W is for Waiting

She checked her phone for the 3rd time in the last five minutes. No messages from him and she had double-checked the time and place where they were supposed to meet. He was almost half an hour late.

person in brown coat holding clear wine glass
Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

She had waited because he was almost on time, even early, and she had assumed that he was just caught in traffic or something. But now she was starting to get worried.

Are you OK? Did I miss a change of plans?

She waited for a response while she finished the rest of her wine. Finally the screen lit up and she grabbed it to read his response.

I’m fine. Just got out of work super late and just got home. Would you mind coming here instead? I’m really sorry.

She felt a momentary flash of irritation. He couldn’t have just let her know? She pushed it down. This was the first time ever so she should cut him a little slack.

Np. Be there in 15?

She got a thumbs up in response. She called for a ride and gathered her stuff. Dammit. She was hungry and really had been looking forward to dinner here.

It was exactly 14 minutes after she texted that she arrived. His car was in the driveway and the front lights were on. She thanked the driver and started for the front door. Crunch….

She looked down to see a tortilla chip broken under her shoe. WTF…

There were more. In fact, there was an entire line of chips leading to the front door. And was that salsa by the door mat? She couldn’t help it–she burst out laughing. She rang the doorbell and he opened the door holding a plate of nachos.

“You said that nachos were the way to your heart so I thought I’d test out that theory.” He was so cute standing there with nachos and a hopeful smile that all of her earlier irritation melted away.

“Let’s see how your nachos stand up,” she laughed.

“I’m really sorry about tonight. I just wanted you all to myself instead of sharing you with the rest of the restaurant.”

“You could have just told me that instead of making me wait on you,” she said between bites of chip. “I would have just met you here.”

He poured her a margarita from the pitcher on the table. “I was afraid that you’d think I was just being lazy and cheap. Besides, I needed the time to arrange all those chips.”

She laughed. “So, what else are you plotting?”

“Plotting? That sounds so nefarious. “

He got up and walked behind her chair, moving her hair aside to kiss her neck. “I was hoping that that song might be right, though.”

She leaned into the kisses and smiled. “What song?”

“Tequila makes her clothes fall off…”

Erotic Fiction

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