Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 72655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
It’s probably the fact that she isn’t like anyone else I’ve ever dated. Or met. Uniqueness is a thing for me. It’s right up there with intelligence.
She props her elbows on the table and stares me down. It’s slightly unnerving, but I end up falling into those soft green eyes anyway. “Are you a pets person?”
This is a normal, easy conversation. Ice breakers. “I don’t have any at the moment.”
“You don’t have a dog?” she asks.
“No, I don’t.”
“Did you grow up with one?”
“I didn’t.”
“That’s a shame.” She shakes her head and gives me this strange, wounded look like I’ve missed out on the best that life has to offer, and that’s just so sad, and she feels horrible for me. “I think every household should include four dogs. If we got married, would that be a problem?”
“I…”
“Kidding. Marriage is way the heck in the future. But shacking up. If we did that, then I’d have to have dogs.”
Shacked up? Who the heck says shacked up?
I have no idea how to respond to that, so we just sit in awkward silence. Genevieve looks all around the place, studying everything from the people around us to the black and white photos of old landmarks on the walls to the man playing a grand piano near the front.
Whoever is in that kitchen must work miracles because our appetizers come in record time. Our server and another server set down dish after dish.
Genevieve doesn’t immediately dig in. Instead, she catches the server before he leaves. “Crab legs!” she yells. Half the restaurant turns to stare at her, but she’s oblivious. “That’s what I want. Do you have that?”
Our poor server does his best to smile. He’s on his own because after setting the plates down, the other guy abandoned him. “Yes, we do.” He lists off a number of options.
“Oooh, yes! I’ll have that last one. The twelve legs plate.”
Twelve? I couldn’t eat more than a few myself. Where the heck is she going to pack that away? In her purse? A to-go bag? I’m impressed, and I’ll be the first to say it.
If we’re ordering, I might as well get my go-to. A steak, medium rare, and a baked potato. You can’t go wrong with that combo. I’ve never had a steak I didn’t like, and potatoes have to be one of the most delicious foods on the planet, no matter how they’re cooked. Baked ones are just that little bit extra.
Genevieve tries at least one of everything already set out. I watch, amazed, as she devours the appetizers. She licks her fingers, leaves crumbs all over the place, and barely comes up for air.
“Try the quiche,” she suggests with her mouth full. “Holy crapballs, it’s freaking amazing.”
Try as I might, I can’t find anything to say, so I pick at the plates of food until our server reappears twenty minutes later to save me.
“Yay!” Genevieve cheers, clapping her hands wildly.
She lets out a sports-sized hoot. You know, those loud calls that are best reserved for sports stadiums during live games outside and not indoor restaurants with five-star ratings and soft piano music being played by a real person. I swear, that loud call makes the guy up front miss a beat on the piano, but he recovers effortlessly.
I’m going to have to leave our server a massive tip because he nearly jumps out of his starched white shirt. He quickly sets the plate of crab legs down in front of her before it bounces out of his hands at another loud noise. I swear he’s still going to give the whole is there anything else we might need spiel, but she goes for it.
“I’m soooo hungry! I’ve been waiting all day for this!” She dives in, grabs a crab leg with both hands, and gives it a vicious crack. Juice sprays all over her, and our server manages to smile and walk away with some dignity.
The crab leg gives way under that furious pressure, and Genevieve takes the large piece of red and white meat and pops it into her mouth. Her eyes close, and she moans.
Moans.
Like bedroom-style moans.
I honestly don’t know if I’m mortified or turned on right now. My dick, making a half-mast tent in my pants, says he’s not sure either, but he’s leaning toward the latter. She swallows the hunk of meat, brings the part with the crab claw to her mouth, and sucks on it.
Dear god, I think it’s definitely the latter in a really bizarre, uncomfortable way. I’m not rock hard, but it’s getting there, and right now is not the time or place to have a conversation with my dick about weird kinks that I wasn’t in the least bit aware of before now.
“I’m being so rude.” She pauses, her lips and chin glistening with crab juice. She stares me down. “I haven’t even offered you any. Do you want to try it? They’re fucking…I mean freaking delicious.”