Steamy Business

ORHAN

“You can make yourself comfortable,” Keyla said as she and Orhan walked into her living room.

“You have…uh,”—Orhan swallowed, observing the room—“a unique interior taste.” An invasion of all hues of pink assaulted his vision, and he wanted to close his eyes against it. The walls were pink, the ceiling was pink, and even the furniture possessed different shades of the color. It was overwhelming.

Keyla laughed out loud, and Orhan was pretty sure she knew he found her decorating taste horrible. Because he did. He found it absolutely horrendous.

“Thanks, I guess,” she replied. “So, I already made pasta for myself and marinated your meat, but I need to hear it for a moment.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to make something different just for me—”

“I know. But I wanted to.” She looked into his eyes and smiled, making his heart race. “Do you want to wait here? You can sit on the couch and watch some TV. Or you can come join me and sit at the dining table in the kitchen. You can watch me cook.”

“Definitely the latter,” he answered. It wasn’t a hard choice to make.

He followed her to the kitchen and sat on one of the pink leather chairs. “You really like pink, don’t you?” he asked, looking at the table she’d set with pink plates, pink cutlery, and pink glasses.

“Yeah.” Keyla looked around the room before she continued. “You must think I’m foolish—a grown woman living in a house that looks like cotton candy.” She chuckled. “But I just can’t help myself. When I was younger, I always wanted my room to be pink, but my mother hated the color, so my walls were always white and super boring.” She shrugged. “Now, I can do whatever I want. But I admit it has gotten a little out of hand. It’s just that I get a lot of pink presents too.”

“No, not foolish,” he answered softly. “It might not be my taste—or anyone else’s, for that matter—”

Keyla giggled. “Wow, tell me how you really feel!” She walked to the refrigerator and opened it, taking two bowls out.

He smiled too, knowing she wasn’t offended. Keyla wasn’t the type of woman to be offended by an honest opinion.

“I just mean that it’s your taste,” Orhan explained. “And yeah, your taste is a little unique, but, well, you are a unique woman too.” He scratched his jaw, feeling a little uncomfortable.

She smiled widely before heading to the stove. “You think I’m a unique woman?”

“Yes.”

“And is that a compliment?” she asked, turning to look at him, a smile still on her lips.

“Of course.” He nodded. “Unique is good.”

“That’s such a cute thing to say,” she replied, pushing a button to heat a burner on the stove. “You can pour us some wine if you want.”

“Oh, sure. I’ll do that now.” Orhan cleared his throat and quickly opened up the bottle of wine that had been chilling in a bottle cooler on the table. He filled their glasses as Keyla put the meat in the sizzling hot pan.

He wasn’t sure what to think. A cute thing to say?What did she mean by cute? And who would even describe an orc as something cute? Wasn’t an orc usually seen as rugged, perhaps even a bit of a swine? Never cute.

“It’s done,” Keyla said, walking over to him, a pan with hissing meat in her hand. Using a tong, she placed the meat on Orhan’s plate. It was a huge piece, dark brown with a caramelized crust. “It’s still raw in the middle, and I used lots of pepper.”

Orhan inhaled, his mouth watering. “It smells great,” he answered.

That she remembered how he liked to eat his meat made him beam. Had he told her over a work dinner? He couldn’t remember. All that mattered was that she knew. And she remembered!

She sat down opposite him and spooned some pasta onto her plate. “Well, enjoy your dinner.”

“I’m sure I will.”

***

After finishing their meal, they cleaned up together. Never had Orhan felt so domestic, yet so good. Keyla was also the greatest cook—another thing she could put on her list of good qualities if Orhan had a say in it.

They sat on the couch, letting dinner digest while they talked about some light subjects such as the hot weather, movies, and their favorite music. Again, they seemed to be total opposites. Whereas Orhan liked to watch horror and action, Keyla loved romantic comedies and drama. And although he liked to listen to heavy rock, death metal, and tribal music, Keyla was more into classical, indie, and pop.

Their contrast in tastes led them back to Keyla’s peculiar interior design.

“And what if your future mate wants to transform your house into a big ball of pink fluffiness like my place?” she asked. “Would you be fine with that?”

If that mate was Keyla, he would. She could transform his house into whatever ball of fluffiness she wanted—pink, purple, gold, glitter—it was all good.

“Yes, if that makes her happy,” he replied. “It’ll be her home too, and I don’t particularly care about that stuff anyway. I just need a bed and a TV, and I’m all good.” Orhan watched her bite her lip again. Holy fuck.

“That’s cute,” she replied, smiling.

There, she said it again! “Cute.~”~

She chuckled then added, “I wouldn’t make my future man live in all this pinkness, though.”

Orhan’s eyes snapped open. “Uh, I thought you never wanted to have another man again?” he said. “After that dumbass, Zack.”

“Ah, you remembered that, huh?” Keyla looked mortified, covering her eyes with a hand. “I was not in my best state that day. I said a lot of shit—uh, pardon me for cursing.” She winced, hoping he didn’t think less of her.

“Curse all you want. We’re not at work now.”

“True.” Keyla nodded as she grabbed her glass of wine. “Anyway, I hoped you would have forgotten that by now. But, yeah, of course, I’d like to find love again.”

“You would?” he asked.

“Mm-hmm.” She took another sip of wine and swallowed hard. “Shall we start?” she asked, putting her empty glass down. “With the massage, I mean.”

“Oh—uh, yeah, sure.” Orhan stood up. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. It was really going to happen now.