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"My churros!" Michelle exclaims as the waiter brings her second dessert.
I always wondered how she can eat this much and stay this fit. She's not thin; she has round hips and full breasts, and her ass is a work of art, but still, she eats more than my brother did when he was a hotdog-eating champ in college.
"That's delicious," she moans, closing her eyes after taking a bite. Before that, she dunked a stick in chocolate sauce, and now her lips are covered with it.
I feel like my cock is trying to jump out of my pants just from looking at her, and I start squirming in my chair to calm it down. She opens her eyes eventually and looks down at her hand; sauce got onto her forefinger, so she licks it gently and moans again.
This woman is going to kill me. And I'm sure she has no idea she’s doing it. She’s not even trying to look sexy; it's just natural for her to be like this.
How long after she broke off her engagement before I can kiss her?
"How did you get so confident?" she asks after a long pause, bringing me back to reality.
She’s looking directly at me, smiling mischievously, her eyes slightly squinted, as if she's trying to figure something out. She takes a napkin to remove the leftovers of dessert from her lips, and I feel disappointed that I can't lick it off.
"You think I'm confident?" I raise an eyebrow in response, smirking at her.
I always thought she found me arrogant and stubborn—at least that's what she said a couple of times during our fights, but confident? She never told me that before. A lot of people did, but Michelle—never.
"Are you kidding me? You're the most self-confident person I know!" she exclaims loudly with a smile, putting the napkin aside.
I like that she's not paying attention to the fact that we're still sitting in the middle of the restaurant, and people are glaring at us from time to time, especially when she speaks this loudly. Usually, she's always concerned about whether the people around can hear us. I like that now she doesn't care about it and is just enjoying our conversation.
"I was at that speech you made at the Grand Hotel opening; it was right after we met," she continues just as loudly, gesticulating at the same time. "There were hundreds of people at the event. Also, millions were watching you from the screens of their TVs. But you didn't falter while speaking; you didn’t made a single mistake. I admired you then. I thought that you must be the most confident man on the planet."
I smirk. She's so wrong. If she only knew how many times I’ve chickened out of telling her how I felt, she would never think of me that way.
"Business just isn't something that makes me worry," I say calmly, trying not to sound as if I'm bragging. After that embarrassment in high school, I took oratory courses for almost a year to get rid of the fear of speaking in public. Because it's not about the fear itself; it’s more about what you decide to do with it.
"And what does worry you, Mr. New York's Bachelor of the Year?" She winks at me playfully, and I feel like we're on an actual date, where she’s forgotten that I'm her boss and is simply enjoying the evening.
"I can't believe you read that magazine." I grin, brushing my hand through my hair. Each day I think I know everything about this woman, but she surprises me again and again.
"It's actually my turn to ask a question." I lean closer and almost whisper, "What wasyourmost embarrassing situation in life?"
I expect her to start laughing, trying to remember all the details of life in high school, but she lowers her gaze and starts pulling a spoon over the gravy boat with chocolate. I already regret I asked it, but there's no way to go back.
"I don't know." She shrugs, smiling slightly but sadly. "I guess agreeing to marry a gay guy who never even loved me."
"That's not embarrassing because it's his fault, not yours." I extend a hand to take her palm in mine again, pushing the chocolate sauce aside. She lets me interlace our fingers but still looks down at the table, exhaling loudly as I say it.
"I called each one of the wedding guests myself." She raises her eyes to look at me. "And every one of them asked me the reason for the cancellation. Some even assumed that Michael had become gay because of me."
I snort in irritation, squeezing her palm tighter in mine. "They are fools who don't know what they're talking about. But at least now you know that you won't have to invite them to your next wedding."
Michelle finally looks at me, and I wink at her. I can't remember the last time I did that, maybe never. But she smiles in response, so it was a good idea. I smile back. Seeing her happy is like air to me: worth all the money in the world.
"Why are you being so nice to me?" she asks after a long pause, and I grimace, trying to show her that I’m tired of explaining it.
I move closer slowly, still holding one of her hands in my palm, looking straight into her eyes as I do it. She swallows without breaking our contact, holding her breath, waiting for what I'm gonna do next.
"Because I like you, beautiful," I whisper, my mouth inches from hers.
And then I take her chin between my fingers and brush my thumb over her lower lip. She parts her lips, and her gaze falls down to my mouth, waiting for me to kiss her.
"I’ve wanted to kiss you every single day from the moment I met you," I whisper, and I feel her body start trembling slightly after my words.
"Then kiss me," she whispers back, barely speaking; her chest rises and falls with her breath.
