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It had all the bare necessities, but it was obvious someone had taken the soul out of the place when they’d moved out.
“Thanks,” he murmured, taking the white and blue plates from my hands.
I watched him serve up the steak and steamed broccoli while moving to the table.
My phone beeped, indicating a text message while Ashton dropped off my plate and fork, then went back for his.
“Whoa, ‘how was Caterpillar face last Sunday?’” Ashton read from my phone. “Who’s caterpillar face?”
“No one!” I yelped, hurrying up to grab my phone off the countertop, but not before another text came in.
“‘Did you get laid like you wanted?’” he read out loud, sounding amused as hell.
“Shut up,” I barked, hiding the phone as another text came in from Vicky.
“Well?” he asked, leaning back in his chair with his own dinner set out in front of him. “Did you get laid like you wanted?”
“None of your fucking business,” I murmured, wanting to die from embarrassment.
“Uh, whoever Vicky is just made it my business,” he assured. “Now I’ve got to know everything about the caterpillar guy, why you call him that, and if you managed to get laid.”
“My getting laid is none of your beeswax.”
“Says the girl who offered to wingman and get me laid,” he countered.
Well shit, that was true.
“But that’s you, and this is me.”
He grinned.
“Are you too embarrassed to talk about it? Should I guess, then?”
Oh God…
“Well, I can only guess that mustache guy wasn’t that great if you’re not bragging about him,” he tried, narrowing his eyes as he looked me up and down. “Plus, I don’t remember you glowing, which mean you haven’t had a good fuck recently.”
“Ashton, can we not do this?”
“Why not? Are you hiding something?” Now he looked serious, the teasing tone gone and replaced with a lace of worry.
“No. Because nothing happened. He was tickle-kissing me but I stopped it. He disappeared, and I went home. Ok? Are you happy? Nobody got laid.”
“Not really. It’s not a happy ending when nobody gets laid.”
I couldn’t help the burst of laughter at the double entendre.
“Well, I couldn’t follow through,” was my only response.
He sort of shrugged, then took a bite of our rapidly cooling dinner.
“Because you didn't like him, or because you can’t do easy lays?” he asked after a minute.
What kind of question was that? Especially from him!
“This is such an inappropriate conversation,” I told him, shaking my head and taking my own bite.
Holy hell it was so tasty. The beef was perfectly medium rare and tender.
