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I slipped into the car and took off his coat, handing it to him.
“Have a good night.” He shut my door. “See you in a few days.”
I looked him over one last time and cranked my engine, pulling onto the road to contemplate what the hell just happened. I couldn’t deny that he was the sexiest man I’d ever met in my life, or that the tension between us was ten times thicker than what I felt between me and any of the other men I dated. Hell, the very thought of feeling his lips against mine was enough to make my knees weak.
That said, I was not going to give him a second chance. If he was forty-five minutes late and bold enough to suggest sex within five minutes; he’d probably expect a blowjob on the spot if he was early.
I didn’t need to waste my time on his cockiness, and I wasn’t going to let him make me want to cancel my remaining blind date options for this week either. The second I made it to my bakery, I was going to find the perfect recipe to make sure I didn’t change my mind.
“NO SECONDS ALLOWED” CRUMB CAKE
4 cups confectioners’ sugar
3 cups (18 ounces) semisweet chocolate chips
2 tablespoons shortening
1 cup ground pecans or walnuts
1/2 cup plus 2 tablespoons sweetened condensed milk
1/4 cup butter, softened
NATHAN
*The next Sunday*
“WHERE CAN YOU BUY THE best what?” My brother laughed over the line. “Please repeat that because I’m sure I misheard you.”
“You definitely heard me the first time, Tristan.” I groaned. “Where can I buy the best fresh cut flowers?” I looked down at the roses I’d purchased from a street-side florist, certain that they weren’t going to cut it. They were already shedding their petals.
My brother was still laughing.
“I’m ending this call now,” I said. “Thanks for your help.”
“No, wait!” He cleared his throat. “The best flower shop is on Folsom Street. It’s called Sterling Stems, and it’s expensive as hell.”
“Thank you.”
“I take it that your first blind date went well after all?” he asked. “No sex, but flowers a week later?”
“I told you it’s a make-up date since I was late.”
“Interesting. What’s her name?”
“Christina Ryan.”
“Christina Ryan of Sifted Perfection Bakery?”
“No idea. We never got that far.”
“Well, if it’s that Christina, I’ve never seen her in person, but her picture is always featured in the tourist magazines for her bakery. I’ll give it to you. She’s definitely sexy. Well, not hundred-dollar flowers sexy,” he said, laughing. “But then again, no woman truly is, right?”
I ended the call and headed toward Sterling Stems.
As far as I was concerned, Christina was million-dollar flowers sexy, and the moment I saw her sitting in that booth at Starry Nights Café, I knew she was bound to run through my mind for a long time. I also knew that I was canceling the other three dates the agency scheduled for this week.
As a matter of fact, once Christina’s hazel eyes met mine and her cherry coated lips started moving with a similar sense of sarcasm and humor, I knew it was a sealed deal. Since then, I’d mentally replayed every word that rolled off her tongue, and I was up to four cold showers a day.
I couldn’t stop thinking about the way her lacy black dress clung to her curves, how her sexy little scowl made me forget that I was that damn late. (All thanks to a man who locked himself out of his grain silo and couldn’t remember any phone number other than 9-1-1.)
Nonetheless, considering we’d only shared one encounter, my thoughts about her were out of control. I’d replayed images of her thighs locked around my waist as I fucked her against her car, her fingers clawing at my neck as I demanded full control. Her screaming my name as I devoured her pussy.
Contrary to what she said, I’d filled out the survey honestly, and I was determined to make this second date far more memorable than the first.
A few hours later …
I EYED THE CLOCK AS I sat in Starry Nights Café. It was now eight o’clock, and Christina had yet to show.
Tapping my fingers against the table, I figured she was paying me back and making me wait the same amount of time that she waited for me.
Fifteen more minutes passed. Then twenty. Then thirty.
Is she standing me up?
“Sir?” A waitress stepped in front of me. “So that you know, we’re closing a bit early for the holiday.”
“What holiday?”
“Wish Tree Day.” She smiled. “Last day to sign and seal your ornaments before the Christmas Eve drawing.”
“Thank you for making me regret that question.” I tossed back the rest of my coffee. “Can you bring me the check?”
“Ten steps ahead of you.” She placed it on the table, and then she clasped my hand—lowering her voice. “I saw the way your date left you last week. It was so sad.” She caressed my wrist. “Now you’re being stood up by someone else. For the record, I would never do that to you. I’ll be by your side, all the time.”
