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For the wedding, the hairdresser had sprayed it to keep it in place, and his fingers tugged on snarls every so often, the sensation not painful but sensual, settling between her legs. She closed her eyes while he did it.
“That feels so good,” she murmured.
She felt his breath on her face as he bent to kiss her, parting her lips with his tongue. It was soft and sexual, and she wanted to swallow him, so she sucked his tongue into her mouth, just a little, claiming ownership, and he moaned.
“Yikes,” he muttered, wrapping his arms around her.
He held her so close to his body that she could feel his chest expanding with each breath.
They didn’t move from that position for a while, holding on to each other. He didn’t mash his hips against her, but she could feel his erect penis, present and accounted for, nudging toward her crotch.
She giggled a little bit. “What do we do now?”
He rubbed her back. “Go to a diner and eat breakfast at eleven at night so I don’t drag you to bed. Does that sound safe enough?”
Surprisingly, he didn’t feel the need to bed her first thing. The chemistry just wasn’t there.
“It sounds great,” she said, charmed that he wasn’tdragging her to bedfirst thing.
They left his house and got back into the car, holding hands while he drove to the beach. Shore Pizza served breakfast twenty-four hours a day.
“I’m getting French toast,” she said once they were seated. “Is that gross?”
“No. I’m having chocolate chip pancakes. Is that juvenile enough?”
“Ha! Only if they put whipped cream on top.”
“And chocolate sauce instead of syrup. Have you ever eaten here?”
“No. I can’t believe it, either.”
“I grew up not far from here,” Alan said. “My youth was spent at Shore Pizza every weekend, hanging out.”
They ordered their meals, the conversation flowing like they’d known each other forever. When the server placed the giant platter of pancakes in front of Alan, Shelly laughed. The whipped cream on top was a pyramid six inches high.
“I need to watch how you’re going to eat that,” she teased.
Winking at her, he bent his head over the mound of cream and opened his mouth, sucking it up like a vacuum. Laughing hysterically, Shelly shivered, imagining that mouth on her body.
“I’m glad I know CPR,” she said.
“I might need it after this.”
Eating that late exposed all of their peccadillos. It was difficult to fake something when you were eating banana nut French toast topped with vanilla ice cream and caramel syrup at midnight.
“I take it this isn’t your normal routine,” Alan said. “If it’s not too tacky to say, you don’t look like you eat unhealthy.”
“I eat unhealthy more than I’d like to admit,” she said. “What about you?”
“I don’t cook. I eat when I can, and it’s often something bad. If someone brings donuts into the station, that’s what I’ll eat that day. When we go back to my place, you’re welcome to look in my fridge.” He looked at her sidelong. “Actually, if you’ll spend the rest of the weekend with me, we can even go food shopping tonight. I’m not kidding when I say there is nothing to eat in my house.”
“Are you inviting me to stay with you?”
“I am. I’d like nothing more. You can have the guest room.”
The guest room wasn’t what Shelly had in mind, but it was a foot in the door. “I’ll take it. I want to get to know you, Alan Stone. Staying together but not really seems like a great way to do it.”
“You mean you get to see all my warts.”
