The Writing on the Wall (closed for Gr8chtr)

Bradford wasn't sure what was up with Kayla; whether his plan was working or not. Pam, H.H. and Larry had all texted among the four of them, accepting his invitation and finalizing a date and time. But no text from Kayla. Impatient though he was, Bradford realized that he couldn't ask Pam - the most likely conduit to Kayla - whether Kayla was attending.

The Valley House Gallery was not small. Add to that the surrounding 4.5 acre sculpture garden and a person could get lost for days. Entering the gallery Bradford immediately saw H. H.'s unmistakable profile. He sauntered over a struck up a spirited discussion around H. H.'s opinion of Allison Gildersleeve's work. But his mind was on Kayla. After a few minutes he saw Pam coming into view, followed by Kayla who almost seemed to be keeping to the shadows.

Giving a jaunty wave he called to Pam to come over, which she did with what seemed to be an equally light mood. The two gave each other the customary friendly, non-erotic hug. It wasn't a false move for him; he genuinely liked Pam a lot. By the time they had broken their friendly embrace Kayla was within conversational distance. Trying to affect a polite, but not intimate demeanor, he caught her gaze and said, "Hi, Kayla. It's good to see you again."

Somehow, she felt that she really shouldn’t go to Valley House Gallery. Seeing Bradford again would just be upsetting. Angry sex. Just what had it accomplished after all.

But to not show up would be highly suspicious. No, she would have to join in and hope that nobody noticed or said anything about him including her in the text. Why the hell had he included her anyway?

When Pam asked her if she wanted to be picked up, she claimed that she might have to leave early, which wasn’t really much of a lie. After all, she might have to make a run for it if it all got to be too much.

She and Pam actually arrived around minutes of each other. Off in the distance, they could see Bradford entering and Kayla felt her heart beating faster and faster. She needed to get a hold on herself before she wound up passing out from fright or whatever it was that was bothering her. After all, she still couldn’t stand him, right? Right?

Without realizing it, Kayla began to drag her feet as they headed for the building and its surrounding grounds, trying to delay the inevitable. She hung back, studying various pieces with pretend interest. More that once, Pam glanced at her exasperated.

“Sorry. I didn’t realize that we were on a schedule.” Kayla snapped back.

“No need to snap at me, girl. If you don’t want to join in, then don’t.” Pam stood there with one hand on her hip starting to get exasperated with Kayla’s dawdling.

“Sorry. I have something on my mind. I’m coming.” Upon reaching the point where H.H. and Bradford were waiting, the tension seem thick enough in the air to be cut with a knife. Everyone greeted each other with easy familiarity. She seemed the odd one out. For once, she didn’t really fit in. If she was smart, she would just leave now.

Hi, Kayla. It's good to see you again.

“Yeah. Right.” She wandered over to look at one of the pieces, trying to stay cool. What was wrong with her. She still couldn’t stand the man, right? So why was her heart beating like crazy?

She fought hard to remain calm on the outside.

Hi, Kayla. It's good to see you again.

Yeah. Right.

Bradford didn't quite know how to respond to Kayla's tepid response to his salutation. He couldn't very well confront her in front of the other artists. Besides, the others knew that he and Kayla had a testy relationship at best. So, her cool response was not entirely unexpected. In fact, delightfully given his plan to try to manipulate her, if anything her rebuff would be on her head, not his.

Bradford continued the pleasant conversation that he had been having with H. H. and, now, Pam, letting Kayla to decide to what degree she wanted to join in with the group. Within a few minutes Larry had joined them, rounding out the usual collection of top Dallas artists. Aside from his plan regarding Pam, Bradford was genuinely enjoying himself. He quite enjoyed the occasional meet-up with the other three. Even his animus toward Kayla seemed to be decreasing at least some.

An obvious opening occurred to him. After the group sauntered around the gallery for 15 minutes or so. commenting on Gildersleeve's work and that of other artists on display, he stopped and said, "Hey, folks, it's late in the day and we seem to have covered this topic pretty well, how about if we all go out to a little cafe somewhere and have an early light dinner? Who's in?"

He realized, of course, that Kayla could easily say "No thanks", but he counted that her connection to Pam and the rest of the group would outweigh her revulsion to him.

Soon they were all there - the top 5 artists and contenders for the Renfro Edifice piece - and at least 4 of them spiritly arguing the pros and cons of each piece. Only Kayla hung back. But Pam had noticed that Kayla gave none of her snide remarks or usual witticisms. Something was wrong but she couldn’t really put her finger on it.

