Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82349 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82349 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
“Okay, what can I do to help?” she says, walking next to me. “Do you want me to start on the salad?”
“Yeah,” I say, and she touches my hip when she walks by me. I watch her grab the things in my arms, and she puts them down right beside me.
“This is fun,” she says, taking another sip of wine and then looking at me. “Us preparing dinner together.”
I smile at her. “We’ve done this before.”
“Not while married.” She lifts her left hand, laughing and taking another sip of wine.
“No, not married.” I lift my own hand, wiggling my ring finger.
I stand beside her while I marinate the meat, and she cuts the lettuce. She leans over, and our hands slide next to each other, and she takes another sip of wine. Moving around her, I touch her just because like little touches on her hips.
Every single time I touch her, she takes another sip of wine. She does just as much touching, and every single time she finishes doing something, she either walks by and touches me or leans into me. I see her cheeks flushing, so I lean in and give her just a little peck. Then she drinks more wine, and my stomach sinks. Is she drinking because she thinks we are going to sleep together?
I walk away from her to go to the grill. “I’ll be grilling,” I say, and she nods.
“I’ll set the table.” She turns and gets on her tippy toes and her shorts ride up, showing me her long, lean tan legs. Her shirt also rolls up, showing me her tan tummy even more. I swallow down the lump in my throat and then go outside.
I watch her set the table from outside. She drinks another two glasses of wine, and her hands are almost shaking. When the meat is done, I walk in, and she turns around with a smile. “Smells good, Mr. Mayor.”
I smile at her as I walk to the dining room table that she set. I sit at the head and she takes the seat to my right. The salad bowl sits in the middle of our plates. She put another bottle of wine beside her and even put my whiskey on the table. I set the plate of steak down next to the salad, and she turns and walks back into the kitchen to grab the baked potatoes. I wait for her to sit down before taking my seat. She picks up my plate, preparing it like she always does.
“Thank you,” I say, taking a sip of my whiskey.
“You’re welcome, dear,” she says, laughing while she prepares her own plate. “How many women have cooked for you?” I look at her. “I mean, you date a lot.”
“Some would say you date a lot also,” I say, and she just looks at me. “Do they cook for you?”
“Not even once. I make sure my dates are out in public so there is no gray area,” she says, taking another sip of wine. “What about you?”
“No,” I answer, my stomach burning. “They don’t cook for me.”
“Well, at least I have that one up on them then.” She cuts into her steak. “Have you ever been in love?”
I take my glass of whiskey. “Yes.” Her eyes now fly up, and I see that they are a darker blue.
“You’ve been in love?” she whispers. She looks down, and I swear I see tears in her eyes, but she grabs her glass of wine, and when she looks back at me, there are no more tears. “You’ve never told me,” she says while cutting her steak and avoiding my eye contact.
“I’ve never really told anyone,” I say, hoping she looks at me, but instead, she drinks another sip of wine. “Have you?” I ask as she leans back in her chair, my heart hammering in my chest as I wait for her answer.
“The steak is cooked perfectly,” she says, avoiding the question. I want to press it again, but I’m not sure she’ll even remember this conversation. So instead, I just finish my steak without the both of us really talking. She gets up first and walks to the kitchen, bringing her plate with her. “This was one of my best dinners I’ve ever eaten.” She looks over at me, smiling, her cheeks pink and her eyes a light blue. She walks over. “Thank you.” She bends, putting her face in front of mine. “For cooking,” she says and kisses me on the lips lightly, then she moves away just a touch. “And for everything.” She kisses me again. This time, her tongue slides in with mine. I want to get lost in her kiss. I want to get lost in her, but I don’t want our first time to be because she’s drunk.