Page 35 of Dining for Love

“Yes.” I can’t say it fast enough, and I don’t care if it makes me seem like an eager schoolboy. I want to hang out with her. I want to know so much more about her. And if that means I sound over-eager, then so be it.

Smiling, she sits on one end of the couch and I take the other, trying hard not to ogle the way she curls her legs beneath her, and trying even harder not to wonder if she’s wearing panties under those shorts. It’s clear she had no intentions of a visitor today. What’s amazing is that she hasn’t bothered to change out of her pajamas or even brush her hair. Is this what she would be like if we woke up together? Only, of course, she’d be naked, those silk pajamas a distant memory as I ran my fingers over her sk?—

“Reid?”

I snap out of it. “Hmm?”

“I asked if I could get you something. Water? Coffee? It’s no Dash In Diner coffee, but it’ll do the trick.” She smiles again, and it’s radiant. Innocent.

I really am an asshole. But in my defense, Ididstop myself from mauling her last night. “Um, coffee is great. Thank you.”

She gets up again, and I follow her back to the tiny but serviceable kitchen. “Do you cook in here?”

She grimaces. “Is it bad if I say barely?”

“No,” I laugh. “But there’s a lot in here.”

“I have dreams of owning a house big enough to have a huge kitchen. Like, I don’t need to have the latest gadgets or anything, but an electric stove?” She shivers in the direction of the offending appliance. “Ew.” Then she hands me the coffee. “You take it black, right?”

I lift the cup in a cheer. “Like my soul.”

“I don’t know. You seem pretty nice to me, Reid.” The compliment is like an arrow to my heart, and I shouldn’t feel the thrill that rises fast and hard at that small compliment.

“I thought I was scary,” I smirk.

She blushes, shyly admitting, “You’re both. You’re…” She trails off.

“Oh, no,” I tease. “You can’t stop there. I am positive that you were about to give me atonof compliments, and I’m just shallow enough to want to hear them. Keep going.” I take a sip of coffee and gesture her to speak.

She turns away from me, stretching to open a cabinet and pulling out a cup, then filling it with water from the sink. Turning and leaning against the counter, she regards me. “I’m sure you’ve heard it all.”

I shake my head. “Nope. I’ve heard nothing. I insist you pile all the compliments on me.”

She laughs, and I want to make her do that again and again. “Fine. You seem very nice?—”

“Iamvery nice,” I correct her.

She giggles and rolls her eyes. “And smart and funny.”

“You forgot handsome.”

She blushes. “And handsome.”

I want to kiss her so badly. But I also want to keep talking to her, and I have a feeling that I can’t have both. If I kiss her now, she might kick me out.

My stomach picks this time to gurgle.

“And hungry. Handsome and hungry,” she laughs.

Shrugging a little sheepishly, I say, “I’m nearly always hungry. My mom had a hell of a time keeping enough food in the house when I was growing up.”

“Yeah?” It’s an invitation to tell her more.

“Yeah. Standard stuff. I was an active kid, grew like a weed, played baseball like I was going to be the next MLB player, the normal kid stuff.”

“That sounds nice.”

I take another sip of coffee. “It was.”

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