Nothing Less

She looks up at me and then to the bottle and back to my eyes. She’s humored and surprised by my game. “Yes and no. I was sixteen.” She moves closer to me, brushing her body against mine as she tries for the bottle again.

“Tell me about the yes part of that.”

She presses against me farther. Her breasts push against the top of my stomach, and it starts to require effort to keep my hand in the air. I feel her fingers gently stroke over my sweats, and when she wraps her fingers around my growing cock, I can’t control the groan from my lips.

She moves her hand, up and down, up and down, over the fabric. My vision is foggy, and my head is swimming when she leans her face into my neck and her hot breath caresses me.

“Got it,” she says, and it takes me a moment to realize what she means.

I stare at the olive-oil bottle in her hand. “You cheated!” I reach for her arms and pull her back to me. “So, so unfair.”

Her hair smells like coconut, and it’s soft against my lips. I kiss her head again, and she melts into me. Holding her closer, I press my thumb and forefinger under her chin to lift her eyes to me.

“No one said I played fair,” she says with a perilous smile.

I lean into her to press my lips to hers, but she ducks out of the way and untangles herself from my grasp. When she gets back to the stove, the devilish woman turns and winks at me. Winks! I love how wicked she is.

I try to keep my hands off her while she talks. She tells me about her parents, their big house in Las Vegas, her summer spent learning to play the piano. Piano lessons, a big pool, and the hot Nevada sun—sounds like heaven.

She brushes the cabbage leaves with olive oil and tells me stories about her sister pranking her and the winter in Southern California, where there’s really no winter at all. She talks about palm-tree leaves and horrendous traffic. She made a friend, named Pedra, and Nora’s sister, Stausey, met her husband, Pedra’s brother, that winter. The doctor husband I saw online, I realize. His big white smile and gazillion certificates fill my mind. Nora remembers that winter with a pained expression, and I remember the Ken doll from the Facebook picture.

“Did you have a boyfriend there?” I ask, prying.

Nora doesn’t turn to me when she answers, “Something like that.”

Why is she so secretive? It drives me crazy. Crazier than crazy.

“How was he?” I know she doesn’t want to talk about him. But I do.

Before responding, Nora opens the oven and places the sheet pan full of green leaves on the rack. She sets a timer and finally turns around to face me.

“Are you sure you want to go there?” Nora’s questioning eyes lift to mine. “Once we go there, we can’t go back. I just want you to know that before we do.”

Do I want to go there? Where exactly are we going?

I want to know as much as I possibly can about her, but what if I don’t really want to know once it’s all laid bare? What if the reality is worse than this fantasyland we’re playing in?

Can’t I just stay here a little longer? What’s the harm in being ignorant? I decide that the saying “Ignorance is bliss” was made for moments like this.

I look at her, her hands clasped in front of her body and her eyes staring into mine, and decide to live in ignorant bliss just a little while longer.

“What’s your favorite food?” I ignore the chill that runs down my spine when she looks a little more relieved than anyone should.