Jaime Elizabeth Davies (finder) wrote in instorm, @ 2017-07-15 14:26:00 |
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Jaime had kind of expected him to cancel, if she was being honest. When the text that came was a confirmation, she was pleased. She told him six-thirty, because she figured that was time enough for them to have dinner and for a massage before it got too late in case he had to work early. She didn’t - she was off tomorrow. But he might have to work; she wasn’t real sure what his schedule was. She knew when he generally worked evenings, and that was usually when she ventured to the diner, but she wasn’t sure about his mornings and when those happened. While she’d had to work earlier, she’d been out by three, which gave her time enough to scoot over and say a quick hey to Rocket and make sure he was comfy before heading home to shower. She’d cleaned the house the two nights prior, so all she had to do was tidy up, make sure her kitchen utensils were accessible, and be dressed. Which was harder than she’d thought it was going to be. Normally, she didn’t care that much about what she wore - she had her uniform for work, her riding pants for the barn, and jeans for just about everywhere else - but she ran into the particular predicament of deciding if she was too dressy or not dressed nice enough. So she settled on her nicest pair of jeans and a plain short sleeve shirt with a v-neck. She’d really thought about a skirt but she rarely wore them and didn’t want to come off as presumptuous. It wasn’t like this was a date, after all. With the house clean, herself presentable, and it almost being six thirty, she turned the TV on to some channel with Judge Judy on, and waited for him to show up. Having the morning shift at the diner left Damon with plenty of time to get things ready for tonight. He honestly wasn’t sure how to feel about it, because he didn’t date and this seemed like one. He’d wondered if he should cancel just so it wouldn’t be weird for them and also their extended group of friends, but he realized that he didn’t actually want to cancel. That was different enough that he’d decided to go with it and see how it went. Once he left Vale Diner he’d hit the grocery store to pick up a few items he’d need-- he didn’t want to do anything elaborate enough that it’d take forever to make, but he didn’t want to go too simple either-- and then headed home. He took a short nap and then showered, dressing for the night in jeans and a blue t-shirt, before grabbing a thermal bag to bring tonight’s ingredients over to Jaime’s. Driving over meant that it was a matter of a few minutes before he was at Jaime’s place, right at 6:30. He knew people who had ridiculous rules about when to arrive for parties or dates; he’d heard ‘never be early’ and ‘be at least three or four minutes late’ but he didn’t do game playing bullshit, so he had no problems hauling himself on out of the car and retrieving his bag. He knocked on the door, swinging the bag lightly from the fingertips of his free hand. Most people who had cats didn’t have cats that acted like dogs. When Marlowe heard the knock, she hurried to the door, stretching up and putting her paws on it, yowling to alert Jaime someone was at the door. Jaime couldn’t honestly be sure if it was just the cat’s personality, if Marlowe had been a dog in a past life, or if animals were affected by the town, too, but whatever it was … Marlowe was the greeter. Chester was more laid back, and she was curled up in an armchair, eyes half-opened but generally unconcerned. “Door, I know,” she said as she nudged the cat out of the way with one bare foot. It very sincerely had not occurred to her to put on shoes since she didn’t like wearing them to begin with and it was her house so she wasn’t all that interested in having shoes on while she was chilling at home. “Hey,” she greeted him as she stepped back to let him in, keeping Marlowe at bay with one foot. “You’re not allergic to cats, are you? I should’ve asked,” she continued as she held the door open for him. He might have known she had them - Jake teased her often enough about becoming a crazy cat lady - but she really should’ve asked. “Hey,” Damon replied, smiling at her as he slipped through the door, seeing that she was holding back a cat and moving inside quickly so she could close it. “Nah, I’m not allergic.” He didn’t mind cats although he’d never had one. Growing up they’d had a few outside dogs and, of course, the rats that tended to accumulate when living in a hoarded home, but none of that was worth mentioning. “Just these two, or are there more?” Yeah, Jake had mentioned the cat thing but Damon couldn’t remember if he’d said how many there were. He noticed that her feet were bare and paused, asking, “You mind if I take mine off?” They had to be kindred spirits on the subject of shoes; he would always sooner not wear them if it was an option. “Just the two,” she replied with a grin. “That’s Marlowe, she’ll be your best friend, and the other one’s Chester.” She paused. “Both girls. My dad named them and … the names stuck.” She paused. “We clearly have animal naming issues,” she added with a chuckled. “If I ever got a dog, it’d probably be Spots or something.” She gestured him toward the kitchen though glanced to him at the question. “You can take whatever off,” she replied before she paused. “Not … that … yeah, that’s fine,” she said once she caught on he probably meant shoes since she wasn’t wearing any and that was likely the only thing one took off in someone else’s house. … well. Normally. At least in