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But she still didn’t move. Actually, she did move. She was… holy fuck. She was bouncing her ass now. Dancing to music. My dick twitched as I pictured myself behind her, my hands on that smooth roundness, slamming my—
“WINONA!” I shouted, needing to cut off my own thoughts.
She froze, then backed up, her ass leading the way.
I turned toward the island, knowing my cock was bulging in my jeans.
“You yelled?”
I hadn’t thought this far ahead, so I pulled open the lower cupboard and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. It wasn’t my best bottle, but I didn’t need the best right now. I’d drink kerosene if I thought it might help me get my head on straight.
“Newfoundland,” I said. Fuck. I was off to a great start.
“What?”
I turned around, holding the whiskey bottle in front of my crotch just in case. “Ya got me drove. You said that yesterday. You’re from Newfoundland, right?” I’d looked it up last night. Apparently the giant island on the East Coast of Canada considered themselves very different than the rest of Canada. They had their own lexicon, and in the videos, people spoke the way she did. It was fucking charming.
Winona stuck her hands on her hips. For some reason, the move was extremely sexy, like she was posing. I willed my dick to behave, because she absolutely wasn’t, not with those narrowed eyes. “Yes.” She stood. “Though I haven’t been in years.” She sounded suspicious. “What’s it to you?”
I shrugged. “I’ve never met anyone from up there.”
I leaned past her, reaching for a glass from the cupboard over her head. Of course this made me catch a whiff of her—she smelled like something warm and soft. Spiced vanilla, maybe.
My dick bounced again.
“Well, now you have,” she said. But she looked slightly flustered.
Was I doing that to her? The thought made me want to keep doing it. “Cod. Come from away. Screech.” I waggled the bottle of whiskey. “That’s what you call this, right?” I poured a glass while she looked at me like I’d lost my mind. “What, have I drove you drove?”
She pinched her lips together. Was she… laughing? The thought sent my stomach flipping.
“That’s not how you say it.”
“You said it first.”
“No,” she shook her head. “I said, ‘Ya got me drove’. It means you’re driving me crazy.”
“See?”
“No, you can’t drove someone else.”
“Why not?”
She let out an exasperated breath. “I don’t know. Guess ya got me drove again.”
I popped the top of the whiskey, pouring it in the glass.
She watched me fill the glass much too high.
“You want some?” I asked, setting the bottle down.
“Not before dinner, thank you.”
“Who says you need dinner first?”
She narrowed her eyes again. “Have you eaten anything today?”
“You a plumber or a babysitter?”
