“We’ve done the seeing and the touching, but I don’t think I’ve gotten a taste yet,” she said.
Max’s eyes widened in surprise, and truthfully Stella was a little surprised herself, but then he kissed her and every other thought was forgotten. It’d been a week since the last time they kissed, and now Max was kissing her like he couldn’t get enough. His hands moved to her waist as he held her close, putting his tongue to good use, eliciting a moan from her before he finally pulled back.
It took Stella a few blinks to remember they were in a restaurant, also known as a public place. She noticed the maître d’ had quietly slipped away at some point, leaving them to their own devices. Still, Stella clocked a few of the other diners quickly glancing away, and one elderly couple shook their heads in disapproval.
Stella buried her face in Max’s shoulder.
“Did we just make out in front of the whole restaurant?” she asked.
Stella could feel his chuckle as he said, “I believe we did.”
“I’ve literally never done anything like that,” she said, pulling away. “You’ve bewitched me!”
“I actually don’t dabble in brujería, I’ll have you know.”
Stella rolled her eyes and finally forced herself to step out of his grasp. She began to shrug out of her coat, and Max stepped behind her, helping her take it off and then placing it on the back of her chair. He then remained standing, gliding the chair back in as she sat down.
The bar for men must’ve been in hell, because that gesture was enough to make Stella wet.
Or maybe that was the kiss.
When Max slid into his own seat, he was wearing a knowing, cocky grin. Stella picked up her menu so she wouldn’t have to meet his heated gaze.
“Have you been here before?” she asked.
“A few times,” he said. “The ropa vieja quesadilla with maduros is my favorite.”
Stella glanced up at him. When Stella said any of those words, it took her effort to get the pronunciation exactly right, and she still wasn’t confident she didn’t come off sounding like a gringa. However, when Max said them, well, it was the first time she’d ever heard his accent.
She closed her menu. It wasn’t like she didn’t already know what she was getting.
“You should speak Spanish more,” she said.
Max followed her example, closing his menu and setting it aside on top of hers.
“I think we’ve established I’m not very good at it,” he said.
“You sound pretty perfect to me,” she said, and if she didn’t know any better, she’d say he was blushing.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said almost sheepishly.
Their waiter arrived then, halting their conversation briefly so they could order. When the waiter disappeared, Stella eyed the dance floor before focusing her attention back on Max.
“No one’s dancing,” she said.
Max looked over to the dance floor and then checked his watch.
“I’d give it a little time,” he said. “It’s still early. This place starts to feel like a night club around eight.”
Stella checked her own watch. It was only a little after six. Her disappointment must’ve shown on her face.
“Do you want to dance?” Max asked.
She shook her head. “Not if we’re the only ones out there. I don’t even really know how to dance salsa.”
“I can show you.”
“You can salsa?”