the front door area. She cleared her throat and gestured. “The kitchen’s there. If you can’t find something, let me know. Unless you want me to hang out and offer commentary,” she added with a little grin. “I like interesting names,” Damon said of the kitties. “If I ever get a dog, I’m naming him Cerberus.” He hadn’t been any great shakes in school, but one thing that had captured his imagination had been mythology, for whatever the reason. He quirked an eyebrow slightly at her answer to his question about taking his shoes off but didn’t comment, choosing instead to toe off his shoes and leave them against the wall where hopefully neither of them would trip over them. “You should come hang out with me,” he said. “What I’m making won’t take too long, and there’s something I wanted to show you.” He smiled and then passed through to the kitchen, leaving to her as to whether she’d follow him or not. There was enough counter space to set his thermal bag down, and he immediately went looking for a large pot to boil pasta and a pan in which to cook the chicken and marsala sauce. Cooking was a part of the evening’s plans, so he didn’t feel hesitant about rummaging through her cabinets, and in short order he had what he needed. Filling the pot with water, he set it on one eye of the stove. Jaime chuckled. "Careful with that here. He might wind up actually having three heads. Or be like the goofiest dog ever." Though it might amuse her a little to get a big fluffy Pyr or an itty bitty Papillion and call it that. Not that she would; she definitely didn't have the mindset for a dog right now. Not with Rocket taking up her time. Then again, she guessed if it was a big enough dog, it could follow along on trails and things. Something to think about, at any rate. "Something you want to show me in my kitchen?" She asked as she followed along, brows lifting a little. Since she didn't really use her ability that much, she didn't think much about his or what he could do with it, so the idea of that being on the agenda didn't even cross her mind. Pulling herself up the counter above the dishwasher and out of the way, she crossed her legs at the ankles and watched him curiously. "What is so interesting in my kitchen?" She prompted. Actually she had a point, Damon was forced to admit. As would anyone who’d seen raptors up close and personal. It was possible he’d do it anyway, though. Sometimes it was fun to take chances, even in a town like this one. He smirked when she asked him what was interesting in her kitchen. “Me,” he joked. “And something quirky I can do.” He unpacked his bag, keeping the box of pasta close at hand. He’d chosen fettucine, because hey, easier to eat than spaghetti. Reaching for a salt shaker, he dusted a little bit into the water. “You know how the most annoying part of making pasta is waiting for the water to boil and sometimes it takes forever?” he asked. He glanced at her and then at the pot, focusing his concentration on it. For a few seconds, the air around him seemed to waver almost like intense heat rising from black pavement on a hot day, and then instantly the water burst into a rolling boil. “Voila,” he said, judging how much pasta to dump into the water by eyeballing it and then looking to her again for her reaction. Her brows lifted as she tilted her head but she couldn't really argue that. It was interesting to see him in her kitchen because she couldn't say she'd ever honestly imagined any situation where he would be in her kitchen. But she should have guessed where it was going, and she laughed quietly and clapped playfully. "Bravo," she teased. She'd always kind of wanted a flashy quirk, but hers had its uses. "That must be nice. Can you do like ... toast and stuff too? You wouldn't even need a microwave," she continued thoughtfully. So that would be useful, too. "Less appliance clutter for the win," she continued. Most of her little appliances she didn't use often were stored in a cabinet under the counter, but she'd gotten reasonably good at existing with a microwave and occasionally an oven, unless she was in a baking mood. With her hands lightly braced on the counter, she watched him curiously as he cooked, and let her mind wander along the path of wondering what a more ... consistent situation would be like. Him in her kitchen more days than not. Having a crush on a guy, keeping it distant was one thing. The idea of the possibility of it becoming a reality was ... well, nice, but also terrifying. Besides, just because he was here, now, didn't mean ... well, anything. She was sure he'd cooked for other people before. She also realized she was about to spiral into some serious overthinking if she didn't rein in her thoughts ... so she worked on doing that. “Toast is a no-go,” Damon said with a shrug. “Too much heat. It turns black or evaporates to crumbs.” He couldn’t really control the amount of pyrokinetic power that emerged each time, and fire wasn’t anything to play with. He’d used to joke around with Jake that if there was ever an iceocalypse, Damon could melt everything right away. It wasn’t as if he and Jake had never played around with their abilities, after all. He grinned. “I have the smallest microwave it was possible to find.” He obviously wasn’t a fan of clutter, nor of having more appliances or anything else than he really needed. He found a wooden spoon to stir the pasta and then set it over the top of the pot after finally cutting the heat to the burner on. Only halfway, because the water would continue to boil until it cooled down somewhat. That done, he set to making