The Blush Factor by Deborah Bladon
Chapter Nineteen
Faith
I’m havingtrouble wrapping my brain around the idea that this gorgeous apartment with a stellar view sits across the hall from mine.
My apartment is dingy, small, and the stained laminate on the countertop is peeling.
Dr. Hawthorne’s apartment is larger, with granite countertops and a view of Manhattan.
I take it all in, turning in a circle as he moves into the kitchen with the take-out container.
“You seem surprised by what you’re seeing,” he notes. “I assume that Gerry didn’t upgrade his place before he moved out.”
“He didn’t,” I say, shaking my head. “You know him?”
“He’s a good old fellow.” He huffs out a low laugh. “Surly at times, but who wouldn’t be living in that shoe box? Oh, wait, you aren’t surly in the least, and you’ve lived there for a while now.”
When did he first notice that I was living there?
“I like it,” I admit. “It suits me just fine.”
The truth is that on rainy days one of the windows leak, and the light in the bathroom flickers but other than that, it’s comfortable.
Maintenance keeps promising they’ll stop by, but it hasn’t happened yet.
“You’re easy to please.”
It’s not a question but a statement, and I don’t take offense to it.
I am easy to please, I think.
In most ways, at least.
I can’t speak too much about how easy I am to please in bed, because I can get off with a mouth on my pussy, but it’s always taken a long time, maybe because those mouths (three, in total at different times, of course) didn’t know quite what they were doing.
I bet Dr. Hawthorne can have a woman in the throes of an orgasm within a minute, two tops, when he’s eating her out.
“Are you blushing, FU?”
I’m saved by my own laughter. My skin always naturally pinks on my cheeks when I laugh. “You’re going to stick with that nickname?”
“I am,” he answers succinctly. “I like that no one else calls you that.”
I like that he hasn’t asked if I like it. He’s just assumed, and in some way, that’s hot as hell to me.
I watch as he pours two glasses of sparkling water. He moves toward me, offering one to me. “Here you go.”
I take it and swallow a mouthful. It’s not hot in here at all. It’s quite the opposite. He must have the air conditioning turned on to a low setting because I feel slightly chilled. Not that I’m complaining.
“What did you bring us to dine on tonight?”
I shrug a shoulder. “I closed my eyes and chose one of the entrees. The portions are big so we can share.”
His brown eyes rake me over. “Why don’t I warm this up? I made a salad and bought some crusty bread to go along with it.”
He thinks of everything. “Can I help?”
“You’ll sit.” He gestures toward a dining room. “It won’t take long for me to get this ready, and then we can eat and talk about your future.”
That’s a heady subject, but if he wants to offer advice on my studies, I’ll take it.
All I’m hoping for tonight is that Professor Stein doesn’t make a surprise guest appearance. I don’t need her to barge into this perfect moment in time.
* * *
Matthew pusheshis empty plate to the side to lean an elbow on the table. “Are you serious, Faith? You listen to audiobooks written by neuroscientists?”
I nod proudly. “I do. It’s the most interesting subject to me.”
I mentioned it just now when he asked what I like to do in my spare time. It was the first thing that popped into my head.
Taking a sip from his water glass, he keeps his eyes pinned to my face. “You’re fascinating.”
I bow my head to shield my face from his view. I don’t want to blush, so I swallow hard, twice. Sometimes, if luck is on my side, that will ward off my embarrassment.
“When I was your age, I admit I crammed when I needed to in order to earn a passing grade, but I wasn’t seeking out extra stimulation for my brain in that way.”
“How long ago were you my age?”
It’s a loaded question to me, but to him, it’s probably a run-of-the-mill query. I’m curious, though. I read his bio on the Premier Pet Care website, but that didn’t reveal much more than his love of animals and a great picture of him.
He opens his mouth and then slams it shut. Another drink from his water glass follows before he clears his throat. “How old are you, Faith?”
“I’m twenty-one.” I almost grimace when I say it because it sounds so young.
Nodding, he grins. “My birthday is around the corner. I’ll be thirty-three.”
That’s not shocking to me. I can’t tell if he’s surprised by how old I am, but given that I’m in pre-med, it must make some sense to him.
“So, you weren’t stocking up on audiobooks written by neuroscientists when you were twenty-one?” I smile. “What were you doing?”
Well, that was a dumb question.
I instantly regret asking it, but before I can cover with another question, he’s answering it.
“Things that would rate a five out of five on your blush factor scale,” he says in a tone so deep that it crawls inside of me and makes me wish he’d tell me more.