As to Kayla, she felt so uncomfortable with the whole situation. In fact, she was about ready to come up with an excuse for leaving, when suddenly Bradford spoke up and threw a kink in the whole thing.

Hey, folks, it's late in the day and we seem to have covered this topic pretty well, how about if we all go out to a little cafe somewhere and have an early light dinner? Who's in?

Suddenly, they all spoke up at once, all saying about what a good idea it was. Meanwhile, Kayla was running over in her head the various reason that she couldn’t join in. It wasn’t until she realized that the group had gone quiet that she noted that all eyes on her awaiting her answer. She so wanted to say no.

Being so near Bradford was causing a conflict within her. What had happened the other day...well, quite frankly, she didn’t know just what to call it. Lust? No. Sex? Yes, but really no. Anger? Yes. Then why fuck in anger?

Nevertheless, they were still waiting for her to speak. She gave a weak smile and then managed to give a weak answer.

“Ah, I guess yes. I was expecting a call but he must have had to work a little late.”

Somehow, she felt lame. What the hell was wrong with her? Even Pam was staring at her as if she were a complete idiot.

“Sorry. I guess that my mind was elsewhere.”

“Try Mars,” Pam mumbled under her breath as the tried to decide where to eat.

It didn't take the group long to decide where to go. Larry was familiar with the Coffee House Cafe in North Dallas, a little more than a mile from the Valley House Gallery. The place offered a menu ranging from snacks to full entrees and, true to its name, specialized in coffee drinks of various sorts. Since they would all be going back the way they came, they each drove to the Coffee House in their own cars.

Without being too obvious Bradford made sure that he arrived first; he wanted to control the seating arrangements as much as possible. He was even more lucky than than he had imagined. The Coffee House included booths that would seat 5 people in close contact with one another. He claimed one for them as soon has he arrived.

Bradford counted on Kayla being the last to arrive, and he wasn't disappointed. Perfect. Without fanfare he managed to seat Larry, Pam, and H.H. and himself such that the only spot left for Kayla was the end of the booth sitting immediately next to him. She was, he figured, trapped. She would either have to sit next to him close enough that their legs would touch at least occasionally, or make a big scene by asking one of the others to move. Smiling softly, he said to himself, "Well, Kayla, I've made my move. The next move is yours."

Trying not to expose his glee to the others as they awaited Kayla's entrance, a strange thought crossed his mind. Yes, his plan was working, or probably was, but somehow the thought of her sitting snugly against him seemed, just in itself, a pleasant and exciting image.

She was so tempted to turn the wheel in the opposite direction from Coffee House Cafe, and just text Pam that something had come up. Once she had reached her car, she sat there for almost five minutes, the war within her waged until finally her common sense won out. She was not going to let Bradford scare her away from enjoying time with the rest of the group.

Those five minutes would come back and bite her in the butt when she arrived at the cafe and noted that it looked like she would be the last one to get there. Outside sat a group of young people at a table, with several dogs on leashes. The dog seemed to be communicating as their owners chatted. Inside was clean and nicely appointed, with about half of the tables full.

Her heart sank when she saw Pam waving to catch her attention. They were all piled in a booth and as she got closer, she saw that the only place left to sit was next to Bradford.

She reached the table and stood for a moment, too nervous to sit down.

“I’ve never eaten her before. Is it really that good?”

“Well, sit down and find out!” Pam seemed a bit put out as they all sat there looking over the menus. She hesitated a moment before she slid into the booth next to Bradford. “Excuse me,” she mumbled to him as she brushed up against him.

In an effort to minimize the contact between their bodies, she slipped her purse between them, though her handbag was small and really afforded herself very little protection.

Picking up the menu on the table, she perused it, trying not to notice how Bradford’s leg was warm against her leg despite the fact that he wore pants. She tried pulling her skirt down a bit more, hoping to afford coverage.

Bradford was winning, and he knew it. But, how to proceed from here was not immediately clear to him. Here was Kayla sitting so close to him that their legs were touching some, a fact that drew a lot of his attention away from his plan and toward lusty memories of her riding him harder than he had ever experienced before. "Be focused," he told himself, "think with the head that sits on your shoulders."

The challenge was that he clearly couldn't make any physical moves on her in the company of the others. Even if he thought it prudent, something like sliding his hand down to rest on her leg would be just too obvious. As the rest of the party, except Kayla, conversed animatedly a plan emerged in his diabolical mind.