the marsala sauce. He had indeed cooked for the occasional person before, but it wasn’t something he did that often. This was nice, relaxing in a way. He also liked that Jaime’s kitchen was clean and had everything he needed at hand. “Bummer,” she replied about the toast. It was also sort of a scary thing to think about - and she wondered if he’d ever had a bad dream and set his covers on fire or anything. She chuckled a little about the microwave, glancing toward her own. Hers was mounted above the stove, and it had come that way with the house. Which was just as well; if she had one on the counter it would’ve eaten a lot of her free counter space. And since she sort of generally tended to clutter her kitchen, that wasn’t the best plan. Granted, it was all cleared off now but in a week or so there’d be all kinds of things on it - snacks that hadn’t made it back into the cabinet, mail she wasn’t inclined to go through yet, and sometimes her barn bag landed there when it was empty. But it was a comfortable chaos for her - she knew what was there and whereabouts it was. It wasn’t like there was anyone in the house presently for her mess to bother on a daily basis. The cats sure didn’t mind. “You want me to put on some music or anything?” She asked. She was fine with TV for background noise, but she wasn’t sure what his preferences were. TV, music, silence … she didn’t mind swapping TV noise for music noise but she’d never done well in dead silence. Then again, it wasn’t like it would be completely silent while she had company. “I don’t have a toaster,” Damon confessed randomly. “When I was a kid, we put bread into the oven. Buttered it, put it on a cookie sheet. Seems normal to do it that way.” From the time he could remember there had been three toasters in their house, none of which worked. There’d been two in the trailer when he’d taken it over… neither of which worked. Sometimes, he was fine sticking with the old ways of doing things. He got the marsala sauce simmering and then glanced at her when she asked about music. “Sure, I like cookin’ with music on.” It made anything feel like more of an occasion. Was this an occasion? Even as he worked, Damon was thinking about what this meant, if anything. He didn’t feel awkward and he hoped she didn’t; it was a little different than their usual interactions. Maybe not overthinking would be a good thing here. “What kinda music do you like best?” he asked as he took a few seconds to stir the boiling pasta. “Or are you like me and can’t pick one kind?” “Oh,” she said as she considered that. Well, it would work, she guessed. It was what toaster ovens did, after all, though on a smaller scale. “Maybe I’ll get you a toaster for Christmas,” she teased. “Save you the time it takes to preheat an oven.” She shrugged to the question. “It depends,” she admitted honestly. “It depends on what I’m doing, the time of day, what I’m trying to accomplish. Driving, I like loud angry stuff. Cleaning the house, I like poppy dancy stuff. Trying to think or read or something like that where I’m supposed to be concentrating … ocean sounds, or those thunderstorm tracks. No classical at home though because I get that all day at work,” she added with a laugh. “Every once in a while I’ll pop out some country but … not that often. Mostly because it makes me laugh. My dad used to make fun of every country song he heard. It was hysterical and to this day I just … can’t hear one without hearing his rendition of it.” Sliding down off the counter, she padded into the front room to turn off the TV and to flip through her playlists to find something that would suit dinner making. She settled on one of the house cleaning ones, though she kept the volume lower than she’d have it if she was alone and vacuuming or something. Damon cut open the packet of thin-sliced chicken and added it to the skillet, glancing at his watch so he’d know when to turn it over. “Can’t say I’m into classical at all,” he said. “Country either.” His granddad had been into the old, completely depressing country songs, and some of his worst childhood memories had those as a background. That could have been why, or maybe he just wasn’t a country music kind of guy. Hard to say. “I like a mixture of the other stuff.” If he was reading, he didn’t like any background noise at all. Everyone was different in that respect, he figured. The meal prep was going well, so he took a minute to start cleaning up as he went: throwing out the chicken packet, putting utensils he wasn’t going to use again in the sink, putting the non-perishable ingredients he was done with back into his bag. He didn’t agree with the adage that messy cooks were the best ones, personally. She chuckled. “Guess you shouldn’t ever schedule a massage at work then,” she teased. But she could always turn the music off. Then again, why pay for something he could get for free just by asking. Maybe not even asking but just … looking at her. Yeah, he wouldn’t ever need to go through the spa. When he started cleaning up, she got down some bowls and napkins, and was glad she’d cleared off the table in the dining room. Since she lived alone, she’d gotten into the habit of eating on the couch, using the end table as a dinner table. But since she actually had a little table … well, best to make use of it, right? “What do you want to drink? Beer? Or soda, water, I have some lemonade or juice,” she continued as she tried to recall what else was in her fridge. That was probably about it though. Damon glanced over to smile at her. “Guess I won’t, if I can get ‘em away from work.” Getting