Page 3 of Tease Me

I smiled, and my stomach fluttered as he looked at me.

“I’m glad I did.” He fiddles with the curled-up corner of the menu. “You know, you never answered my question about how you knew I’d be there.”

I frowned and scrambled for an appropriate answer. “Yes, I did. I told you I had my spies.”

He huffed. “You’re an interesting woman, Just Memphis.”

“Thanks. I’ve been called worse.”

I need to control this conversation before I dig myself in deeper.

Our coffees arrived, and I used the distraction towork outwhat question to ask him next. I ran a spoon around my mug, catching the chocolate sprinkles that lined the edge. “I never did get a chance to ask you if you’ve ever been married?” So much for idle chit-chat.

“Nah. I got close once, but like your ex,sheturned out to bea lying cheater.”

My eyes widened. “I’d forgotten I’d told you that.”

“Oh yes, you just about broke up telling me.”

I frowned, and upon noticing his cheeky smile, I rolled my eyes. “I did not. I’m well and truly over that bastard. What about you? Why haven’t you moved on?’

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Hurt feelings. Insecurity.”

“Pfft, I doubt it. The man I saw upstairs isn’t insecure.”

He slid his glasses onto his head and raised his eyebrows. “What can I say? You bring out the best in me, Memphis. So . . .” He sipped his coffee. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-eight. And you?”

“Guess.” He wriggled his eyebrows.

I gasped. “That’s not fair; I toldyoumy age. I’m not guessing.”

“Oh, come on. I’m curious how old you think I am.”

“Okay, forget I asked. It doesn’t bother me anyway.”

“Really? You don’t want to know?”

I shook my head. It was true. . . based on the men I’d been with so far this year; age was no longerimportant.

Matt arrived with two plates. “The three-egg omelet?” he asked in his depressing drawl.

“That’s mine.”Hunter’s meal was placedbefore him, and the savory mince before me.

“Is there anything else you’re waiting on?” Matt should already know the answer to that question. Sometimes, his ineptitudereallygot on my nerves.

“No, we’re all good.”

Matt left, and I removed my sunglasses, placed them aside, and forked some mince into my mouth. As usual, it was full of flavor. I rarely had breakfast here, often choosing a sweet treat instead, but whenever I did, it was this dish. My grandmother had been the queen of savory mince—before Alzheimer’s stole that recipe from her, that was.

That gave me an idea. “Tell me about your family.”

“I already told you about Mom and Dad, remember? They’re both chefs.”

“That’s right, that’s how you grew to love chocolate.”

“Tell me about your family.”

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