Francisco wore black jeans, dress shoes, and a long-sleeved white shirt that his mother had picked out for him at one of her favorite designer shops. The shirt was made of a soft, thick material adorned with silver buttons.
"Let's go see the Monet!" Isabella shouted as she dashed ahead.
Francisco had a mildly shocked look on his face. "Yeah, I'll just... catch up."
Managing the bags carefully, he followed Isabella through the lobby toward the jewelry store and the Swiss watch boutique.
"There it is!" she exclaimed as she admired the colorful painting under its protective glass.
"It's smaller than I thought," Francisco quipped.
"Yes, but it's still a Monet!" she said lovingly. "And it's amazing!"
"It's relaxing," he remarked. "Pretty cool!"
"Pretty cool?" she asked, mocking Francisco's comment. "It's so delicate. It speaks to my heart."
"Probably worth a small fortune!"
"Yes," she agreed, "but you don't HAVE to worry about money, do you?"
"That much money!" he exclaimed. "And by the way, when did rich kid jokes come back in style?"
Isabella smiled back at him. "I like to tease you, silly!"
He rolled his eyes. "Well, it's a good thing that I like to be teased."
"So, are you going to buy the Monet or not?"
"Not today!"
They crossed through an expansive lobby filled with plants and colonial furniture. They pushed the button for the elevator and stood waited while their reflections looked back at them from a wall of polished brass.
There was a tension between them as they rode to the twenty-first floor with no other guests in the car. It felt warm and magnetic; they noticed it whenever they were alone together.
Francisco moved all of his bags onto one arm and opened the door to the suite. "This is so nice!" Isabella exclaimed as she walked through the main room on her way to the window.
"It'll do!" he joked.
She smiled and glanced back at him from the side. "It's really nice!"
"Glad you like it!"
"Oh, and this view! My goodness!"
"Are you hungry," he asked.
"Starting to think about it."
"There are some places in the neighborhood. Thai, sushi, Indonesian."
"In a minute," she said. "I want to see the shirts you bought. Ooh, can you show me the sweater?"
Francisco looked through the shopping bags, unfolded the sweater, and pulled it over his head. "What do you think?"
"It's nice," she said. "Maybe better with different pants though."
"Yeah, you're probably right."
"Can you try the black shirt?"
"Sure!"
"The light in this room is gorgeous right now," she noted. "It'll look nice."
"You're not planning to take my picture, are you?"
"Do you think I'd tell you in advance?" she joked.
He folded the sweater and placed it back into one of the large white bags. He delicately pulled the shirt from the bag and took it into the bedroom. He returned wearing the shirt un-tucked and with tags hanging visibly.
"That looks really nice!" she remarked.
"You think so?"
"Yeah, super! Turn around."
He turned to give her a view from the back. She smoothed the material with her hands and adjusted his collar. "Totally hot! You got a blue one, too, right?"
"Yeah, it's a little different. I think I like the black one better."
Isabella pulled the blue shirt out of the shopping bag.
"Try it on. Let me see."
Francisco reached for the shirt, but she kept it in her hands.
"You don't have to run in there," she scolded. "I've seen your chest before."
"Just trying to be a gentleman."
"Gentlemen are boring."
"Well, better than the alternative," he said as he unbuttoned the black shirt and slipped it off.
"What do you mean?" She didn't want it to be obvious, but she enjoyed watching him change shirts. He body was tan, slender, and ripped. It wasn't easy to stay focused on the conversation.
"My Dad's new - well, I don't really know what she is - the woman he's dating, she has some kind of a stalker issue going on."
"Seriously?"
"Yeah, ex-boyfriend."
"Oh, no!" Isabella cringed.
"Kind of a nutcase, from what I hear. Served some time."
"You mean like in jail?"
"I mean like federal prison."
"Holy shit!"
"Yeah, that's about what I said."
"Boy, he sure can pick 'em!" she remarked.
"Not nice!"
"Sorry."
"Anyway," he said with his arms out to his sides, "how's the shirt look."
"Yeah!" she replied. "That's sharp!"
"But the black one is nicer, right?"
"I think..."
"What do you think?"
"I think that you are going to be the best-dressed guy on campus."
"I don't know," he chuckled. "Anybody can go out and buy nice clothes."
"Well, then, would you settle for most handsome?"
"That sounds about right!" They both laughed.
"Thanks for taking me shopping," she said.
"Thank you for helping me pick things out."
"No problem!"
"And for patiently waiting while I tried things. And rejected all of the crappy ones."
"It's all part of the process!" She stepped closer and gave him a strong hug. "You're gonna look great."
"Thank you," he whispered.
As she moved away, he reached for her hand and pull her back in close.
"Frannie?" she pleaded in her softest voice.
He put his hand on her cheek as he kissed her. She kissed him back, passionately and aggressively. They kissed for two or three minutes before she pulled back an inch or two. "I should go."
"I want to take you to dinner," he whispered back.
"You don't have to."
"I want to."
She took the initiative this time and kissed him again, first forcefully, then backing off to delicate nibbles. They let their tongues dance magically as their hands explored their young bodies without caution. He kissed her down the side of the neck and on the shoulder near the collarbone. She gasped with delirious pleasure.
"Frannie," she pleaded desperately. "Are you going to be mad at me?"
"Never!"
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah."
'The Horse Farm'
Copyright © 2016 Daniel R. South
All Rights Reserved
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