a massage would really be the last thing he’d ever think of, left to his own devices, but it was seeming very appealing right now. Probably the circumstances, and yeah, the person who was offering it. Lack of classical music was the very least of the pleasant possibilities of an in-home massage. He checked the pasta, finding that as usual it was the correct texture in less than the ordinary time; that happened when you dumped it into water that was boiling that intensely. Quickly he found a colander and drained it, setting the pan aside and then turning off the eye on the stove. “Beer, definitely,” he said to her question. “Marsala sauce and beer are a great combination.” Some people would say wine, but Damon was the opposite of pretentious. She chuckled softly, but it wasn’t like she was ever going to say no if he wanted her to rub his back. Or, really, anything else. “Right? Why pay for it when it comes free?” She teased lightly before she moved to get the beers from the fridge. She had thought about getting wine but she didn’t really like it and the last thing she was interested in doing on a not-date was … well, things she didn’t like. Why bring wine she wasn’t going to want to drink to make an impression that wasn’t her? Nope. She was pretty squarely beer and frozen drinks when she drank, though she did have a few other favorites when she was out with friends or out to dinner. Once everything was set and dished out, she carted things to the table along with a loaf of French bread she’d cut up earlier because hey, who didn’t like a little bread with their pasta? “Smells good,” she offered with a glance to him before she plunked herself down into one of the chairs. Rarely as she ate at this table, she didn’t really have a designated seat for herself, but she’d picked the one closer to the kitchen. After she tried some of it, she smiled. “Tastes pretty good too,” she added with a grin. It hadn’t taken Damon long at all to finish the dish. That was one reason it was one of his top go-to meals to cook: it tasted fancy but was as fast to prepare as Hamburger Helper. It was good to aspire to finer things, but that pleased him most when he could do it in ways that suited him best. Like this. A casual meal with a friend (and her pretty blue eyes), music in the background, beer to drink. Perfect. He settled into his seat and took a long drink-- cooking was thirsty work-- and smiled when she complimented his dish. “Thanks,” he said. “Guess I should’ve asked if you liked marsala sauce, but I got lucky this time.” Now that he thought of it, people had all kinds of preferences and even allergies. Next time he’d ask. If there was a next time, definitely. He twirled some fettucine around his fork with a bite of chicken and sauce and tried it for himself. It was one of his better efforts, he thought. Good. She chuckled quietly, but wasn’t about to say even if she hadn’t liked it she would’ve made an effort to eat it anyway. She was pretty open minded when it came to food to begin with and there wasn’t a whole lot she would completely write off. “I’m pretty easy,” she replied with a little shrug. “Not a lot I’m really ew about. No allergies I’m aware of. Not following any this free or that free diets,” she continued with a laugh. But she was also content enough to eat mostly quietly, a little bit of chatting. She really wasn’t that accustomed to this kind of dinner in her house; if she was eating with other people, she was usually out with Cassi or some other friends, and it was usually out, not in someone’s house. It was nice though, and she supposed the nice had a lot to do with the company present. Once dinner was done, she started to cart things back to the kitchen, dropping the empty beer bottle in the recycle bin in the corner. Since she wasn’t sure if he’d want to hop on the table right after dinner, she glanced over to him. “Want to watch a movie or something first?” “If I’m cookin’, that’s what I like,” Damon said, amused. “Someone who isn’t picky.” Allergies were another thing, but people who insisted on all organic, ovo-vego-lacto or whatever the hell they called it annoyed him. He wasn’t a huge fan of cauliflower, but everyone had their little quirks. Making random conversation as they ate was easy enough, although this was something Damon wasn’t that used to either. He ate with Jake and some of the guys from time to time, less often with Charlie, but it felt different being at Jaime’s house and actually preparing a meal and then settling down to eat it. He was having a good time, not that he had expected he wouldn’t, of course, or he wouldn’t have followed up on them getting together. He carried his plate back into the kitchen and then helped get everything else gathered up, not being a guy who left cleaning up for later. When asked about a movie, he said, “Yeah, why don’t we do that?” Dinner could settle that way, and he didn’t have anywhere to be the next day until three when he had to be at the Diner. “Preferences?” She asked, her head tilted. “I have Netflix and Hulu, and whatever I’ve bought on Amazon,” she began. “And HBO because … reasons,” she replied, sucking in her cheeks slightly. She wasn’t going to say Game of Thrones was her most favorite show but she watched it and if she didn’t keep up, people would be talking about it and expecting her to join in the conversation. So she did keep up, and it was due to start … soon, she was pretty sure. But HBO had good movies, too. “But if you browse through my Amazon stuff, you can’t laugh at all the cartoons in it,” she replied. She happened to like