If the little I’d already experienced was any indication, he was far from wrong.
But I wasn’t thinking about the commode and basin (or not entirely about them).
“Indeed,” I replied, staring right in his eyes.
He continued smiling as he said, “Now, I gotta go out for a bit. I didn’t expect our reunion to go that way and didn’t come prepared. Need to pick up some condoms. Also gonna grab some cold beer. I’ll order the pizza, leave some money in case they deliver it before I get back, take off and do that. Fast as I can, I’ll be back. But I’ll show you how to work the TV before I go so you have something to do.”
I didn’t want him to go.
Though I could use a cold beverage.
“What are condoms?” I asked.
“Protection.” At my blank look, he explained further. “What I put on so I could have you and not give us both somethin’ we don’t want right now.”
His answer didn’t exactly make sense until it dawned on me.
“Oh, the sheath,” I said.
He nodded, pulling his face from mine slightly, but he was still smiling. “Yeah. The sheath. I need to go get more of those.”
He certainly did.
“I approve of your plan,” I shared.
His smile got bigger and his hold on me got tighter.
“Take you with me but seems you haven’t quite bested the challenge of walking on heels.”
His words confused me.
“I’ve been walking on my heels for decades now, Noc, as anyone who can ambulate does. It’s walking on spikes that’s a challenge.”
“You’re right,” he said through a low chuckle, then dropped down again but only to touch his mouth to mine before he guided me out of the small chamber. He did this saying, “Now, the TV.”
He then introduced me to the TV.
And it was extraordinary.
* * * * *
I heard the door open and the only move I made from my highly inelegant position of sitting cross-legged on the bed (something Josette was prone to do during our breakfasts, something I belatedly realized was quite comfortable) was leaning forward to watch Noc walk down the short hall.
“Darling, you cannot imagine what’s happening on this screen,” I stated, flinging an arm out in disgust toward the television, an apparatus I’d been “channel surfing” (Noc’s term of what he’d taught me to do) since he left.
He walked into the chamber, his eyes taking me in before he shifted them to the television while setting a number of bottles in a rather ingenious carrier on the bureau and tossing a rustling scrap of something with it.
“You’re watching Chopped?” he asked the television.
“I am indeed,” I affirmed before I declared, “And it…is…outrageous. It’s clear these chefs are highly trained and dedicated to their craft. Why that bespectacled man would pit them against each other, giving them no time at all to create culinary masterpieces but expect just that, I do not know. Then those three awful people sit in judgement of the dishes the chefs create, knowing the limitations they worked under, even watching the process, and still being unforgivably rude after they were gifted with the opportunity of tasting the results. I understand the challenge of giving the chefs odd ingredients to work with. But the rest is beyond me. It seems senseless and at times it’s cruel.”
“TV programs where talented people are pitted against each other and then rude people judge them is a big thing in this world, sugarlips. Cooking. Singing. Dancing. Even falling in love is television sport.”
At this statement, my brows drew up and I turned my attention from the screen to him, asking, “Falling in love?”
He nodded, but did it saying, “Though, I don’t watch those.”
“That’s absurd,” I declared. “People wish to watch this drivel?”
He came toward me, mouth quirking. “Babe, I totally dig this program. I even DVR it. Never miss an episode.”
I couldn’t believe it (not the part about DVR, I had no idea what that meant). The concept of Noc enjoying this form of entertainment. He didn’t have an ounce of rudeness in him.
“Truly?” I asked.
“Yup,” he answered, right before he lunged and I found myself hauled up the bed.
No longer sitting inelegantly, or at all, I ended Noc’s maneuver on my back with Noc on me.
And I couldn’t see the TV.
“No pizza?” he asked softly.
“No,” I answered breathily. “They’ve yet to arrive.”
His eyes dropped to my mouth. “Right, then we’re makin’ out until it comes.”
I had no idea what that meant.
What I did know was that on the program the appetizer round was over and they were getting into entrées.
“Noc, I’m rather hoping the female chef will beat out the males and they’re just starting the entrée round.”
He looked back to my eyes. “Frannie, making out means kissing, hot and heavy, with groping, and a lot of it.”
“Oh,” I whispered and made an instant decision. “I’m sure the female will triumph. Instead of watching her emerge victorious, let’s do that.”
Noc grinned at me again while his head descended.
Then we did that.
* * * * *
“So?” Noc asked.
“What?” It came out garbled as my mouth was full.
It was bad-mannered.
I simply didn’t care.
Pizza was sublime.
He tipped his head to the magnificence I was shoving in my mouth. “You like it?”