Page 13 of The Rusalka and Mr. Right

She leans against me, still quiet, but smiling up at me now. “Your place?”

“Mhm.”

“You’re new in town. Have you been to the store?”

“Fridge is fully loaded. Meats, fruits, veggies, snacks... Yep.” Good. I sound more responsible. Maybe a little like a nerd, but not like the kind of man who always picks up hot girls in a pool. After my hasty dick-lead encounter, I’m trying to scrape back some points and show her I have two sides. Impulsive, yet mature and capable of holding down a job and filling my fridge like a grown-ass man.

Why do you care, Kev? This is classic no-strings sex. Welcome to being single and in another state from your parents.

No. It’s a little more than that.

I like this girl, not just the physical side. There are other things I like, hints of things I’m only just discovering—you know, since we barely know each other.

Marina rises, using my shoulder for support. I’m puffing up with manly pride when I notice her knees are shaky, too. “All right, Mr. Fully Loaded.” There’s innuendo in her voice that goes straight between my legs. “I can cook us dinner?”

She cooks, too? This is crazy. Too good to be true.

“You do that, and I’ll make us breakfast.” I rise with her, and we share a naked kiss before retrieving our clothes.

Chapter Five

Marina walks into the apartment I'm still getting used to as if she's always lived there. Graceful fingers brush the wall exactly where the light switch is as she sets her purse down on the arm of my cheap secondhand couch. When she catches me staring at her, she smiles, all easy charm.

“I have friends who used to live in these apartments. They're all laid out the same. You said you’re a physical therapist?”

“That’s right.”

“Have you met Eddie Hyde, the paramedic? Or Dr. Jack Ellsworth? They both lived here at one point.”

“I just started, so I don't know too many of the medical professionals yet. Small town vibes, though. It feels like I’ll get to know everyone eventually.” I put my gym bag by the door.

“There are definitely some strong community ties. I have a good circle of friends here.” Marina nods and sashays into my kitchen. There is no other word for how she moves, like Marilyn Monroe trotting along, all booty and high-arched feet in tiny, strappy sandals, or Eartha Kitt, with hips on steroids. I don't understand why every move she makes is designed to go straight to the caveman part of my brain that demands I yank her over my shoulder and carry her off to my bed of sabertooth tiger pelts for another round of mating, but that's the image dancing in my mind.

And I bet she’d look so good in leopard print...

With an effort, I control myself.

You’re the host, dummy. Ask what she wants for dinner.

“What are you in the mood for?”

Marina’s long chestnut waves ripple like sunlight on a waterfall as she turns to look at me.

I know I do a slow blink. I thought that shit only happened in shampoo commercials.

“What am I in the mood for, or what do I want toeat?” she teases. “In either case, the answer is you... but you need to refuel.” With a wink she opens the cupboards and oven storage drawer, taking in my meager stock of pots and pans.

“You don't really have to cook,” I say quickly. “I'm an enlightened type of guy—although maybe I didn't seem that way in the pool. But I can cook, too.” I hurry into the kitchen and take my meemaw’s handed-down cast iron skillet from her hand.

“I eat a lot of sushi and don't often get a chance to cook in a real kitchen. My houseboat isn't quite equipped for that.” She smiles and tugs open the fridge. “But I see salmon, and I see steak. I feel like making a little surf and turf.”

Goddess. Angel.

Okay, so I’m only thinking with my dick and my stomach, but it happens sometimes.

“Would you like?” Marina holds up the packs of meat and leans on the counter, one hip thrust out, showing the S-like curve of her body.

“Hell, yes. I’d like very much.”

---