a lot of Disney movies, thank you very much. She also had an insanely eclectic collection - from Labyrinth to X-Men to Star Wars to Planet of the Apes - she was definitely dragging people out to see the new one when that came out, too - and of course a fair few Disney movies, both new and old. Heading over to the couch, she flopped down and offered him the remote in case he wanted to be brave and pick - or just prowl through things until they settled on something. Damon wasn’t a GOT watcher. As far as he could remember, the last HBO show he’d watched had been True Blood, and that had been a while back. He actually didn’t have cable at all now that he lived at the trailer park, and he might not get it. He hadn’t ever been a huge TV watcher. “I’ll give most things a shot,” he said when she asked if he had preferences. “I wouldn’t laugh at you for liking cartoons, either.” It was refreshing, in a way. He’d seen cartoons and cartoon movies that were pretty great, in his opinion. He took the remote when she offered it his way and started flipping through the Netflix offerings to see if anything caught his eye. He wasn’t going to be picky, even if he didn’t want to choose anything that would seem jarring given the relaxed mood of the night. No hardcore action or horror as they were digesting; it didn’t seem fitting unless maybe it was Halloween or whatever. “How about a comedy?” he asked, seeing a couple that would be nicely diverting as they chilled. "Most things, huh?" She replied with a grin. "Because there's this Jane Austen documentary I've been dying to watch," she laughed. Which was a complete and utter fabrication, of course - she had little interest in history and less interest in classic novels of that particular genre. Though some nature documentaries were kind of cool - but she wouldn't want to watch them tonight. "Comedy's good," she replied realizing a little belatedly she should've gone to get the room ready while he was flipping through things. Oh well. It was ... ready enough; she'd known she was going to be using it tonight, after all, and she figured that would still be the case. Just ... in a little while instead of right this second. She thought things were going reasonably well, and she wondered if at some point they'd end up talking or just ... make plans to do this again or ... something else entirely. But she'd see, and not try to push anything; it was enough for now that he was here and they were getting along just fine. Damon gave her the side-eye to see if she was serious about Jane Austen and then laughed. Something like that would have been far from his first choice but he still would have been unlikely to say no to it. He was nothing if not accommodating to others’ preferences, even if it was something he didn’t necessarily prefer himself. He couldn’t decide which comedy might be better so he picked one of them at random. It was relaxing to sit there on the couch with Jaime, not concerned about anything else. He’d left his phone in the car, because he wasn’t one of those people who couldn’t resist taking them out every five minutes. He actually thought that was rude, plus he didn’t have any family so there couldn’t be that many emergencies for him to deal with. They paused the movie once for a bathroom break but otherwise watched it through to the end. “So,” Damon said once it was over. “I held up my end of the deal. Time for yours.” He smirked and flexed his fingers at her. She'd wanted to, at various points during the movie, start something that was a little more than friendly. But given that they hadn't talked about anything or anything, she figured it was best to leave it alone for now, see how everything went, and go from there. Still, was hard not to reach out and play with his hair or lean against him or something. At least the movie hadn't had much of a plot that required attention because she'd been fairly distracted through most of it. "Oh, so now it's a deal," she teased before she slid off the couch. Gesturing him to follow, she moved to the second bedroom which was sort of set up for the cats but also where she kept her table and things. "I don't know how naked you want to get but there's a couple of big towels in the bathroom," she offered with a grin even as she moved the table toward the middle of the room, away from the cat tower in the corner by the window. "Otherwise, shirt off's fine," she added as she unfolded the table, setting it up and making sure all the things that needed to click into place had clicked. Laying a clean towel down on that (it was easier to clean towels than the whole table), she made a 'when you're ready' gesture before she turned to sort through the oils she kept at home. They weren't all the same brand she used at the spa, but for the ones she did at home, she had brand preference the spa didn't share. She settled on a more subtle, foresty smell that she thought would suit him. Some of the ladies liked walking out smelling like a garden, but that wasn't the norm, and she figured he wasn't big on smelling like roses. Damon had found himself distracted by the sound of her breathing, of all things. He’d kept his eyes on the movie but had been completely aware of her next to him the entire time. It was an interesting feeling, something that hadn’t really happened to him in a while. It was cool. He wasn’t thinking about anything but tonight and various things that could happen, and maybe in a way that was good for him. Sometimes he overthought everything way too much. He followed Jaime to the bedroom and glanced around, noting the cat paraphernalia