Page 36 of Flirting with Mr. Serious

He tugged her in front of him, his hands moving to her waist. “I wouldn’t really call that a real kiss.”

“A real kiss?” she asked. The sunset behind her highlighted the violet in her hair, and he brushed a few strays away before combing his fingers into it, resting his palm against her cheek. “As opposed to a fake one?”

“Real, like this,” he said, curling his hand around the back of her neck, using slight pressure to pull her even closer and tilt her head to the side. After his teasing lick to her lower lip, she opened up for his tongue. She tasted like mint and smelled faintly of chlorine.

“Did you go to the pool today?” he asked against her lips, and she nodded, holding on to his forearms.

“Why?”

His answer was to pin her against the car, easing his mouth down to her throat, eliciting a soft sound. He knew she loved to swim, and that for a while, she was on the swim team in high school—some peripheral memory informed him of that—but he wanted to swim with her. He wanted to experience as many of the things that she loved while he could.

With one last sweet kiss, he pulled away from her. “Any place special you want to go tonight?”

She fixed her hair, piling it up on the top of her head. “Yeah, but we have to stop at the store first.”

Twenty minutes later, Mike followed Samantha around the store, blue basket in hand. She had picked out organic grapes, a bag of fancy-looking chocolate-covered blueberries, and a sleeve of multicolored plastic cups. Now, she browsed the small wine selection, but he was too busy studying her legs to pay attention to anything else.

Her seemingly innocent white skirt landed a few inches above her knees, so that when she bent over, he came close to learning what color underwear she wore. Good goddamn.

“What about this one?”

The question drew Mike’s gaze up from Samantha’s thighs to her eyes, brows raised.

“It’s a little dry. Do you like dry reds?”

He didn’t know anything about wine and usually preferred a Budweiser if he had a choice, but whatever she wanted, he’d drink. “Sure.”

She placed the wine in the basket and walked off toward the checkout. “And if you’re going to check someone out, you might want to work on making it a little less obvious, Marine.”

“I’ll work on it.” He placed the basket on the small counter next to the register and emptied the contents for the attendant to scan then went back to gawking.

“You’re doing it again. Staring.”

“I like to look at beautiful things.”

She blinked, seemingly unaware that the cashier told them the amount owed, and Mike looped his arm around her to slide his card into the machine, paying for their groceries. He grabbed the receipt and the bag before guiding her to exit through the sliding doors and to his car. Once they were both settled, he reversed out of the parking space with his arm on the back of Samantha’s seat. He left it there as he continued out of the parking lot. At the stoplight, he turned to her. “You’re shy all of a sudden.”

“I can’t help it. You’re really…” She met his eyes. “Intense.”

Mike couldn’t argue with that assessment. He was always direct and honest, and when it came to Samantha, he couldn’t hide his attraction to her. “Are compliments against the rules?”

She dropped her gaze to her lap for a few seconds. “I guess not.”

“You actually have to think about it?” He almost wanted to laugh, if he didn’t feel her hesitation. “Why?”

“Because.” She pushed her head back against the headrest and threw her attention out of her window as he drove on. “I’ve never had to have a conversation about it before.”

“And that makes you uncomfortable.” It was a statement not a question, because he already knew the answer.

But he wasn’t the only perceptive one. “For someone who doesn’t speak a whole lot, you say a lot of things.”

“I find that you learn a lot more from listening, and usually, people who feel the need to fill the silence don’t ever say anything of substance.”

She shot him a faux sober look that broke into a giggle. “Always so serious.”

He shrugged and took hold of her hand, threading their fingers together. “So, where are we going?”

“The soccer fields off Lincoln Avenue.”

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