Total pages in book: 199
Estimated words: 192134 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 961(@200wpm)___ 769(@250wpm)___ 640(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 192134 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 961(@200wpm)___ 769(@250wpm)___ 640(@300wpm)
“Congratulations,” I say, automatically, though I can’t help but be concerned that she’s back to business so soon after coming her brains out.
I would have assumed she’d need at least a few hours rest to be up to tackling email.
“Thank you.” Her hand flutters to brush her hair from her forehead. “I didn’t think there was any way I’d get in. It’s the first time I’ve applied, and they usually pick more established people. But I guess they’re making a point to give up-and-comers a chance this year so…” She pulls in a bracing breath. “I really need to make the most of this opportunity. I might not get another shot at something like this. Ever. And the first part of the competition starts on Monday. So…”
“You need your beauty sleep.”
“Yes,” she says. “And probably not to disappear into a gorgeous man’s bedroom for three days. Even though I would love to. So, can we take a rain check for the sex fest and make plans for, I dunno, something simpler? But also involving sex, and food, and getting to know you and that naughty mouth of yours.”
A woman who knows her limits. A woman who expresses her truth.
I could get used to this. It’s unusual, but completely welcome.
“Absolutely.” I take her hand and lift it to my lips, pressing a kiss to her fingers. “I’m busy too. I completely understand.”
“But we should definitely do this again,” she says, trailing off, like she’s leaving me an invitation–to ask her out again.
Or for the first time I should say.
I RSVP.
“Damn straight we should. You can text me when you have an evening free. Or we could grab lunch someday if you like. I’d love to pick your brain about the area. Get the local, inside scoop on the best restaurants, pickle shops, places to buy pork pie hats.”
“You’d be hot in pork pie.” She smiles, then snags her phone and we exchange numbers. “And I’d love that. How’s Wednesday?”
I try to rein in a grin. I'd almost pegged her as the leave ‘em hanging type. But here she is making plans before the night is even over. No games, no bullshit. Just boundaries and communication. She is who she is. And I like that. “Wednesday sounds perfect.”
“Though a lunch date might not give us enough time for sex,” she says with a frown.
“Then on our lunch date, we’ll make plans for a steamy night in, instead of this three-day sex fest you declined.”
“It pained me to decline,” she says, all flirty again. “Seriously. Real, genuine pain.”
“Oh, it pained me too. But I plan on teasing you over lunch, getting you all hot and bothered, so you’ll be begging for a quickie after the sandwich. How does that sound?”
She sidles up against me. “You’re making me hungry.” She shifts into a practical mode. “How’s eleven on Wednesday? I usually take a lunch break then. Between the morning and the afternoon rush.” She motions out the window behind her. “I own Sweetie Pies, the pie shop on the corner.”
I startle for a moment, but school my expression.
“How perfect is that?” I ask, a slow grin spreading across my face, suddenly glad I didn’t mention the location of my new business when we arrived at her apartment.
At the time I hadn’t wanted to distract from the pressing business of delivering her second orgasm as soon as possible—or introduce information that might complicate matters later. If the sex had been awful, I figured I could keep an eye on the walk and arrange not to be out and about on the street at the same time as my new neighbor.
But the sex was amazing, and we seem to be on the exact same, low-stress-casual-dating page.
She laughs. “Well, I think it’s pretty perfect. It’s my baby.” She tilts her head, her brow knitting. “But why is that perfect? Have you been in for a slice? Maybe on a Sunday or occasional Monday morning when I wasn’t working because, I would have remembered you,” she says, wagging a finger.
I smile wider. “No. I haven’t been in yet. But I’ve passed by several times and always admired the cartoon on your sandwich board outside. The curvy woman in the pink dress makes sense now.” I roam my gaze over her, the inspiration for the illustration I’ve had a bit of a thing for.
She rolls her eyes. “Thanks. My cousin drew it. Thought it would be good for branding. So far, she’s been right. Online orders are way up since we switched the logo on Valentine’s Day this year.”
“Brilliant,” I say, her words reminding me I should probably have some cute menus designed as well. A minimalist by nature, a heavy cream card stock with daily offerings typed out with my vintage typewriter appeals to my sensibilities, but the customers in this area might expect something more whimsical.