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“As Darcy’s World Turns.” She gave a harsh laugh. “I have no idea why I’m dumping all this on you.”
“Because I asked? Because I wanted to know?”
“Hmm, guess that might be it, yeah.”
They turned left on Danbury, Troy plotting how to get her back inside his house when they reached his street.
“So, chef, tell me your fantasy meal.”
“My fantasy meal?” Darcy cocked her head, thinking; her hair swung to the right, exposing her smooth neck, giving Troy another reason to get her inside. Everything she did turned him on. “You won’t believe me.”
“Sure, I will. What is it, truffled foie gras with lobster champagne sauce and caviar?”
“Nope. A giant bag of potato chips and a Diet Coke, eaten at the beach.”
“Seriously?” He turned to gape. “You’re a potato chip freak?”
“Freak wannabe. I rarely buy them because if they’re around I won’t stop eating them.”
“And so…on this beach after your bag is finished, what’s for dessert? Chocolate in some form?”
“More chips.”
“Wow. You’ve got it bad.” He grinned, wanting to take her hand again. He loved that this sophisticated chef could get into junk food. “Wavy or regular?”
“Regular. No flavor, just plain with salt. God, I love them. If I get to heaven, that’s my reward. Bags and bags with none of the caloric implications.”
Troy nodded, thinking of the unopened family-size Lay’s Classic potato chips sitting in his cabinet. He might have an in there.
“What’s your perfect meal?”
“Mine?” Troy frowned, reeling Dylan in from a too-deep foray into someone’s yard. “I would have felt a little weird talking about this to a chef, but after hearing yours is potato chips… Mine is a pretty basic guy meal. A grilled burger, medium rare, on a sesame roll, with a slice of tomato, sweet onion, lettuce, pickle, catsup and mustard.”
“Nothing wrong with that. What else?”
“French fries. Hot and crisp.”
“Shoestring or steak fries?”
“Shoestring.” He tugged Dylan along. “Coleslaw, not too mayonnaisy, not too sweet. And cold beer to wash it down.”
“Dessert?”
“Chocolate milkshake.”
“You are a guy.”
“Told you. The most important thing is that the meal has to be eaten after a workout. Sexual or otherwise.”
She giggled. “Why then?”
“Everything tastes better when your body is tired from being pushed to the limit.”
“Hmm.” She turned and gave him a provocative once-over. “I kind of like the idea of your body pushed to the limit.”
“Yeah?” He took her hand again, determined to keep it this time.
“Maybe I should install an exercise room at Gladiolas.”
“You should. For before and after the meal. Keep people coming back.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” She’d fallen into step beside him, gently swinging their clasped hands. Not pulling away. He felt like he’d struck gold.
They turned back onto E. Lake Forest, ambled the rest of the way back to his house. He’d considered stretching the walk out longer, but the air was cooling rapidly, and he had high hopes since the tension had relaxed between them that she’d stay. Awhile at least. Overnight maybe. He was still starved for her, wanted her again, in his bed this time, and all night.
Up his front walk, she fell silent and he felt her tension growing again. “You hungry? Want something to eat? I’m not sure my ego can handle providing food to a chef, but I can probably find something you’d like.”
“I’m… I was thinking I should go.”
“Yeah?” He unlocked his door, unclipped Dylan’s leash and held the storm door open so she could follow the dog inside. She hesitated only a second before she went in. He kept the smug expression off his face, stepped inside and gave in to an impulse by double-locking the door behind him. “Go where?”
“Home. Did you just lock me in?”
He grinned at her, tossed his keys on the table next to the door. “You are my prisoner until I decide to let you leave.”
