Press Release

24: Clothes Press

"Nope," I reply. "Planning to order some food so it will maybe be there when we arrive."

"Oooh...Now you're talking. Where are we ordering from?" She leans over me, trying to get a look at the phone.

"There's a place just down the road that has comfort food. What do you want?" I am trying to pull up their menu, but she doesn't even delay with her response.

"Cheeseburger, medium, extra cheese, extra fatty, with bacon. None of that healthy stuff. No onions, lettuce, or tomatoes. And fries. A lot of fries. With fry sauce." Her order is rapid, and I am appalled at the number of calories.

But then I remember what kind of day she's had, so I call Estancia 460 and order two of those. The restaurant says they're backed up and that delivery will arrive in no more than 90 minutes.

"Ninety minutes?! Fuck," she complains.

"You didn't eat on the plane!" I exclaim, "You must be starving." I'd forgotten that she'd slept through our meal on the flight. Come to think of it, the only thing she'd eaten today was the crustless quiche from this morning. "The food will be worth it when it arrives. I promise."

Shortly thereafter we arrive at my place in Tribeca. I direct the driver into the underground parking structure where a valet opens the vehicle door for us. The doorman nods as we walk past to the lift. I'm carrying both of our bags, and when we arrive at my apartment on the 3rd floor, she merely stands in the foyer, unsure what to do. As am I. Honestly, I never have guests over. I'm always the one who goes to their homes. Mum and Gems have stayed over, as has Jeff. But when I say it's my private haven, I mean it. The whole place is designed for my comfort.

But now I'm thinking of her comfort. "Um....can I just throw everything in the washing machine?" I ask, holding up her bag with its lotion-covered clothes as I walk towards the utility room.

"Yessssss," she follows behind me, looking at the great room on the opposite side of the foyer before we step into the utility room.

"It will be awhile before dinner is here," I remind her, "And you've had a shit day. Would you care for a bath?"

Her eyes widen, and I can tell the idea is appealing. "Could I? Cause that would be heaven, Harry."

"Why don't you throw all of your clothes in the wash? I'll find you something to wear when you get out of the tub. There's a dressing gown on the back of the door there. Let me start the water for you," and as much as I want to stay and help her undress, I restrain myself and do what I said I would do.

Making my way to the master bath, I turn on the water, making sure it gets warm before I start filling the tub. Tossing in one of my favorite bath bombs (it makes the water pink, and I can't help but squeal with glee when it does), I decide to light a few of my scented candles for her. She deserves a break after today. With the scent of pomegranate drifting through the room, I reach for the remote for the sound system, flipping on Van Morrison's "Crazy Love" just as she enters, wrapped in my dressing gown.

She looks cozy and cuddly and, dammit, fuckable. My intentions tonight are honorable, I swear. The plan is to keep my hands off her.

Looking around, Minnie sucks in a breath, and I'm pleased at the atmosphere I've created for her.

"I'll, uh, I'll let you be now," I murmur, stepping forward to pass her on my way out of the room.

She places her hand on my arm as I approach her. "Stay," she whispers, reaching for the ties and loosening the edges of the dressing gown. Speechless, I watch the cloth make its way to the floor, skimming her curves, reminding me how we'd awakened this morning.