As the discussion of the art exhibit that they had just seen began to wind down, Bradford got the attention of the group and spoke in an affected, sincere tone:

Um...well...you all know that too many times in the past I have said unkind, even nasty, things about, and to, Kayla. I have come to realize that I was wrong, very wrong in fact, and hurtful to boot. I want to apologize.

He paused for effect as he surveyed the nearly shocked expressions on H.H., Larry, and Pam's faces.

As my understanding grew I knew that I must apologize, but I didn't have the guts to make an apology to Kayla face-to-face. So, recently, I sent her a note containing my sentiments.

Turning slightly to face Kayla, he continued:

I'm hoping that the fact that you are here, Kayla, means that you are at least considering accepting my apology. But, I know that the cowardly move of sending you a note isn't enough. So, I'm apologizing now to you, here, in the company of our fellow artists. I was hurtful to you, Kayla, and, among other things, I didn't see, or maybe I wasn't able to recognize, the quality of your artwork. In fact, it's truly first rate. I think that I was, in fact, intimidated by your arrival on the local scene a couple of years ago, bringing in another artist who is at least my equal. To repeat, I hope, Kayla, that you will accept my apology.

Bradford sat back, truly emotionally exhausted. He had dropped a bomb. You could, he thought, literally have heard a pin drop on the table. And it was hard emotionally on him. On the one hand, he had just told an immense lie, and done so while attempting to portray complete sincerity. On the other hand, he had, in extemporizing, stumbled on a painful truth. He was scared of Kayla. He knew by recent experience that she was a great fuck, but he also realized, as he spun his yarn, that she was one fucking good artist.

For a moment, the world stood still. As Bradford spoke, she felt her face flush with embarrassment. All eyes turned towards her and Bradford, sitting uncomfortably close together, the heat from his leg easily felt through his pant leg.

She was just as stunned as the rest if the group. She had thought that his words in the card were just a hoax. But maybe not. Of course, the rest of the group knew nothing about what had occurred at her house the other day. Still, she blushed. But his next words stunned her.

I'm hoping that the fact that you are here, Kayla, means that you are at least considering accepting my apology. But, I know that the cowardly move of sending you a note isn't enough. So, I'm apologizing now to you, here, in the company of our fellow artists. I was hurtful to you, Kayla, and, among other things, I didn't see, or maybe I wasn't able to recognize, the quality of your artwork. In fact, it's truly first rate. I think that I was, in fact, intimidated by your arrival on the local scene a couple of years ago, bringing in another artist who is at least my equal. To repeat, I hope, Kayla, that you will accept my apology.

She was shocked! He was intimidated by her talent? Could that really be true?

She looked up to find all eyes on her. What could she say? To turn him down would make her appear petty. She dropped her eyes to her lap, clearing her throat.

“Of course I accept you apology. I know that I too have said some things in the past that I probably should not have said. And for that, I too apologize.”

She waited to see if she would regret this.

The idea of a public apology had sprung full-blown into Bradford's head as the five artists sat in the booth at the Coffee House Cafe; he had not planned this in advance. As a result he had had no time to think about what to do depending on Kayla's response. It was almost too good to be true. Not only had she accepted his apology but she added one of her own in front of their mutual friends. Bradford actually felt a pang of guilt.

It was still icily quiet following Kayla's apology. He wanted to lighten things up a bit and move on to whatever might come next. Looking around the table he raised his glass and said: Let's just toast to our mutual friendship. Being sure to clink Kayla's glass first he proceeded to clink glasses with the other three, as they all did the same all the way around. As the clinking continued, he made another move. He pressed his pant leg very subtly against Kayla's bare lower leg, feeling the warmth that the greater physical contact caused.

Not surprisingly the group began to break up not long after Bradford had dropped his bomb. Leaving the restaurant he was able to catch up with Kayla and call to her from a short distance. Without touching her he said:

Thank you, Kayla, for publicly accepting my apology. It certainly wasn't necessary for you to reciprocate with one of your own, but I do appreciate and accept it.

He paused, then continued:

After everything that's happened I don't want to pressure you, but I was wondering if you would accept an offer from me to take you out for a nice dinner, perhaps next weekend?"

She had to raise her glass to Bradford’s toast. To not do so would have made her appear fraudulent. They clanked glasses all around the table, but she noted that Bradford was the first to touch his glass to hers.

She was almost afraid to speak so she sat there quietly listening to words float around and over her head almost as if she was not really there. His leg pressed up against hers and she held her breath. She found herself wondering if he was remembering sex with her. That’s what she was remembering.

