Charlene blinks several times, eyes darting from the flowers to my face and back again. “You brought me flowers?”

“I did.” I’m not sure what kind of response I expected, but again, this isn’t quite it. She seems shocked. “Should I not have?”

“What? Oh! I, uh . . . they’re just . . .” She traces the satiny petals. “So beautiful.”

“Yes. Like you.”

A soft smile lights up her face. I wonder at her sweetly unguarded surprise. I’m certain I tell her she’s beautiful all the time. I know I think it every single time I see her. Maybe the words get stuck in my head and never actually make it out of my mouth.

“You can take them. They’re for you.”

Charlene’s bun flops around as she gives her head a little shake and takes the bouquet. “Oh, wow, this is heavy.” She buries her nose in the blossoms and inhales deeply. I want to frame the image.

“I brought you something else as well.” I hold out the Godiva bag.

Charlene’s expression shifts to childlike excitement. “You brought me flowers and chocolate?”

“I did.” I smile. “And based on the samples the saleswoman provided, I will attest that they’re delicious—just like you, as well.”

My smile widens at her blush.

“This is really sweet of you, and very unexpected,” Charlene clutches the flowers and chocolates to her chest. “Um, I should go upstairs and change and then put these in some water.” She makes a move toward the kitchen, which she’ll have to pass through to get to her bedroom.

“No! I mean, I like you exactly as you are.”

She glances down at her outfit.

“Please don’t change on my account. I’m rather fond of this.” I skim the strap of her tank and watch goose bumps rise along her arm. “Why don’t I help you put the flowers in water, and you can try the chocolate? Unless you have plans this evening?”

“I don’t have any plans.”

“So it would be okay for me to stay and spend some time with you.” I shake my head at how awkward I sound. “That was meant to be a question.”

Charlene bites her bottom lip. “You can stay and spend some time with me, if you want.”

“Yes. I want.” I nod, then realize I haven’t completed the thought. “To spend time with you.”

I retrieve a vase from Charlene’s pantry and help her arrange the flowers. She has trouble deciding where she wants them, and eventually settles on the kitchen table, which she can see from the living room and the front door.

Charlene’s house is small, as one might expect for a single woman living on her own. She makes good money as an accountant for sports professionals, but she’s still managing all of her costs on a single income, which is why I insisted on giving her a credit card to make special purchases.

She adjusts the vase, turning it half an inch to the right and then to the left, determining placement. Her ass looks fantastic in leggings, and I decide I need to find out where she gets them so I can buy some for her, and she can wear them more often.

When she comes to my place, her visits are always arranged in advance, which means her makeup is flawless and she’s impeccably dressed. But I like this version of her as well. She looks relaxed and comfortable, something I would like to experience more of.

“What do you want to do now?” she asks.

“What were you doing before I arrived?”

“Just watching TV.”

“Well, we could do that together.”

“Uh, we can, but I was watching bad reality TV.”

“That’s okay.” I’m likely going to be watching Charlene and not the TV, so the content is basically irrelevant.

I follow her to the living room, which is cozy, like the rest of her house. It looks like she was sitting on the couch, curled up with a blanket. I drop down at the end that’s blanket free and adjust the pillow behind me.

Charlene folds the blanket and drapes it neatly over the back of the couch, then takes a seat on the other end. She fidgets. Picks up her half-consumed hot chocolate and takes a sip while she unmutes the TV.

I glance at the screen. “What is this?”

“Teen Baby Daddy. I told you I was watching bad reality TV.”

“Wow. So this is really a show?”

“I can change it.” She reaches for the remote, her cheeks flushing.

I cover her hand with mine. “No. Don’t do that. It’s fine.”

“Sometimes I like to watch reality TV because it reminds me how easy my life is in comparison. But we can do something else if you want.” She sets her hot chocolate on the side table and shifts closer. She looks shy and uncertain as she leans in, brushing her lips over the edge of my jaw. “Thank you, for the flowers and the chocolate. That was a nice surprise.”

I have to fight with my body not to turn my head, slip my fingers in her hair and taste her mouth. I imagine she’s sweet like chocolate right now. I remind myself that I have another purpose for being here that isn’t supposed to be about sex. If it’s offered, I don’t want to say no, though, especially since I’m going to be away for a few days and all I’ll have is my hand to keep me company.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay after last night and your afternoon with the girls.”

She sits back, putting distance between us again. I don’t like it. Maybe I should’ve sat in the middle of the couch, then she’d have to sit next to me. “Oh. Right, of course. Do you want to know what I told them?”

“Only if you want to tell me.” I pick up the nail polish sitting on the coffee table and tap the end of her single, painted toe. “Don’t you usually go to the spa for this?”

“I was going to make an appointment for when you’re away.”

“Would you like me to make one for you?” I shift and set her foot in my lap. “I could arrange to have Violet join you.”

“You don’t have to go to the trouble.”

“It’s no trouble. You could have a whole day at the spa if you’d like.” I run my thumb along her instep. “In the meantime, I could paint these for you while you get your TV fix.” I wiggle her big toe.

“Just as long as this isn’t the beginning of a foot fetish, have at it,” she says.

“I think you know all of my fetishes by now.” I start to unscrew the cap but Charlene stops me.

“You have to shake it first.”

“Like real paint.”

“Exactly.”

Charlene’s feet are delicate, much like the rest of her. I definitely don’t have a foot fetish, but I can appreciate that even her feet are pretty. While Charlene indulges in brain candy, I focus on the task of painting her toenails. It isn’t exactly easy. I have to use a Q-Tip dipped in polish remover a couple of times when I mess up, since Charlene’s toes are small, and my hands are not.

“I think Miller has a foot fetish,” Charlene says as I finish the first coat. She’s informed me already that they’ll require two, which is fine with me. I’m touching her, and I’d like to continue doing so in a way that doesn’t make it seem like I’m here just for sex.

“How do you know that?”

Charlene arches an eyebrow. “Sunny mentioned that he likes to paint her toenails.”

“I’m painting your toenails, and I don’t have a foot fetish.”

“She also told us he likes to kiss her toes, and her face went completely red when she said that, so I have a feeling he might like to do more than that.”

“You girls certainly like to share.”

Her eyes stay fixed on her mug. “I keep it pretty vague. Violet always draws her own conclusions.”

I wonder how much harm I’ve done her in asking to maintain such a high level of privacy. In doing so, I’m responsible, in part, for creating some of the distance in this relationship. My own secrets don’t make it any better.

“And that’s how you managed today?” I ask.

“No one made a big deal out of it. Except Violet and her Area 51 fears, but those are kind of justified, so . . .”

“Area 51?” Alex used the same term earlier. I have no idea what aliens have to do with sex.

“Anal invasion.”

My smile is automatic and likely lecherous. “Ahh. Violet is opposed, then?”

“She’s a little wary of Alex’s size.”

I’ve played hockey with Alex for years. There’s a lot of time spent in the locker room showering and getting changed when you’re on an NHL team. You get used to seeing a lot more of people than you would in most professions.

Charlene must read my confusion. “He’s a grower, not a shower.”

“And you know this how?”

“I accidentally got a peek in Vegas when we had to pry Violet away from Alex for the wedding. You would not be granted access if you were packing a cannon like that.”

I’m not sure if I should be offended or not. “I’m above average.” I know this because I’ve read the articles and taken the necessary measurements.

“Trust me, I’m very aware of how above average you are. But Alex is scary huge.”