“You did mention this was your favorite dish, and there’s no way I can eat all this alone.”
The idea is tempting, but is it smart? Is eating dinner with a man who hired me for the summer to help with his son and with whom I made out with in his spare room less than twenty-four hours ago really a good idea?
No, it’s a bad idea.
Very bad.
“I don’t want to impose on your night alone. I’m sure they’re rare for you, and you have things you’d rather be doing.”
He gives one single slow nod. “What I’d like to do is eat some food, have a beer or two on my back patio, and do both of those things with good company. So, will you stay?”
And beer! This is just a red flag city. It’s a bad, bad idea.
“I’d love to.”
* * *
“My stomach hurts, but in a good way,” Simon says and stands to stretch. “I ate way too much. It was worth it.”
I laugh and sip my beer. It’s my second. I call it my after-dinner beer, which means I should stay for only this one and then be on my way.
Go home.
Not hang around any temptation, as my body clearly has decided to relax in his presence.
Turns out, grumpy ole Simon Stone has a sense of humor, and you can bet it’s not helping my mental state right now.
I like funny. I want funny. I’ll add it to the list.
Simon raises his hands above his head, and his shirt rises just enough for me to see his bare stomach.
Holy mother of god. He has the lines. The lines! The ones that are like a flashing neon sign to look lower and cause my mind to short-circuit on real words.
I look away before he catches me, and, you guessed it, I take another sip.
At this rate, I should be home in about five minutes. Especially since my mind is now filled with what I just saw. The more time I spend with Simon, the more my body acts as if it has no control.
“This might go against your personal rules, but I do have dessert.” He flashes me a smile and steps for the sliding door.
“If it’s the chocolate swirl ice cream you hide under the edamame in the freezer, Grey and I are fully aware.”
He freezes and looks at me with horror. I laugh.
“What? You have a ten-year-old son, Simon. If you think he hasn’t searched every inch of that kitchen for junk food, you’re in for a surprise.”
“He’s never said a word to me about it. Wait, are you saying it’s gone?”
I shake my head. “No. We just know about it and replace it when we eat it.”
He grins. “How often do you eat ice cream?”
“Oh, Simon,” I say sweetly. “I break the rules more than you think.”
And then I wink, pretending I didn’t just hear the amount of flirting laced in my voice in the last ten seconds. He’s a romance writer. He writes sex. Will his mind go there immediately?
Suddenly, he’s towering over me, and the heated look in his eyes says yes, yes, his mind did go there.
“Anyway, there’s plenty left for you.”