Not long after everyone was through with whatever munchies they had ordered, the crowd begin to break up as people left. She tried to get away as quick as possible but somehow still managed to find herself being stopped by Bradford as he called to her.

Thank you, Kayla, for publicly accepting my apology. It certainly wasn't necessary for you to reciprocate with one of your own, but I do appreciate and accept it. After everything that's happened I don't want to pressure you, but I was wondering if you would accept an offer from me to take you out for a nice dinner, perhaps next weekend?

Now she was totally caught off guard. How should she answer him? To say no would make her look petty. To say yes, she might not be able to handle that. What could she do? What should she do? Hell, how could she get out of here as quick as humanly possible?

She found herself flush, blush and then stammer. “I...I...I don’t know.”

Hell, I sound like an idiot! she thought to herself.

Taking a deep breath, she tried again. “Ah, Bradford? Why not wait until next week before...well, let’s wait and see. I really need to leave.”

She practically ran to her car, sliding into the hot car. In the heat of the car, she placed her forehead down on the steering wheel and tried to catch her breath.

"She didn't say 'No', yet," was the thought that flashed through Bradford's mind as Kayla dashed to her car. Her "Well, let's wait and see" left the door open. He was confident now that his plan was still working; no need to push too hard. Trying to sound cheerful he called out "OK, Kayla, I'll call you toward the end of the week" as she opened the door to her car and disappeared inside.

Riding home with the fresh air blowing past him he began to calm down some. Things were going reasonably well. He couldn't push too hard, but he couldn't back off too much either. He weighed the risks of both too much, and too little, action and decided to call her on Thursday. There was nothing to do on that front until then and he needed to concentrate on his artwork in advance of the final submission of his plans for the mural. He dedicated himself to working a good two hours before watching Netflix or resuming his pleasure reading.

But there was a problem. He couldn't get Kayla out of his head. And, it wasn't just about his plan to use sex to manipulate her, although that plan still burned brightly in his mind. No, it was, he thought, "the fucking erotic images of her" that kept pulling his mind, and his body, in one particular direction. Bradford laughed out loud at his own thought. It wasn't exactly the "fucking erotic images of her" that kept intruding, it was more like the "erotic images of them fucking" that dominated his mind.

After an almost completely non-productive hour attempting to work on his submission to the competition, he decided to head to bed early, perhaps relaxing with a little bed-time leisure reading.

But his reptile brain and his body had other ideas. Within five minutes of laying down and with his hand well-lubricated with the pre-cum from his rock-hard erection, he was giving himself the hardest handjob he could remember, his mind flooded with the image of Kayla's body riding him like there was no tomorrow.

It took her a few minutes before she pulled herself together and started up the car. The whole drive home, his voice was in her head. take you out for a nice dinner She shook her head and tried to concentrate on her driving. perhaps next weekend She bit her lip and gripped the steering wheel. I was wondering if you would accept an offer from me The blare of a car horn brought her back to what she was doing and she pulled through the green light. The rest of the drive was thank god uneventful but at least she didn’t have that much further to go.

She spent the rest of the afternoon working out in her studio. It took all her willpower but she was determined to think about her work and not Bradford. The final submission would be presented before all the other contestants. A lot depended upon her idea, and presentation. She worked hard, and by the end of 4 hours, she looked at what she had completed. She felt good at what she had done.

She went in and ran a bath. She felt like she needed to soak off the paint and grime of the day. The smell of roses filled her nose and she sank into the hot water. Bubbles tickled her chin as her muscles began to relax. The air was full of scent and moisture and she’s closed her eyes, running her hands down her body. Cupping her breast, she tweaked her nipples, taking a deep breath. Bradford’s face came into her mind’s eye without realizing it. Downward fingers traveled, finding curves without looking beneath the layer of suds.

She gasped as she found her clit and her finger slipped around and soon she was fingering herself, remembering riding Bradford’s cock as if he was that last horse and she was a cowgirl anxious to get home as soon as possible.

Pleasuring himself every night in an attempt to at least partially relieve the constant sexual tensions that sprung forth multiple times daily as he thought about Kayla, Bradford managed somehow to accomplish quite a lot of work on his submission for the mural competition. Still, the days seemed way too long until it would be time on Thursday to contact her and try to set up a date. He still was committed to using sex to manipulate her into a disadvantageous position in the competition, but he hadn't given much thought to how to do that. Having a sexual relationship would have to come first.

