Page 28 of The Stud Next Door (Frisky Business 3)
“This one is tonight. ‘Spice Up Your Sex Life’ at eight o’clock.”
“Yeah,” I say with a grunt. Goddammit, Caleb.
“Cool. Looks interesting.” When she lifts her gaze to find me standing there like a dead-eyed mannequin, she squints in confusion. “Did you still want to change?”
“Shit. Yeah, just give me a minute,” I say like an idiot.
I shuffle back toward my room, a little in shock. I didn’t peg Jessa as someone who’d think a class called “Spice Up Your Sex Life” is a cool or interesting thing. Frankly, I didn’t find it cool or interesting until I heard the words fall out of her delicious mouth. Now I can’t stop thinking about it.
In my room, I quickly whip off my T-shirt and change into a short-sleeve button-up and a pair of dark-wash jeans. Catching a glance of myself in the mirror, I cringe at my haircut. It’s grown out substantially, the dark strands starting to curl across my forehead and around my ears. Not a lot of time to keep everything looking sharp when you’re a single dad.
I rub some product between my palms and style my hair back into some semblance of order. One spritz of cologne later, and I’m ready to go.
Back in the dining room, Jessa looks up from her phone, her cheeks turning pink when she sees me. “You look nice,” she murmurs with a tilt of her head.
I laugh and thank her before I help her to her feet. Grabbing my keys from the bowl on our way out the door, I take her hand and don’t let go.
Despite it being a Friday night, the patio isn’t overpacked, large enough to comfortably seat a decent-sized crowd. We’re served quickly, and before long, two mounds of butternut squash casserole sit on plates before us, steaming with the promise of a damn good meal. It’s difficult to remember to eat my own food, watching Jessa wrap her lips around each delicious bite.
When she finishes, she lets out a little moan and happily squirms in her seat. “I’ve gotta learn how to make this.”
The waiter comes by, topping off our glasses of merlot with a smile.
When he’s left the table with our empty plates and my credit card, she leans in and whispers, “Dear God, how much wine have we had already? I can’t keep track when he’s coming around every two minutes to make sure my glass is always full.”
I lean in, mirroring her movements. “Oh, I have no idea. I thought it was your job to monitor our drinking tonight,” I whisper back with mock concern, and she swats me playfully on the arm.
“You’re right. I only had one job,” she fake laments, the low-hanging string lights reflecting the humorous sparkle in her eyes.
I love to see Jessa carefree like this. I lean back in my seat, the wine buzz making me more sentimental than usual.
“You’ve got a funny look on your face,” she says softly, gazing at me from over the rim of her glass. “What are you thinking about?”
Falling in love with you. The thought is so immediate and unexpected that I have to bite my lower lip to keep the words from slipping off my tongue. That’s the merlot talking.
“I’m thinking about . . .” I say the words slowly, stalling for a few more seconds as she waits patiently with a knowing smile, giving me all the time in the world to respond to the simplest of questions. “How glad I am that you and I are here tonight. Together.”
There. Honest, without showing all my cards just yet.
“I’m glad too,” she says warmly, tilting her head to the side so her curls bounce in an adorable way. “Thanks for asking me out.”
I tilt my head to match hers. “Thanks for saying yes.”
The waiter returns with my card and I settle the bill, aware of Jessa’s eyes on me the whole time. We talk for another hour until the final drops in our wineglasses have disappeared.
When we stand, Jessa steps closer to me. I usually don’t like when people invade my personal space, but when it’s Jessa doing it . . . hell, she could step on my toes any day of the week.
She looks up at me through her long dark eyelashes. “What’s next?”
“How does the lakefront sound?”
“Honestly?” Jessa frowns, crossing her arms over her chest. “Kind of chilly.”
I could kick myself for not bringing a jacket on the off chance she’d need one. Goes to show you how out of practice I am at this stuff.
“True. Want to head back then?” I reach for my phone in my back pocket to call a car.
“I’m not ready to go home yet,” she murmurs, her gaze wandering to the glowing city lights around us.
I’m not either.
“What about checking out that class then?” I hear myself asking the question, but I’m as surprised as she is when the words leave my mouth.
