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“It’s your lunch date.”

“Uh-huh. Could you be more specific?” She’s fucking with me.

Through a belly laugh, I tell her, “Crue Pribula.” And just to give her a little of it back, I add, “Your future husband.” There is a squeak before the front door is buzzed open. I open it and step into the apartment building foyer. Taking the stairs two at a time, I make it to the 3rdfloor just as she’s locking her door. Biting my bottom lip, I hum appreciatively at the way her tight capri jeans hug the generous swell of her ass. She’s wearing those popular slip-on shoes in the school colors and a form fitting school t-shirt that stretches obscenely over her tits, the strap of her purse bisecting them beautifully. Good God.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous.” Her head snaps up at my declaration, a subtle blush staining her cheeks. Her dark eyes run up and down the length of my body. I stifle a moan when she unconsciously licks her lips.

“Crue.” She says my name and my cock jerks. I want to hear it fall from her lips every day, many, many times a day. Exasperated, happy, aroused…any tone, any time.

I speak in low tones as I close the distance between us. “Any chance I can convince you to skip lunch and let me have dessert?” Less than a foot away, I open my arms and wrap them around her waist, bringing her into my chest. I drop my head to her neck and drag my lips up the soft delicate skin. Her breath hitches, her arms grasping my biceps to steady herself.

“Yes. No.” She shakes her head subtly. “I mean, not right now.” Hand to my forehead she pushes me back, giggling when I snap my teeth at her. I oblige, standing up and giving her space, even though my hands remain just above that delectable ass of hers. “I haven’t eaten yet today; I was working on my thesis all morning.”

“Say no more.” Releasing her, I slide my hand into hers and lead her down the stairs.

“Where are we going?”

I glance at her incredulously as I hold open the door to her building. “Uh…is that a real question?” She grins. “There is only one acceptable place to go for food on a Sunday.”

Phia squeezes my hand, “You’ve passed the first test.”

“First?” We walk down the block. “Just how many tests are there?”

Shrugging, she adopts a serious expression. “Depends on the contestant.”

“Hmmm. How many contestants have there been?” She smacks my arm with a lighthearted chuckle.

“That’s rude.”

“Now, now, Phia Kerr. I’m simply asking how many suitors are vying for your attention. It’s only fair a man knows his competition.”

“No competition.” She deflates slightly next to me, chewing on her lips in thought. “How many…have you had a high number of contestants?” Her wince at the end of her question is adorable. She’s obviously embarrassed to have asked it. I take pity on her. I let go of her hand and drape my arm over her shoulders. Pressing a kiss to her temple, I whisper, “You’re in a league all your own, Phia. Nobody could ever compete with you.”

“See, that right there? That makes me all gooey and girly but also has my stomach sinking.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t know if it’s practiced or not. You don’t lack female attention. How do I know this isn’t a challenge? A game? Your latest conquest?”

I appreciate and respect her honesty. No bullshit. But I’m a little pissed off. “There you go stereotyping again, Miss Kerr.”

Throwing both her hands in the air with a frustrated screech, she yells, “I KNOW! And I hate it.” Rubbing her hands down her face, she sighs. “You have given me no reason to distrust your sincerity. And yet…” She trails off, her eyes darting up to mine, a pleading helplessness in their depths.

I stop us on the sidewalk, still blocks away from the restaurant. “Phia.” Turning her toward me, I stare down at her. “I really like you. Not only are you super smart but you are hot as hell.” She shakes her head, but I still her with my thumb on her stubborn chin. Her eyes. Dammit, she’s killing me. Wide, innocent, confused, hopeful. “Lunch. No need to plan out our future, or define what this is,” I gesture between us. “Let’s grab the world’s best blueberry pancakes and see where the day takes us.”

“Right.” Her tone is dubious. “So, fun fact about me, I am incapable of flying by the seat of my pants. I like plans, charts, definitions, certainty.”

I toss my head back and laugh. She smiles up at me as I try to regain my composure. “How’s that working out for you in the real world?”

“Oh.” She blinks rapidly, her smile growing. “It’s not. It’s a dumpster fire, actually.”

“Alright then, Phia.” Grabbing her hand once more, I start walking again. “You keep me hydrated on the field, and I’ll show you how to embrace the benefits of spontaneity.”

Slumping into my side, she sighs dejectedly. “Sure, that’s likely. As likely as women worldwide saying they’re fine and meaning it.”

Phia 5.

“That sounds intense.” Prib sits back in his seat, patting his full, yet still flat abdomen. “I’m gonna need your help when I’m working on my research project for my Master’s.” My eyes snap up, his words surprising. I close my eyes with a disappointed sigh, knowing I just stereotyped again. At least this wasn’t out loud. He chuckles, humorlessly, sending a chill down my spine. “Thought I was graduating with my bachelor’s in pigskin and moving on to the NFL or an arena league?” He taps the side of his head. “Didn’t think much was happening up here, did ya?”

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