Page 41 of Cocky Jerk

“Ladies first,” he whispered against my ear.

I turned my head, and he winked at me. If there was any chance of me ending this night with my panties on, it officially went out the window. Apparently, I was a sucker for a good guy. I’m sorry, correction, a good guy with a filthy mouth who prided himself on being a gentleman in the bedroom.

His words, not mine.

Anyway, this newfound type of mine was going to take some time getting used to, something I realized once we were in his apartment and I discovered he was cooking one of my all-time favorite dishes. I’ve always thought dating the bad boy was fun and exciting. Sure, it left me with a broken heart most of the time, but I held onto hope that there would eventually be one guy who was more broken than bad and with any luck, I’d be the girl who changed him. The girl who made him want to be better.

But what if dating all those bad boys and suffering all that heartbreak was for a greater purpose? What if I needed to choose a man who would hurt me to be able to recognize one who wouldn’t?

It’s too soon to tell if Marco is that guy, but until now I never really thought about any of this.

Now, I’m sitting on a barstool at the kitchen island, eating capers from a jar, watching him work his magic and besides wondering if he’s the one guy who won’t hurt me, I’m also pondering if he’s as skillful in the bedroom as he is behind the stove.

“Refill?” he asks, eyeing my empty wineglass. I tear my attention away from the jar of capers I’ve been picking on and meet his gaze.

He even bought my favorite brand of Pinot Grigio when I assured him, I was fine with beer.

Pushing my wineglass toward him, I smile.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?”

He shakes his head as he pours the wine.

“I want you relaxed and fully coherent for dessert.”

“Is this the part where I ask what’s for dessert and you come back with some comment full of sexual innuendo?”

He finishes topping off my glass and sets the bottle of wine on the granite surface. Bracing his hands on the edge of the counter, he leans forward and his gaze dips toward my mouth.

“Is it really innuendo if we both already know youarewhat’s for dessert?”

“That’s all fine and good for you, but what about me?”

His grin widens, and a wicked gleam appears in his eyes.

“I’ll let you have a taste too.”

Christ, he’s sexy and with very little effort. It just comes naturally to him.

Exhaling roughly, I trace the rim of the wineglass with the tip of my finger and peer up at him from beneath the fringe of my lashes before asking, “Because you aim to please?”

He reaches out and touches a finger under my chin. Our eyes lock as his thumb glides to my lips.

“Exactly,” he says huskily.

I almost ask him if we can forget dinner altogether, but the pot with the rice boils over, breaking our trance. His hand drops away from my face and he mutters a curse. Turning back to the stove, he lowers the flame under the pot, and I take a long drink of wine. My entire body feels heated and I decide to steer the conversation away from sex.

“So, I met Soraya’s husband today,” I begin, watching as he bends to check the chicken in the oven. There’s something so sexy about a man who can cook.

“Oh, yeah, how’s Graham doing these days?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t pay him too much mind. As soon as Soraya introduced us, I imagined his head as a dartboard and envisioned myself throwing darts at him because he punched you.”

Straightening up, he barks out a laugh.

“You know you don’t have to win me over, Curly Sue. I’m already yours and I’m set to deliver on all the orgasms I promised you.”

“I’m being serious,” I argue. Tearing my eyes away from him, I shove my spoon back into the jar of capers. “Eventually I realized I was being ridiculous and ordered myself to stop judging him based on an argument he had with you long before I even met you.” I pause to eat another spoonful of capers. Thoughtfully, I continue, “You know, at first glance, you look at him and Soraya and wonder how they fell for one another.”

---