After a small meal at home on Thursday he punched in Kayla's number on his phone. He had to laugh a little at himself. He felt like a teenager asking a cute girl for a date. When Kayla answered he tried to sound both adult and calm. "Hi, Kayla," he began feigning a casual mood, "I'm wondering if you have had time to consider my offer of going out for a nice dinner. I'm hoping that you would say 'yes'. I'm free this weekend if you are."

Bradford could feel the sweat running down his face as he awaited her reply. Further down, though, there was no hesitance. His cock was straining against his briefs, aching to be free.

“Just what is it between the two of you?” Pam had finally asked the question that Kayla was sure was the real reason for the phone call. Kayla had spent the past couple of days trying to work in her submission but thoughts of Bradford kept interfering. His leg against hers at the restaurant. Him nude with his cock like a flagpole. The feel of it slamming deep into her. The ring of the phone had jostled her from the erotic memories and she was glad that Pam couldn’t see the the flush on her cheeks.

“What do you mean?”

“Subterfuge has never been your strong suit. Between you and Bradford. Whereas before, acid fairly dripped from both of your lips when you spoke of the other, now the two of you are like a couple of mewling kittens. You’re not sleeping together, are you?”

“Pam, could you be more disgusting!”

“All right! All right! Don’t bite my head off. It’s just that little display of camaraderie that we saw at the restaurant was a bit unnerving. I kept expecting one of you to pull out a knife and stab the other one and say, ‘Just kidding!’ “ There was a pause Pam’s end of the line.

“Perhaps Brad...ford has seen the error of his ways.”

“Perhaps Brad...ford has.” Pam had caught Kayla’s hesitation after all. Kayla changed the subject and asked if Pam wanted to go shopping for something new to wear to the proposal conference. They would all be submitting their idea before the board, as well as Mr. Renfro and the other participants. The two of them made plans to meet the next day and listed several stores that they wanted to check out.

After talking with Pam, Kayla dove back into her work. But only 20 minutes later, her phone rang again. It was Bradford and she was tempted to ignore it. But somehow she pressed the button and found herself saying hello.

Hi, Kayla. I'm wondering if you have had time to consider my offer of going out for a nice dinner. I'm hoping that you would say 'yes'. I'm free this weekend if you are.

Her stomach was fluttering at the sound of his voice and the room suddenly seemed very hot. Hell! What was the matter with her? She was acting like some stupid schoolgirl. Maybe she should accept the dinner and get it over with. Probably by the end of the evening the two of them would be back to their acerbic relationship.

“This weekend? All right. When?”

Bradford had had enough sense to prepare a response whether Kayla said "yes" or "no". He had worked on his "no" response more than its alternative because he suspected that "no" might be the more likely outcome.

This weekend? All right. When?

Though surprised, he was ready. "Well...great, Kayla. How about Saturday at 8:00? I can swing by and pick you up. I actually have a suggestion. I have never been to St. Martin's Bistro, have you? It's supposed to be one of the nicest places in Dallas for a first date."

After they finished their brief call with an agreement about the time and place, Bradford reflected on his plan, which seemed to be going well. He hadn't lied; online reviews of St. Martin's emphasized, in addition to the quality of its food, its romantic appeal. Particularly noteworthy were their cozy corner booths and the fact that it was quiet enough that a couple could converse easily. It was a nice setting that would convey more "romance" than baser motives.

And, picking Kayla up was also deliberate, the other choices being her coming to his place or them meeting somewhere. This way they would end the evening back at her digs, leaving her the option as to whether to invite him in. Additionally, unless she was unlike him, the memories of their very hot sex would be at least somewhat attached to her place.

But as he thought about this, a different question floated through his mind that he hadn't thought of before. Why had she accepted his offer? Since she came to town he had unmercifully berated her and her work, often in front of others. He hadn't exactly raped her - their sex was clearly mutual - but he had essentially forced himself on her. Yes, he had apologized in front of their fellow artists, but why in hell would anyone turn around so quickly? She easily could have declined or, at least, put him off for longer.

As he pondered the possibilities the obvious finally stuck out. Kayla wanted him, perhaps romantically, but definitely sexually. His lust for her wasn't one-sided; the thought made his lust for her even stronger.

As he had at other times in his life when he anticipated that an upcoming date would end in sex, he surmised that their sex would be particularly hot if they were both really starving for it. So, no release for him for the next two days. "Let it build," he told himself.

