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“I think he’s nervous. I told him I may take you to the hospital…well, after we eat the steak and lobster, of course.”
I can’t believe she has dinner coming, but I can’t say I mind it. I’m starving actually, and I don’t want her to leave.
“You’ll stay for dinner?” I ask, raising a brow.
“The least you can do is feed me after I survived that embarrassing scene out on the street getting you here. And I’ve been a starving student for four years. I haven’t had steak and lobster in a long time.” She smiles and it goes straight to my dick.
“So, is this like our first date?” I take my shot. She’s so damn cute I can’t help myself.
“This is not a date. I don’t date people I work with.”
“But if we didn’t work together, would it be a date?”
“Well, I don’t know. You poked me in the eye, possibly rounded second base when I tried to get you on the elevator when you gripped my boob to steady yourself. And this is all after the whole fiasco the first time I saw you.” She shrugs, but her lips turn up in the corners.
I grabbed her tit? That’s the most important thing I take from what she said before processing her words.
“I’m not your boss. You don’t answer to me,” I say, leaning forward to grab my water.
“Dating is off the table,” she says, her face stern. “I’m nobody’s mistress.”
Where the hell did that come from?
Chapter 9
Mazie
Aidan backs off after I make it clear this won’t be going anywhere. Or maybe it’s because he’s still coughing, and his head is pounding, so he isn’t up for the fight. Either way, I find myself sitting on his couch with him watching Bridgerton, because he lost the bet that he could guess my favorite place in New York City. He thought it would be Bryant Park during the holidays, but it’s actually the New York Public Library because there is nothing I love more than a library with history.
The smell of old books. It’s my weakness.
And I’m thankful for this minor victory or we’d be watching a Bourne Identity movie. Not that I have anything against Matt Damon. But I’m not up for an intense movie at the moment.
I lick my fingers and glance over at him to find him watching me.
“What? Oh, let me guess, you’re too proper to lick your fingers?”
“No. I mean, I don’t normally lick my fingers because I happen to know how many germs are on our hands.” He holds his arms up. “But the thought of licking your fingers is a different story.”
I look away and try to calm my breathing. His not-so-subtle sexual innuendos are getting to me.
“Even after dumping me with a puddle of rainwater mixed with sewage?” I poke fun at his germ phobia or whatever one calls that, before taking another bite of lobster and groan.
“Yes. Somehow the idea of you wet, even in filthy water…I’m totally here for it.”
I glance back at the TV because things are getting heated again. It’s been the best couple of hours I’ve had in a long time. There’s a comfort with him that I can’t explain. And we’re sitting in his bougie apartment eating on the couch at the coffee table because he’s actually a super down-to-earth guy, even if his home is super fancy.
When I look back at him this time, I notice some movement down south and my eyes can’t look away. There’s quite the tent in his pants and I cover my mouth with my hand and try to look back at the TV.
He clears his throat. “It’s probably the laughing gas or because you keep licking your fingers seductively, groaning and talking about yourself being soaked in water in that fucking perfect white outfit.”
I pause Bridgerton because this is too good. I wipe my mouth with my napkin and smile. “Do you mean dirty white, or the now permanently gray outfit?”
He doesn’t laugh, so I clearly missed the mark. “Let me replace it. It’s the least I can do.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I can’t believe you remember what I was wearing.”
“I remember. Your hair was tied up on your head. The white tank and leggings hugged your body perfectly. I mean, I spotted you from a fucking block away.”
