Page 79 of One Big Little Secret

She purses her lips as she works, turning them up to one side. I can see the reflection in the picture next to her, a photo of her with a younger Arlo from a couple years ago.

Shit, do not think about her lips.

Or the way they feel.

The way she had melted in my arms once, all buttery curves and gentle heat.

The way she looked at me right before she came on my cock.

It’s like I was her entire world that night, and the sex meant more than a standard one-off fuck.

Damn.

I might hate her abrasiveness at times, but there’s no denying she’s still a knockout. Hazel eyes swirling with gold flakes, wide cheekbones, full lips made to torment my dick.

Six years ago was a brutal mistake, but now, even if I knew this would happen, I think I’d make it all over again.

Enough, man.

Screw your head back on.

I clear my throat, trying to banish the invasive thought as I knock on her open door.

“This a good time to talk?” I ask.

She glances up, but instead of the annoyed look I half expect, she just pushes a strand of unruly raven hair back from her face.

I bite back a smile.

No matter how neat her bun looks in the morning, there are always wisps that escape as the day wears on, curling around her cheekbones.

“Patton. Come in.” She blinks at me. There’s a strange awareness in her eyes and a flush creeping over her cheeks.

Maybe she hasn’t forgotten the last time we saw each other and the civility isn’t lost yet.

“Don’t mean to disturb you,” I say, closing the door behind me. Bad idea—I immediately open it again. “I just wanted to check in. You know, mentoring you like I should.”

“No need to sound so reluctant,” she says dryly. “I was just revamping the recommended ‘winter eats’ guide from the local restaurants for spring.”

“Yeah?” I pull up a chair beside her and look at the screen. Instead of the usual high-end health nut options, she’s added things like stews, pasta, barbecue, and— “Is that pizza?”

“Only the fancy stuff,” she promises. “It’s from the Italian place down the road with great reviews. The one with the woodfire ovens? They won some shout-out recently from a big national paper for their pies and gelato, and I thought we could use that.”

“Our clientele tend to be very health-conscious.”

“Oh, yes. I’ve been making note of the winter crowd, and there’s a trend toward younger guests. They’re somewhat less inclined to eat like birds.”

“Our current menu doesn’t requireanyoneto eat like birds.”

She swivels to face me.

“Think about it like this. You’re young and active with money to burn. You’ve been out doing stuff all day, even in the winter. Sledding, walking, exploring the town in the cold and the snow, whatever. You come back here to one of the fanciest places in the whole of Kansas City, and you get a restaurant guide featuring salads and salmon dishes.”

“It’s hardly just—”

“Imagine if you knew where you could get good lasagna. Or pizza. Or barbecue ribs. All ready to grab just a few blocks away or order in. That’s also way more authentic to Kansas City.”

Truth be told, I’ve never gotten by on salads myself. Dexter’s the health freak in our family, allergic to sugar and spice and everything nice until his wife started unfucking his palate.

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