But, logic and lust are seldom congruent. His explosion at bedtime was nearly as great as when Kayla had pounded him into a near frenzy.

Why had she accepted? What was she thinking? She debated calling the man back and cancelling. Surely she could come up with a reasonable excuse. Busy? That didn’t make sense. She was going to be sick? Possible but a little early to give that excuse. Against her religion? Now she was really grabbing for straws.

Hell, maybe if she went ahead and got it over with, then she could get on with life.

Then the thought occurred to her. Why was he wanting to take her out? Was it because of that rough fucking and he thought that they would be reprising the roles. He would be in for a surprise. She had no intentions of doing that again. Though the whole incident had been quite hot. Very hot. Very very hot, as a matter of fact. Shit! She felt herself flush at the memory of it, and had to go stand in front of the air conditioner vent until she had cooled down.

The rest of the day was spent working on her submission. She felt confident that it would be chosen to grace the Renfro Edifice.

*****

“That really looks good on you. You should get that one.”

“Kayla,” Pam voice was droll, “you are so full of it. This dress makes my legs look like bowling pins. I wish that I had your body.”

“We’re never happy with our own bodies, are we?” After several hours and even more dress shops, they each found a dress that would work for the presentation. Then they stopped in at Snappy Salads. Kayla ordered a Cobb Salad and Pam got a Brutus Salad. At least for a couple of hours, Kayla was able to forget about Saturday and Bradford.

It seemed like Saturday took forever to arrive, but finally it did.

Two summers ago Bradford had a mid-summer opening of a show of his in a gallery in Galveston. Galveston in the summer! It was like perpetually taking a steam bath. To prepare he had bought a linen sports jacket with a shirt and pants to match. It was a comfortable outfit in the searing heat and humidity and, based on the number of women that he bedded in the two weeks that he was there, the clothing was pretty sexy. He chose this outfit for his Saturday date with Kayla.

Presenting himself at Kayla's door, he could feel the butterflies in his stomach. Strange for an adult man, but there it was. Taking her image in when she answered the door Bradford was reminded instantly of the lust that he felt for her. She looked hotter than at any time that he could remember.

And, maybe it was just a hopeful projection on his part, but based on the look on her face, he suspected that his outfit, or something like that, was doing the job that he had intended.

Come Saturday, she wished that she had said no. It scared her. Just what was it about Bradford that made her nervous? Was it that she couldn’t trust herself when it came to him? She had thought that she didn’t like him or his snobbery. The man hadn’t changed. But maybe she had.

The doorbell broke through her reverie. Just a bundle of nerves was all that she was. She purposefully chose a dress that wasn’t very sexy. Yes, it was colorful and a bit striking, and definitely form fitting, but there were no thigh high slits, no plunging necklines. All in all a relatively safe dress to wear.

By contrast, Bradford looked sharp in white. Very cool and pulled together. Money and breeding always do tell. Perhaps he had both and she had neither...

“Let me grab my clutch and then I’ll be ready.” She turned and crossed over to the table where her purse was. Above all, she needed to be gracious. If she could just get through tonight, then there was hope for her.

They left, with Kayla unsure of just how the night would end.

Kayla’s dress
http://www.kcarers.co.uk/images/RdQ...nt-jersey-dress-floral-multicoloured-61SM.jpg

The evening had started off rather casually, no dramatics, no awkward moments. Bradford took note of Kayla's modest dress and guessed, correctly, that she had made a deliberate choice to not communicate anything sexy. What that meant for how the evening would end was hard to say.

What he did know was that he couldn't come on too strongly. With his fake apology and the note that he had left at Kayla's house after their hot encounter, he had created (or hoped that he had) the image that his attraction to her was more than just lust. Moving slowly, unless encouraged, was consistent with that image.

The online comments and the webpage for St. Martin's Bistro weren't just hype. The place definitely had a romantic atmosphere. He had called ahead with their reservation and had requested one of the "cozy corner booths", and got one. Sitting in the corner booth was more like sitting side-by-side than it was like sitting across the table from each other. Without manipulating the situation their legs touched multiple times throughout the evening. Every time they did he felt sparks run up and down his body, causing his mind to momentarily drift from their conversation to memories of their last encounter. On at least two of those occasions he had actually stopped speaking mid-sentence and had to collect his thoughts before continuing. Not very subtle.

Dining at St. Martin's was not rushed, part of its romantic appeal. It was nearly three hours from the time they sat down to the end of the meal. But, surprisingly to Bradford, he found himself enjoying Kayla's company, even apart from the possibilities of sex at the end or of his progress on his grand plan.

