Your manhood is safe, she signs. Then her cheeks redden like she just realized what she said, and she looks away.

I laugh, because good God that shit’s funny. “I made chicken,” I say.

She looks toward the kitchen and then down the hallway. Do I have time for a quick shower? She rubs a finger beneath her eye and I can see that she’s been crying.

“Yes, of course,” I say. I back out of her doorway. “Do you need anything?” I ask as she starts to walk down the hall.

She turns back to me and signs: Towel?

I point like she can see them from the hallway. “Under the counter.”

Thank you.

Then she disappears into the bathroom. I stand there and listen to the sound of the water as she turns it on. I walk back by her room and stop. There’s a wet spot on the ceiling. I’ll have to call maintenance about that. Maybe the apartment above mine has a leak.

I hear a tune coming from the bathroom and stop to listen. She sings in the shower? Never would have imagined that. I linger and listen, but then I suddenly feel like a voyeur, even though I can’t see shit.

I wish I could see shit. I can just imagine her naked. She’s in the shower now, with water sliding down her body, straight down the path where I’d love for my hands to go. Her brown hair is probably pushed back from her face and running down her back like a waterfall. Some of it may be streaming over her shoulders, the ends touching the swells of her breasts…

I glance down. I’ve gotten hard standing here thinking about her naked. The water turns off, so I scurry like the rat I am back into the kitchen. I can’t have her catch me like this, because my jersey shorts don’t leave much to the imagination.

I think about steaks and squid and fresh, raw tilapia, trying to get the image of her naked out of my head. I’ve almost gotten myself under control when she comes back into the room. Well, at least I thought so until I see her.

She has brushed her hair, but it’s wet, and her T-shirt is damp where her hair is dripping. I stand there and stare at her for a minute, because I’ve never seen her in a pair of shorts.

She glances down at her attire and stares at me. Is this a formal dinner? she signs.

I shake my head, forcing myself to close my mouth. Her legs are long. Damn, but she’s pretty. And curvy. And she’s everything I’ve ever wanted. “A formal dinner?” I ask. “No, why?” I look at the plates I’ve set on my small countertop, and the glasses filled with ice.

I was thinking I might be underdressed.

I chuckle. “I’d like to see you in a lot less,” I say. Oh, fuck. Did I say that out loud? Apparently I did, because her face flushes. “I mean, you’re fine.” Seriously fine. Like the finest woman I have ever seen. “How tall are you?” I ask.

I hobble with one crutch to the oven, where I had put in some cupcakes to bake before I called her for dinner. I take them out and set them on the counter.

“Five-eleven,” she says, as she taps a fingertip on the counter. “AKA way too tall for most men.” She laughs, but there’s no joy in it.

“You look pretty fucking perfect to me,” I say. I let my eyes drop down her body, and her nipples bead into thick pinpoints beneath her shirt. “Are you wearing a bra?”

She looks down and pulls her shirt away from her body. “Yes, why?” she asks.

“Because if you’re not, I was going to send you back to your room to get one, because I am not sure I could sit here across from you over dinner knowing you didn’t have one on.” Might as well be honest, right?

“I’m wearing a bra,” she says. “I promise.”

I try not to look at her tits, but it’s fucking hard. Yeah, that’s hard too, so I sit down and motion for her to join me. Her cheeks are pink, and I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.

I bend over and look at her thighs beneath the table. “God, you’re going to kill me,” I say. I swipe a hand down my face.

She tugs the length of her shorts down. “What?” she asks.

I grin. “Nothing.” I want to wrap your legs around my neck and eat you for dinner.

Her eyes narrow. “No, really. What is it?” She’s tapping the tabletop the whole time.

“I’m having really inappropriate thoughts about you right now,” I blurt out. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. When I open them, she’s grinning.

“What kind of inappropriate thoughts?”

“The kind where you’re completely naked.”

“And what are you wearing?”

I stop, close my eyes, and again take a deep breath. Then I open my eyes and look straight into hers. “You.”

Peck

I shouldn’t let this happen. I know it’s wrong. But it’s exciting and forbidden and wonderful. And flattering.

But it can’t go anywhere. It’s not going to go anywhere. I know that.

I reach for my fork, but my hand shakes. I set it back down.

“We should probably get some things out of the way,” I say, wincing as the words come out of my mouth.

“Like dinner?” he says. He fills my plate with food. “Yeah, let’s get dinner out of the way.” He grins. He jabs his fork toward my plate. “Eat.”

“But I feel like there’s this thing between us.”

He nods and takes a bite of his chicken. He chews with one eye closed, and watches me with the other. After he swallows, he says, “There’s definitely something between us.” He takes another bite of his dinner.