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He smiles. “I did?”
I nod. “You didn’t pop my cherry the way I popped yours, obviously, but it was a huge turn-on for me to find out I was your first. The minute I discovered that, I wanted nothing more than to give you the night of your life.”
He flashes me an adorable smile. “Well, mission accomplished.”
I blush.
“It was . . . man, it was amazing, Kaylee. You were an amazing teacher.”
“And you were a star pupil. A surprisingly quick study, as I recall.”
He places a muscled forearm on the table. His grin is wicked. “I can’t begin to tell you how many times over the years I’ve fantasized I’d one day be sitting here with you.”
“You’ve fantasized about one day sitting in a bar with me?” I ask coyly.
He drags his teeth along his lower lip. “Well, you know. Every fantasy has a beginning, middle, and end. The bar is just the beginning of the fantasy.”
Before I can reply, the waitress appears at our table with our drinks. We both lean back, our chests visibly rising and falling, as she places our glasses in front of us. The waitress gives us her chirpy recommendations about food. We order a couple appetizers. And finally, she leaves.
I bring my martini to my lips, eyeing Ben like a lioness on the hunt. “You were saying?”
He’s undressing me with his dark eyes—and making it abundantly clear he likes what he sees. “Nothing important. I was just making an arse of myself, I’m sure. Talking gibberish again.”
“Not at all. You’re actually seducing me quite effectively.”
“Ace!”
We both laugh.
“You didn’t really think I wouldn’t remember you, did you?” I ask.
“I thought it was distinctly within the realm of possibility.”
“That’s actually fairly offensive. You realize that, right? We spent the entire night together. Had awesome sex three times. And in between actual sex we talked and cuddled and laughed and made out. You really think I’d just forget a night like that? I can’t help feeling like you’re implying I’m either mentally deficient or accustomed to hosting gangbangs every Tuesday night.”
“Bloody hell. I meant no offense. I just meant you were my first, which means you surely made a bigger impression on me than I made on you. A guy never forgets his first. Ever. But to you, I had to figure I was just another poor guy left brokenhearted in your wake.”
“Another poor guy left brokenhearted in my wake?” I roll my eyes. “Again with the insults. From what I could plainly see, you couldn’t wipe the goofy smile off your face the next morning, Ben. Nobody has ever gotten his heart broken after a night with me, least of all you.”
He flashes me a panty-melting smile and takes a sip of his beer, leaving whatever he’s thinking unsaid.
“You want to talk about someone leaving broken hearts in their wake, I’m sure you’ve been guilty of doing that at least a time or two in your lifetime.” I finger the rim of my glass. “Fess up, Benny Boy. You’ve been quite the heartbreaker for the past seven years, haven’t you?”
He chuckles. “We’re not talking about me at the moment. We were talking about why I thought it at least possible you might not remember me when I texted you. That’s all we were talking about.”
“Well, in point of fact, I’ve never forgotten you. You weren’t my first for sex, but you were my first and only virgin. A girl doesn’t forget popping a guy’s cherry, especially when that guy looks like a wet dream.”
His eyes flash with heat. “Do women have wet dreams?”
“This woman does.”
His breathing visibly hitches. He licks his lips and brings his drink to them, his eyes locked with mine. He puts down his drink. I wait. He’s undressing me with his eyes again. The sexual energy between us is palpable.
“Why’d you refuse to give me your number that next morning?” he finally says. “I couldn’t understand it. We’d had such an amazing night. Why not keep in touch?”
“The night was too amazing. Too hot. What was the point? You were heading back to Australia with no plans of returning any time soon. I figured better to not tarnish the spectacular memory with lackluster FaceTime sex.”
He cocks his head to the side. “Bloody hell, you’ve got a hard outer shell, don’t you?”
I’m floored. “I’m just pragmatic.”
He stares at me for a long beat. “No, it’s something else.”
I shrug.
He leans forward. “You’re not like other girls I’ve met, Kaylee.”
“In what way?”
“Other women say one thing and mean another. They play games.”
“Oh, make no mistake about it: I play games. Well and often.”
He laughs.
“I’m just so damned good at my diabolical games, the average male brain can’t detect my sorcery.”
His smile widens. “You’re implying I’ve got an average male brain, are you?”
I wrap a strand of my dark hair around my finger and smile coyly. “If you think I don’t play games, then, yes, that would be the logical conclusion.”
