“I had doubles,” she says, a little cheeky.
I laugh. “Yes, but I also meant before and after those doubles.”
She smacks her forehead playfully. “Oh, yeah. The other stuff. Talking and eating and things like that. That was pretty good too, Logan.”
“It was better than good,” I say, then give her one more kiss—a soft one this time—before I leave.
On the way home, I’m still savoring the aftereffects of a great night.
Taking out my phone, I google “when to text a woman you want to see again,” then click the top link.
I smile to myself that the top hit is an article on The Dating Pool. Ironic, but no surprise, really. It’s a great site with smart advice.
I read it, digging the last line. But if you like a woman, text her after you’ve seen her.
As the car cruises up Park Avenue, I do just that.
Logan: Have I mentioned I had an amazing time tonight? Well, it bears repeating. Also, would you like to have dinner with me on Friday night?
Her reply is swift.
Bryn: I’d love to. Also, I love sushi. :)
Logan: Then I will take you out for sushi.
Bryn: Sushi and dessert?
Logan: If by dessert you mean more of what we had tonight, then yes, yes, yes.
Bryn: Then my answer is yes, yes, yes.
I lean my head back, replaying the evening the whole way home, then while riding the elevator, then when I’m inside my place too.
Queen Of Tofu greets me, rubbing her fluffy body against my leg.
“Hey, pretty lady.” I scoop her up, stroking her head between the ears. “Did you have a good evening, my queen?”
When she stares back at me with a satisfied grin, I interpret that as yes. What’s the fun of pets if you can’t anthropomorphize them?
I slide into my Queen Of Tofu impersonation. “Why, yes, Logan. Tell me every dirty detail. And don’t spare my ears.”
“If you insist,” I answer.
I proceed to tell her all about my night. She’s my cat, my priest, my confidante.
And as I end my confession, I whisper one last secret to her. “And I can’t wait for it to happen again.”
9QUEEN OF TOFU
Queen Of Tofu strutted to the door, grateful her person was home at last, since his return signified two important things.
One, food. Preferably tuna, because no cat wanted the same damn kibble every single day and night.
And two, amusement.
He was always so chatty, and his voice entertained her. Such a funny voice, almost like he was trying to be sexy to female humans or something. All that gravel and roughness. Maybe it worked on two-legged ladies, but it was hard to say, since Queen Of Tofu hadn’t seen any of those around these parts in a long time.
Perhaps he was losing his touch?
Did he need lessons in seduction?
She could help with that to some degree. As a cat, she was naturally seductive, with a stunning coat she kept in tip-top shape and a tail that was the envy of all the city.
When he opened the door, she glided her silky body against his legs. Perhaps some of her sultriness would rub off on him and he might learn a thing or two.
If he didn’t, he was still a lucky human to be on the receiving end of her full-body grind, as she liked to refer to it. It was generous—she even wove between his legs to get all sides. And it was efficient—it meant both “Good to see you” and “Feed me right the hell now.”
His big hands came down around her midsection, and he picked her up. That had to be a good sign that food was coming.
“Did you have a good evening, my queen?”
She pushed her head against his hand, kicking her purr box into high gear.
As he spoke, he carried her to the kitchen and opened a cupboard.
Eureka!
A can of tuna.
