Page 211 of Sweet Temptation

I knew he did. He’d told me so.

“I do.”

“You don’t spend much time there.”

“Not lately.”

“Then maybe we should swing by. You know… make sure your plants haven’t died, that kind of thing.”

“I don’t have plants.”

“Ugh, Ronan,” I complained. “Work with me here. I want to see your place. I was trying to be subtle about it.” I took a sip of my drink, eye-fucking him over the rim of the glass.

“Were you?” he said, eye-fucking me back.

“Yes. Now what does a girl have to do to get you to take her back to your place, throw her down and fuck her on your bed?”

He watched as I licked Crantini off my bottom lip. Slowly.

Then his eyes met mine again, hooded with desire.

“That’s pretty much it.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Summer

After dinner, Ronan took me back to his apartment like I wanted him to.

And Andre came with us.

I invited him. If Ronan wanted to bring another man along on our first date, but wouldn’t tell him we were on a date… so be it. I could play along.

Though it was possibly my third Crantini that decided this was a grand idea.

Ronan had stuck with the two beers at the restaurant, refusing to get drunk with me in public, “just in case.” And Andre was solidly on water. But once we closed the door of Ronan’s apartment behind us, I figured all bets would be off.

Andre was now off-duty, we were just three people hanging out together on a Friday night, and we could all drink our faces off in the security and privacy of Ronan’s apartment.

I was doing my best to work around his rules, any way I could.

He lived in a nice, newer condo building just off South Granville’s art gallery row. His building stood among the other newish condo developments and some commercial buildings, a few small restaurants and art galleries. The cab dropped us at the front door, and Ronan let us in through the elegant lobby.

Andre brought up the rear with our booze.

We’d stopped off at a liquor store on the way, because Andre had informed me that the liquor offerings at Ronan’s place would be “abysmal.” We bought a two-hundred-dollar bottle of tequila—my treat, because Ronan insisted on paying for dinner and drinks at the restaurant. Andre paid for the cab, and the novelty shot glasses he found at the dollar store next to the liquor store.

As soon as we were inside Ronan’s place, Andre cracked open the tequila, poured out shots and handed us each a glass.

His said: Party Animal. It had a cartoon pig on it, sitting in a puddle of mud or shit, I wasn’t sure which.

Mine said: Queen. It had a little crown on it.

Ronan’s said: Tears of my employees.

We shot the tequila back, and Andre took a photo of Ronan drinking from his Tears of my employees glass. Then he split a gut, and while he mopped tears from his eyes, he said, “Bro, that’s going on the company website.”

At which point Ronan confiscated Andre’s phone and turned it off.

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