with a faint smile. “I don’t know that I’ll need a towel,” he replied. He wasn’t particularly shy about anyone seeing him naked, although he didn’t guess it would be appropriate to completely strip down. While she was setting up her table, he pulled his shirt over his head, removed his jeans and then tugged off his socks, leaving himself clad in a pair of black boxer briefs. He found a spot to neatly stack his clothes and moved to get onto the table, lying down on his stomach. He’d never had a massage but he assumed that was how it was supposed to work. “Not bad at all,” he said lazily, commenting on the comfort level of the towel-covered table. She had to laugh a little when he just ... stripped. Man, if her clients ever did that in the room with her, she'd be a little weirded out. She, of course, didn't mind at all if he wanted to do that here, and she thought in an abstract, distracted sort of way it was a good thing they weren't in her bedroom or she might have accidentally fallen into bed. "Well, now I feel over dressed," she teased once he was settled on the table. She set the bottle of oil on the nearby nightstand before she rubbed her hands together to warm them up. Not that they were overly chilly, but habit was habit. Before she put the oil on though, she ran her hands lightly over his back because hey, he had a nice back. Shaking her head a little at herself, Jaime reached for the oil, tipping some into one palm before rubbing her hands together again. Since this wasn't an actual client she wasn't going to do the entire hour, but she also wouldn't have minded just rubbing his back for an entire hour. Still, she started up by his shoulders, fingers feeling out knots and tight spots, working them out as she made her way slowly down his back. She worked from the spine out to his sides as she made her way slowly down his back, making sure to seek out every spot that wasn't relaxed and undo the stress of it. It was easy enough to fall into a steady rhythm with it, to lose herself in the light scent of the oil, the heat of his body, and to let her thoughts drift places they probably shouldn't, and definitely didn't when she was at work. Damon was keeping Jaime’s rules in mind: no BO, since he’d showered right before coming over, and no chit-chat. He just smirked at her for her remark about feeling overdressed and then relaxed, letting her do her thing. If he’d known getting a massage would be this great, he might have done it a long time ago, he thought. Hopefully he wasn’t too warm for her, although if he was she wasn’t showing it. His body temperature ran hot, which was one reason he loved cold things so much. His eyes were shut, but he was far from sleepy. She was working out bits of tension in his body that he hadn’t known he had, a process that was relaxing and somehow stimulating at the same time. Just being touched was a novelty these days, and he couldn’t help but enjoy it. The only thing that might possibly be better would be if she were running ice cubes along his skin… and yeah, no, not a good thing to be thinking about right now. Not at all. If she’d thought about it, she would’ve considered something like the ice cube thing. But since that was pretty much a bedroom activity to her, she hadn’t considered it in relation to the massage. Also because she was trying to keep her expectations low. Sure, this had all gone just fine, and she imagined it would continue to go fine, but … without some discussion, she figured it was just what it was - two friends doing friendly things. Since a lot of people tended to carry stress in the small of their back, she put her focus on his. From his spine out to his hips, her thumbs and the heels of her hands working at his lower back, working out the tension, the kinks, the things people didn’t even know were there because they built so gradually it was just normal. She was, of course, aware of the heat of his skin, and she really wondered how he could stand it. And how it would probably be nice to share a bed with someone that warm in winter. Smiling slightly at her thoughts, she trailed her fingertips up and down his back before she took a step back from the table. “How’s that?” She asked quietly. Damon opened his eyes and turned his head so he could see her, so relaxed he wasn’t sure if he could get up. “Amazing,” he said. “I think I’m gonna have to sign up for that every so often. I got the better end of that deal for sure.” His dinner had been up to his usual standards, because in some ways he was a perfectionist, but it was hard to top that thorough of a massage. Carefully, he propped himself on his elbows and then climbed off the table, hoping not to fall on his ass. Luckily he managed it, gave her a wry look and then slid one hand around to feel of his lower back. “Do I need to let this dry some, you think?” he asked. He was thinking of putting his shirt back on. Standing around in his underwear was comfy, but it might not be so much for her. He didn’t want this to get awkward. She laughed softly, shrugging a little. “Well, I’m here whenever you want one,” she offered. She certainly didn’t mind and wasn’t going to say no to a chance to have him nearly naked in her house. Nope. She shook her head to his question. “Should be all right. Most of it should be absorbed in already. So your skin’s going to be really soft,” she added with a chuckle. And then she figured she should probably … not stand here while he got dressed. So she reached over to snag the towel off the table to carry it to the bathroom and drop it in the hamper before heading back