After he had paid the check and they were walking out to his car, his hand placed firmly on her lower back, they fell into the infamous awkward silence. He knew what that was about, and assumed that she did also. As they approached the parking spot in front of her house, he realized that the ball was in her court. There wasn't much that he could do now except to play the hand that Kayla was about to deal to him.

The air was a bit strained on the drive over to St. Martin’s, though Bradford seemed to be trying his best to lighten the atmosphere. She didn’t want to be negative when he appeared to be trying to make amends. Perhaps they had misjudged each other.

St. Martin’s was an excellent restaurant. They were seated in a very private corner booth and she found the place very romantic. Sitting the way they were, their bodies touching from time to time, made her heart race. Occasionally he would pause in his conversation, as if searching for the right word.

It was certain that the meal was not rushed and it became almost epic. But the food was not the focus of the meal - he was. She was surprised to find him charming. This whole thing was a bit confusing. This was not the Bradford that she knew - the egotistical asshole that was constantly throwing in her face that he was from an old Texas family that had practically invented Dallas. This Bradford was a charmer, talking about art in general. This was a Bradford that she wouldn’t mind knowing. Getting to know. Find out who his favorite artist was, what made him paint, what kind of thing inspired him. Really talk to him.

All too soon the meal was over. She was surprised to find that it had been almost 3 hours. How could she be with him that long and not slap his face or walk out on him? Because he had been charming and mannerly and polite.

The ride back to her house this time seemed quick. As they pulled up outside her house, she hesitated. Should she?

“Would you like to come in for coffee before you leave. Perhaps we could talk a bit longer. I would be interested in your answer to some of my questions.”

She had invited him in. He decided to play it cool, that is, if it were possible. He murmured his acceptance of her coffee offer. As Kayla busied herself in the kitchen preparing coffee, Bradford casually settled himself on the couch. When she returned with their coffees it would be her choice as to whether she would sit on the couch beside him or in the chair that sat facing the couch.

As he waited Bradford's emotions were mixed. On the one hand he had to try to stay cool as a part of his plan, but there was more. He was slowly realizing that he actually had enjoyed their dinner conversation, and, even more surprisingly, even though there was the possibility of sex in the air, he welcomed the the opportunity to respond to some of the questions that Kayla had raised over dinner. Damn, this was more complex than he had imagined it would be.

But the other emotion was lust. Here he was sitting in the very room where not long ago he and Kayla had stripped each other naked in between the most hard-driving kissing he had ever experienced. He would have had an erection if he had just been in her house alone; the images where just too powerful. He also imagined them sitting side-by-side as they continued their discussion. At some point would they not kiss? If he parted his lips even slightly would she not do the same? And, if their tongues touched even briefly would they be able to stop short of anything other than exuberant fucking?

As he saw Kayla preparing to return with their coffee, he chuckled to himself. He knew that he couldnn't stand up. The huge bulge in his pants would be way too obvious.

While the coffee brewed, she ran down her mind the list of things that she wanted to know about him, though if she were completely honest with herself, there were a lot more questions than what she planned on actually asking. Like, what kind of lover are you really?

If her thoughts could have been heard by him, there would have been the sound of screeching brakes coming from the kitchen. ‘Keep your mind on safe things!’ She told herself mentally. ‘Just don’t even go there.’

Pulling down the turquoise Fiesta Ware set from the shelf, she busied herself with preparing a small tray with it and several linen napkins and several spoons. They had just eaten an incredible meal and probably did not have room for any more so she refrained from adding pound cake or cookies to the tray.

Upon her return to the living room, she found Bradford waiting patiently in the couch for her. He smiled at her and automatically she smiled back.

It was strange but she found herself beginning to think of the man as a human being. Such a concept would have been totally alien to her several weeks ago. Had sex actually done that to her? Sex? That was all it had really been. About 30 minutes of outfuckmanship? Really?

Placing the tray on the coffee table, she sat down on the other end of the couch. “If this were tea and we were in England, I believe that my next line would be ‘Shall I be Mother?’” She gave a little laugh and poured him some coffee. “If you want cream or sugar, there it is. Sorry that I don’t have any of those other things like the blue packet or the pink packet. Just sugar.”

She waited until he was settled with his cup before she broached the subject.

“Bradford, I gave seen plenty of your work. And I’m not trying to glean anything about what your idea for the mural is. I’m sure that just like me, your idea is solidified and you are more than ready for the reveal. But, what is it that makes you paint? What is it that drives you to create?”

