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“You like Chinese food?” It seems like I should have known this after a whole summer together.
Yet itwasn’ta whole summer. Outside of the day of her interview, I’ve only seen her on the weekends. We’ve barely had more than a couple handfuls of nights. Too short of a time together for me to know things like her favorite foods, her favorite color, or even her favorite song.
I don’t know where she’s always wanted to live or likes to vacation or what her dream car is. I don’t know her best childhood memory or the name of the person who inspired her to be the amazing woman she is.
All I know is… I’ve really fallen for her.
“Love it,” she answers. “Moo shu chicken isalmostmy favorite thing to devour.” Her tone is suggestive.
“What’s your favorite thing then?” I ask, taking the bait.
She angles her head. “Well, I’ll have to show you later,” she says, sliding her gaze down my body until it rests on my cock.
And already, I’m getting hard again, just as I zip up my shorts.
We head toward the back door with Junie. “Seriously, what is your favorite food?” I ask her. “I feel like I should know that.”
She looks thoughtful for a moment. “Chocolate chip cookies. Fresh out of the oven. And with milk. Whole milk, not that tasteless skim kind.”
I open my mouth to tell her that I’ll make cookies for her sometime. God knows it’s really the only thing I know how to do with an oven outside of making one of those trays of ready-to-bake mac and cheese.
But I won’t be around to make her chocolate chip cookies. I hate that.
“Is your name really Dax?” she asks me as we step through her door into her backyard.
My eyes track over to hers. “What?”
“Is your name really Dax?”
My brow creases with curiosity as we sit on her patio chairs and watch Junie bound into the yard. “Why do you ask?”
“Because I’d like to know your real name before you pack up and leave me.” Her tone is joking, and I can’t help not sharing her sense of humor right now.
I’ve got less than forty-eight hours left with her. I kind of wish she’d look a little more grim at the prospect of my departure.
I steel myself slightly. “Well, sort of,” I answer. “My first name is David and my middle name is Alexander. So in the Rangers it just ended up getting shortened to Dax.” I turn to her. “How about you? I know you were named after your grandma. You said that the first time we met.” I smile, remembering that conversation. It seems like yesterday in some ways, and in others, it feels like a lifetime ago. “But is it short for something? Mildred?”
“Oof, no. That would be too formal for meorfor my grandma. It’s short for Millicent.”
I chuckle. “Andthat’snot formal?”
“I don’t think so. Not nearly as formal as Mildred.”
“Maybe,” I concede. “I like it. Millicent,” I repeat thoughtfully. “Have you always gone by Millie?”
“Pretty much. My ex used to call me Mils. He said it sounded more like a future partner in the firm where we worked. You know, more professional or important than Millie.”
“Your ex is a douche.”
She laughs. “I think you said those exact words the last time I mentioned him.”
“There’s no other way to describe him. You should become a partner in a firm because of your skills and experience—not how your name will look on the door. Didheever make partner?” I watch her suck in her bottom lip and nibble slightly. I add in a joking tone, “Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you never googled him.”
She groans. “Okay, okay. I did. About a year ago. And yeah. He’s a full partner now.”
“So now the firm is Barham, Tanner, and Douchebag?”
“You’re so immature.”