to the front room to drop down onto the couch, reasoning he’d … get dressed and wander out. And probably bail but … she guessed she’d see what he said when he came out of the room. It was a quandary Damon wasn’t used to having. In this sort of situation he might ordinarily throw caution to the winds and do whatever he felt like… but this was different. He couldn’t really pull a fuck and run on Jaime for many reasons, not the least of which was that he definitely wanted to see her again. It was as if Jake’s little nudge had caused him to see her as a possibility as opposed to a she’d never be interested in me. He got his clothes back on in short order except for his shoes which were in the front room, paused at the bathroom to straighten his hair and then walked on out. He sat on the edge of the couch cushion next to hers and smiled. “So what do I smell like now… is that pine forest?” It wasn’t his usual, but wasn’t a bad smell at all. She glanced up when she heard motion, and she smiled at him. “I think it’s supposed to be, yeah,” she agreed with a chuckle. “It’s one of the lighter ones. Figured you didn’t want to wander home covered in scent.” Some did, some didn’t, and usually she asked but she liked that smell and she liked the smell on him. So it seemed like a reasonable decision to make. She did glance over to him again, her eyes drifting over his face before she leaned back against the back of the couch. All things considered, it wasn’t that late, but she also wasn’t sure what to do now. Oh, she knew pretty much what she wanted to do, but she really wasn’t sure if he was in the same chapter let alone on the same page. “So, want to do this again next Friday?” She asked with a grin as she glanced over at him. Then she frowned. “Well, no, maybe not Friday. I was planning on going to a movie Friday. Saturday? Unless you wanted to go to the movie,” she added. She did movies with friends, sure, but she’d also sort of gotten into a habit of going alone because sometimes it was a little nicer. “I mean, not like … a date. Unless … you were interested in it … being a date,” she said with a quiet laugh before lifting her hands to rub at her pinked cheeks. Yeah, that got awkward fast. “It’s nice,” Damon said agreeably. Normally the thought of pine forests called to mind those car air fresheners that smelled so appallingly strong, but this scent was very light. He wouldn’t feel the need to wash it off when he got home like he might with some fragrances. He’d noticed the time as well. Yeah, it wasn’t that late, but there was probably only one thing they could fill time with now, and while he was sure it would be fun and diverting, it probably wasn’t the best idea. A smile tugged at his lips at her degree of fluster; it was kind of adorable. “A movie, cooking dinner and then a massage… that might be a long night,” he said. “I might have to sleep over or somethin’.” He threaded fingers through hair that didn’t really need neatening and rubbed the back of his neck. “It could be a date,” he said. “I mean, you’re single, I’m single. You’re cute, I’m… passable.” He often thought he was rather peculiar looking, but it was what it was. Nobody had control over the genetic hand they were dealt. She was glad he approved of the scent, and she nodded slightly. She'd have to keep that in mind, though she thought she'd try out a few of her other favorites too. And just make a Damon basket of smells in that room, if they were going to make this a semi-regular thing. Sleep over. Boy, did that send her thoughts onto an interesting scatter of places. And it was interesting, given that he just lived across town not like ... a million miles away. "Well, yeah," she said. Which wasn't nearly as coherent as she'd intended it to be. "I mean, hey, my couch is pretty comfy and if it's not, there's always, you know. My bed." Because really who spent the night after a date ... thing to sleep on someone's couch? "You're cute," she said as she nudged his shoulder with her own, leaning her body briefly against his. "You've been cute since high school," she added with elevated brows. "And you don't have to cook," she said. "I mean, we could always eat at the movies ... and ... that'd save some time ... Not that I mind if you want to but ..." She laughed faintly. "But if you'd rather just ... let someone else do the cooking work." “You make me sleep on the couch, all bets are off,” Damon joked. He was kidding, of course, not being a fan of pushing people into things they weren’t ready for. But if she liked him and he was definitely interested and they both wanted to, he didn’t think them sharing her bed was all that far-fetched. It was intriguing, something to look forward to if this panned out. He made a face at her when she said he was cute and had been since high school and leaned back into her, because he wanted to. “Or we could stop at one of the food trucks in town right before the movies,” he suggested. “There’s a barbeque one, and one that does hand-held burritos.” There were others that sometimes stopped in the area too, but he couldn’t remember what. “Save another home-cooked dinner for another time, maybe.” He was flexible. It would be fun even if he did wonder how much Jake was going to told-you-so about this. Not that that was ever his first consideration when he was thinking about getting with someone. "Yeah?" Her brows lifted as she lightly pushed her shoulder to his before she shifted to lay back on the couch. Which left her hips skewed and her legs at a slightly awkward angle since she wasn't going to swing them up into his lap. "Seems