine," he repeats, whining, maybe, a little.

     I grin, setting the bottle down beside me so I can grab onto Dres, instead. "It's fine you can drink cheap wine. I won't like you any less."

     He's ready to object but I don't give him a chance, leaning forward so I can plant a firm kiss to his lips. That's how it starts, with Dres between my legs on his counter and a bottle of wine that makes my chest all tingly and warm.

     There's a good chance we could finish there, too, on Dres's counter with the bottle of wine beside us, but he stops kissing me, lingering, lips parted, on my chin. When I open my eyes, his are open too, half-lidded, looking right at me.

     "We should go upstairs," he says slow enough that I feel the words form against my skin. I nod, letting him pull me down from the counter.

     When we get to the top of the stairs, Dres turns to me, hand on my rib cage with a pressure that holds me back. "Would it bother you if I shower, first?" he asks, earnest.

     I fight back a grin and shake my head. "As long as it doesn't bother you if I don't."

     "I'll be quick," he says and steps away from me, lifting his shirt over his head as he makes his way into the bathroom. I stare, openly, at the ripple of muscles. He is so perfect. Too perfect, maybe. Not even in the sense that he can do no wrong. I know he can and probably has. I would let him do wrong by me. I guess that says more about myself than it does about Dres.