She sat there, waiting. Wondering just what made this man tick.

*****

Fiesta Ware
Creamer and sugar bowl
https://i.pinimg.com/236x/f6/36/72/f636725a7694ce35451f626c7c27cc2f--fiesta-ware-white-dishes.jpg

Coffee pot
https://i.pinimg.com/736x/13/f3/86/...da3cf2757--vintage-dishes-vintage-kitchen.jpg

Coffee cups
https://i.pinimg.com/originals/cb/74/cf/cb74cf5d49889b05f40cc1287564d6ea.jpg

But, what is it that makes you paint? What is it that drives you to create?”

The evening had taken a remarkable turn. Here they were, sitting on Kayla's couch close enough that he could reach out and touch her without moving from his seat, sitting in the very room in which they had started their rambunctious sex, and about to have a serious discussion about something deeply personal. Bradford had not been prepared for anything like this.

"Well...", he said, mulling over his answer, "I don't entirely know. As early as when I was a young child I discovered that I could draw really well and that I liked doing it. As my artistic skills and experiences grew I also discovered that because I had the basic skills, creating the art was very much about emotional expression. It's really hard to describe. Once I start, the impulse to create something drives me on, I guess."

He paused. He was almost forgetting his plan and his lust. "As a Texan", he continued, "I've always been drawn to Southwestern art. I began to study the works of people like Robert Redbird, Sr., the great native-American artist. And the old-fashioned landscape art by artists like Edgar Payne really engross me. God, I could sit in front of one of Payne's paintings for hours; in fact, I have done so."

Bradford paused again, briefly, noting that Kayla was listening intently to his musings. "Of the current local artists, though, I am most...uh...you know... sympatico with...um...H.H. when he...uh...uh...is doing his...you know...outdoor...uh..stuff."

Bradford could feel some sweat running down his cheek, and he feared that it showed along with his stuttered speech. His sudden inarticulate speech wasn't because he didn't know what he wanted to say about H.H.'s work. No. Just as he was beginning to speak of local artists Kayla casually uncrossed and recrossed her legs in the opposite direction, affording him a brief view of her upper thighs, the same legs that had been wrapped around him when he had swept them into her bedroom and threw them both on her bed. Those images suddenly completely overpowered him.

He hoped that Kayla didn't get what his reaction was about. Or...did he hope that she had?

He seemed surprised by her questions but his answers seemed more surprising. There really was thought behind him and his work, not just a slap of paint on a canvas.

Kayla had always found that a true artist knew inside why they painted. Why they created. Whether a need for color, or a need to create, or tell a story or just focus on something. Every artist knew.

Apparently, so did Bradford. She drew insight into the man. He was becoming a person to her, and she found herself surprised. As he spoke, she really looked at him. Sometimes you can look at a person and not really see them. Instead you inflict your own prejudices on a person, and they color your vision of them.

But at this moment, she saw what she felt was the real Bradford. Someone as passionate as she.

She was unaware of the fact that her actions were causing his distraction. Was he hesitating because he did not find himself simpatico with her?

“Brad, I...” she interrupted herself and leaned into him, placing a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shorten your name.” She didn’t acknowledge how she had called him Braddie when they had fucked. However, she forgot to remove her hand from his arm as she continued to speak. “Bradford, I certainly understand that you would be drawn to his work. H.H. would be the natural choice, beyond the obvious. That...you know...being that...you know...male...I mean...”. Her voice just faded out and she sat there with her hand still on his arm. As to why she would up waffling at the end of her speech, she wasn’t sure. She should remove her hand, but to do so would draw attention to it. Or was the fact that she was still touching him drawing more attention? And why was she touching him? She swallowed, suddenly nervous.

“Would you...like...s-some...some more...coffee?”

Bradford's mind was in a fog, with erotic images colliding with one another as he tried to focus on what Kayla was saying. When she leaned into him and put her hand on his arm it was like she had lit a fuse.

Then, unintentionally no doubt, she poured gasoline on the little flame on the fuse - she shortened his name to "Brad", then drew attention to the fact that she did. The memories of what was going on the last time she shortened his name were intense almost beyond belief.

Would you...like...s-some...some more...coffee?

Beyond "would you...like...", he barely heard what she said. Working hard to suppress an impulse to jump on her body or to scream at the top of his lungs, he looked a Kayla and said with tension showing on his face, "No, I would just like to kiss you."