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I knock on her door just after five. The television is on, some high-drama reality show crying through the wall. When she opens the door, I’m struck stupid for the second time today. Just looking at her hurts. She’s gorgeous. Much shorter than I am, with long sexy legs that beg to wrap around my waist, long brown hair with streaks of copper running through it, the biggest, brightest green eyes I’ve ever seen, and soft, fragrant, lightly tanned skin. She instantly reduces me to a hard-on.
Always.
“Hey,” she whispers, rubbing her eyes.
“Did I wake you?”
“No, I had been up for a bit. I needed a little nap after… I don’t usually drink in the mornings on a Sunday, okay. Especially after a night with my sisters.”
“Hey, no judgment,” I assure her. Nope, not me. I remember my early twenties, when I was living on my own and drinking and partying most of my paychecks away. Sunday morning drinks were a common occurrence for a period of my life.
“Anyway,” she starts, but leaves the sentence hanging.
“Oh, so the knuckleheads are over for the night, and I was thinking that since I only have a week to convince you, I’m making dinner. Would you like to come over?” Then I hold my breath, which is crazy because I’ve never been this excited and nervous for a woman to accept a dinner invitation before. Of course, actual dinner invites haven’t been that common either. I’m more of a meet a girl at a bar and take her home for the night kinda guy.
At least I was.
“Oh,” she says, a hint of nerves laced in her voice.
“I mean, the boys will be there, so you’ll have to try to keep your hands to yourself for a night.” Just to get a rise out of her, I throw her a smirk.
Lexi just rolls her eyes. “I think I can manage,” she sasses, turning and grabbing her keys and phone.
When she steps into the hallway, I’m instantly assaulted by her scent. It’s clean with a touch of sweet. I want to lick her. Fuck, I’d lick her like a lollipop until she’s moaning and withering beneath my tongue, and then I’d do it some more just to watch the sight of her coming undone all over again.
Discreetly adjusting my crotch, I lead her towards my door. The boys are killing each other in the living room, Jeff standing over Jack, driving his big fake sword into his gut repeatedly. “Boys, knock it off. We have a guest.”
“Lexi!” Jack hollers, jumping up and running our way. “Couldn’t stay away, huh?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows in a suggestive manner.
I burst into laughter, while Lexi gives me a look, as if she’s blaming me for his come-on. I raise my hands in defeat and try to wipe the smile off my face. My little brother is definitely a charmer. “Don’t look at me.”
“I bet you were just like him when you were younger, always charming the teachers out of no homework and the girls out of their juice boxes.”
Leaning forward until our noses are practically touching, I whisper, “Actually, it was their pudding cups.” Her eyes dilate with hunger and fire spreads through my veins as I draw out the last two words.
“Oh, I wouldn’t doubt it. You’re trouble,” she states pointedly.
“Naw, I’m a good boy, Firecracker. I just enjoy getting a little bad with the right woman,” I tell her with a wink before turning my attention to the pile of ingredients on the counter.
“What are you making?” she asks, leaning her hip against the counter.
“Pasketti,” Jeff hollers from the living room.
“Spaghetti,” I correct with a smile.
“That’s what I said,” Jeff grumbles before turning his attention back to the television.
“Hope you’re okay with Italian,” I say, placing a pot of water on the stove to boil. Next, I grab a cutting board and get to cutting Italian sausage into bite-size pieces.
“That sounds great. Can I help with something?” she offers, looking around at the meager ingredients. Just one glance her way has my blood pumping and my cock stirring. Sure, she could help with something, but I don’t think that’s what she’s offering.
“Well, I’m just using jar sauce, but I usually add some mushrooms to the mix, if you like them. The boys pick them out, but we can definitely leave them out if you’re not a fan.”
“I love mushrooms,” she replies, grabbing the small can of bits and pieces mushrooms and the can opener. “You know, I have a pretty easy spaghetti sauce recipe that my grandma taught all of us. I could show you sometime,” she adds casually, her delicate little shoulders shrugging slightly.
Lexi must feel my eyes on her because she glances my way. I offer her a small smile, the prospect of her coming over sometime to share a recipe and help me cook, warming my blood. “That’d be great.”
