"Do you know how to cook?" He asks once he turns around, now standing in front of the kitchen counter, facing me. Only this giant marble thing is separating the two of us.
"Not a pro but yeah, a bit." I'm from a middle class family, of course I know how to feed myself. It's not like we're blessed with a helper. But to answer with a confident yes doesn't seem like an option if we were to compare our skill level.
The pots and pans picture? The pose in his chef outfit while holding a knife? Well turns out he sells them and is the ambassador of his own brand. That definitely killed my laugh yesterday when I read about that fact. That company alone must have worth millions.
Besides having his own business producing all sorts of cookware, he also has five restaurants all over the world. But surprisingly, none in England. Weird, because he has been living there since he was 11, when he starts his training as a footballer.
Okay fine, I kinda dig a lot about him yesterday. That's why I feel like we're friends already.
"Do you wanna cook the sauce with me?" He's still looking at me but now has a sharp knife in his left hand.
"It's fine if you wanna watch too." And there it is, the infamous dimple joining us at the kitchen.
"I can stir or something." I shrug then walk to his side of the kitchen island. Now that we're closer than we've ever been, I can smell the masculine scent he has. Mhmmmm tempting, somehow tingles me at the forbidden parts.
"You're standing next to me now because you wanna press harder on the reason, not really into that stirring hm?" He murmurs which I laugh instantly, "Bingo!"
"I insist we talk over dinner."
"I insist we talk now."
"You might not have the appetite anymore once you hear it."
He takes a deep breath then puts down his knife, angling his body so he'd face me.
I'm lucky I'm born 5ft 9 because if I'm petite like my bestfriends, I'd have to tilt my head so high just to talk to guys his height.
Damn, he has the perfect height too? Why do you need to check all the damn boxes.
My eyes grow so big as I stop breathing, but two seconds later I'm bursting with laughter.
"Okay funny," I finally tone down my laugh as I bring myself to look at him again. But he is still staring at me like he had been when he told me that joke.
"Wait," uhh, "Really?"
He nods, "Really."
"You like... guys?"
"I fuck guys."
Oh wow, you really can't have it all can you. When he checks all the boxes, suddenly there's this big box he doesn't. The most important box, the top on the list.
"You're gay or bi?" Because there's a big difference between those two.
"You never fuck a woman?"
"I've never fucked a woman."
I take a deep breath as my brain starts to work what it's supposed to do; connecting the intel I've gathered. So that's why he is the famous 33 year old footballer yet he hasn't had even a single picture with an ex girlfriend? Because he's gay?
"Then why the hell would you want me to be your sugar baby? To watch you fuck another man's butthole?"
He smirks despite my little mockery.
"Oh now it's funny?"
"It is," he is still smirking, "But no. It's the opposite of what I wanna do."
I bring my arms across my chest as I reply in my all-business tone, "Enlighten me."
"Okay," he starts, now putting one hand in his jeans pocket while another on the kitchen counter, as if he's gearing for a lengthy explanation, "I've been away from home since I was nine," the news I read yesterday says eleven, "I've been around men all my life, so at this point of time, age, I wonder if I really like men or because of my environment."
"So I'm your experiment apparatus?"
He sighs, "I'm sorry Elle. But yes. That's why I asked Miss Collins to find me the prettiest girl." Am I supposed to be flattered by this little compliment?
"To see if I can sway you to the other direction?"
"So if this prettiest, voluptuous girl can't make your dick stand, you'd just accept that you're actually gay? Not because of the environment?"
He nods, "That's the idea."
"Have I ever made you... interested?" Yes, I fucking hesitated. That's how much confidence I have left after being informed on the shocking fact.
"Honestly," he scratches the back of his head, which I think is not because of an itch but rather wanting to buy time, refraining himself from answering the truth.
"No," I lift my index finger between us, "Don't insult me with your answer." All my life I've been told I'm the most beautiful woman there is; intelligent, classy, everything a guy wants.
I'm even funny. How many gorgeous women have you met that is as funny as I am, and smart? A handful, yeah you got it right. So no, don't fucking insult me just because you have a sexuality crisis.
"I'm sorry. I really am." He seems sincere with his apology but I'm still offended by how unappealing I am that I can't make a gay man's dick erect.
Okay. That's fair when I put it in the same sentence. It's not my fault. It's just he doesn't prefer the species from Venus. I guess he'd choose Mars in a heartbeat if the Earth is overpopulated.
"Tell me your game plan." I have to know what's in his head before I call this off. Thank God we have that cancel clause.
And now all I'm hoping is the place I agreed with my real estate agent hasn't been leased to anyone yet. It's only been a few hours, she can't possibly has found a new renter already.
Because I refuse to be denied of what I have. I am what every man wants, don't fucking challenge me on that.
"I was thinking," he has stopped scratching his head, now focusing on me once again, "If we get to know each other, maybe, just maybe, there'll be a spark somewhere."
"Maybe not." How would he? He has fucked men since he was, what? Eighteen? That's more than ten years. How can you change your preference in just three months, doesn't matter how irresistible I am.
He agrees, "Maybe not. But I'd like to try. I need to try, for myself. I don't wanna live wondering if I'm a bi or I really like just men."
"Fair enough." He has a point. Nobody wants to live in regrets. It's better to have regrets doing them rather than not doing them.
"Would you try with me? At least for three months?"
"I don't know. I already have the internship to worry about, I don't think I need this-"
"But you have the whole package. If you can't change me, then maybe I really am gay."
-petty challenge, was what I was about to say. But damn, the compliment.
"Please Elle, I'd pay you more if you want me to."
"It's not about the money. It's my internship." Really, that's what I'm most worried about.
"I promise we'll do everything at your pace. If you say jump, I'll jump. If you say swim, I'll swim."
"And if I say die?"
He finally smiles after the intense look he's had since he explained what happened, "I'm willing to leave my gay-sex for you, that's like signing up for a celibate life. Equals death."
"I thought you're supposed to charm me into a yes? That's the opposite of it. What? I'll never be able to make you hard?"
The smile grows wider, revealing that dimple I've missed, "Challenge accepted?"
I grin, "Challenge accepted."