comfy enough to me," she teased as she wiggled her shoulders down against the cushion, gazing up at him with a slight grin. "Mm... I hear those trucks are questionable," she replied, her brows lifting slightly. "We could hit Vinny's. That's right around the corner," she continued, resting her hands on her middle. "Or see what we feel like when the time rolls around," she concluded. Because maybe she'd really feel like Chinese or Thai or something. There were plenty of options, after all, and they had a whole week to think about it. Still, it was nice to be talking about it, planning it. The promise of seeing him again, this time in a more date-like setting, was very nice. “I’ve been fine with the trucks,” Damon said. “But I got a cast iron stomach. Vinny’s or whatever is fine too.” He liked the idea of eating before the movies, because then he could have Sugar Babies for dessert. He loved those damned things despite the way they got stuck in one’s teeth. Sugar Babies and a vat of Pepsi… what would the movies be without them? He rolled one shoulder and then the other, still feeling a definite lack of tension throughout his body. Massages were his new favorite thing, he’d decided. “I don’t have my schedule yet, but I can switch with someone if they put me on for Friday. What time are you free?” Might as well get a plan in mind before he left, he thought. Jaime nodded. "We'll see how it plays out," she murmured. Something like amusement flicked through her eyes and she was about to sit back up when 8 pounds of Chester landed on her. Well, that was fine. She busied her hands petting the cat who was already shifting to settle down on her, and why not? It was what happened when one laid on the couch - one was joined by kitties. Or one became a kitty-bed, which was essentially the same thing. "Um. Probably the same time as today," she said. "I could go as early as four though if the weather isn't miserable and Rocket doesn't need a cool-off," she said. Or she could ask John to check on him, she guessed. "Can't you ask ... for the day off? Or the early shift or whatever?" She really didn't know how things worked in restaurants as far as that went, but she also knew she could just rearrange her clients or request no appointments on a certain day if she wanted it off. But either way, she was sure they'd work something out. “I can,” Damon said of requesting off or an earlier shift. “Don’t do it that often, so I’m sure there wouldn’t be a problem.” He was infinitely dependable as far as work went, and his bosses loved him for it. He also very rarely burned anything he was cooking, and that helped too. He reached over to pet the fuzzy head of the cat that had settled on Jaime’s lap, hoping it wasn’t a man eater that might bite or claw him. One never knew with animals. “Maybe five-thirty or six?” he suggested. “That’d give us both time to get whatever we needed to done first.” In a way it felt odd to be actually arranging a date, but it also felt like a good thing. Just because he wasn’t used to dating anymore didn’t mean it was something he shouldn’t do. He didn’t want to end up an eighty year old hermit someday. Chester was a little aloof and standoffish most of the time, but she head-bumped Damon’s hand when he reached over. Jaime grinned a little, scritching at the cat’s back. “That should be fine then,” she replied. “I’ll … check times later and text you with options and we can see how to make it all fit,” she murmured. But there should probably be one around 7. Maybe 8. Which made her wonder if she should practice staying up past ten instead of wandering to bed to read or play games on her Kindle around 9:30. Oh lord she was such an old lady. “But we’ve got a week to work out all the details and we’re two reasonably intelligent people,” she continued with a grin. “I’m sure we can have something established by mid-week.” “Alright, sounds good,” Damon said. “We’ll figure it out.” He gave the cat another couple of pets and then removed his hand. “Guess I’ll head on home, see what I can get into.” Sure, it was Friday night, but it wasn’t like he was some wild 21 year old intent on as much partying as he could fit in. He’d had dinner and a massage, and to be perfectly honest, he wouldn’t mind bed in an hour or two. He got fairly set in his ways sometimes, himself. He got up from the couch and moved back into the kitchen to grab his thermal bag to sling over one shoulder, much lighter than it was when he’d arrived. When Damon got up, Chester popped up off Jaime. Not so much to follow, but to reclaim her usual couch cushion that Damon had been sitting on. Jaime shook her head slightly, amused, before she got up as well; the least she could do was see him out or ... whatever she was supposed to do in this sort of situation. "All right," she said as she leaned against the wall near the door, but not so close that the door couldn't open. "So ... I'll be in touch," she said with an easy smile, tipping her chin up slightly to regard him. "This was nice," she added in case there was somehow any question regarding the niceness of the evening. "Have a good night," she added. “It was nice,” Damon said, pausing in the doorway. Sometimes nice was underrated as a word, or people took it as a bland sort of insult, but sometimes it was exactly the right word. “Talk to you soon. You and the kitties be good.” He smiled and wandered out to his car, slinging the bag he held into the passenger seat before getting in himself. Lights on, engine started and then one last wave before he headed out with interesting things to think about. |