“Yeah, I, um, I just thought the flow of where things went was better this way.”
His gaze jerks to mine, and I expect him to say something snappy, but he doesn’t.
“Grab your coat. I’m taking you out.”
“Oh yeah, you know.” I wave my hand to dismiss his offer. “I’m busy and—”
“Get your coat, Calla.” His deep voice makes my nipples stand at attention.
He notices and smiles. “Maybe a sweater too.”
“I’m not sure what’s happening here, but I’m confused.”
“We can talk about it at dinner.”
“Really, Beck.”
“Calla. Coat. Now. Let’s go.”
I narrow my gaze at him. “I want tacos.”
“Fine.”
“And a margarita.”
“Good.”
At this point, he’s retrieved my coat from the coat closet, and he tosses it at me.
“Ready?”
“You’re driving.”
“Yes, I am.”
And with that, he opens the front door and the car door for and takes me to my favorite Mexican restaurant.
I sigh.
Damn it. I’m closer to dating my husband than divorcing him.
This is not part of the plan.
Tonight, I will eat good food. Tomorrow, I will create a new plan.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
BECK
Just write about my round, perky breasts.
Hell, I haven’t been able to think about anything since. And that was after only looking at them through her shirt. The first time I said the wordsex, they stood at attention. I can’t believe she didn’t notice me looking more than once.
I felt like a fucking teenager who just saw his first nipple.
I shake my head, focusing on the road as I drive us to dinner, but I can’t seem to clear our earlier conversation.
Why can’t you write a sex scene?
