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Someone clears their throat, and we pull apart to see Cesare standing there, trying to hide a smile. “Can I interest you in a dessert?” he asks.
“Definitely,” Mack says as if the guy hasn’t just caught us snogging like a couple of randy teenagers. “Sidnie? Want to share a Tiramisu?”
“Ooh, yes please.”
“Tiramisu for two please.”
Cesare nods and smiles, then retreats.
“The food of luuurv,” I murmur, thinking about my idea of covering him in whipped cream. Tiramisu would definitely be an alternative.
“You’re thinking about covering me in whipped dairy products again,” he says. “I can tell.”
“I was, actually.”
He smiles. “So,” he asks softly, “are you coming back to my apartment after this?”
I study his face, his beautiful eyes, his smooth jaw. “Any woman would be crazy to say no to you.”
“You’re the only woman who matters to me.”
“That’s a nice thing to say.”
“It’s the truth.”
Right now, I think. But I don’t say it. It does make me sad though, to think that soon, maybe next week, maybe in the New Year, he’ll be bringing another girl here, wining and dining her, hoping to get her into bed.
All I have is tonight, so I have to make the most of him.
Cesare brings a large dish bearing a double helping of Tiramisu with two spoons, then leaves us to it.
Mack dips a spoon into the lush creamy cake and holds it out to me. “A bit cliché,” he says, “but that’s what this dessert is for.”
Trying not to think about how many girls he’s eaten this with, I close my lips around it and let him extract the spoon from my mouth slowly.
He huffs a sigh, then also has a mouthful.
“What?” I ask, amused.
He shakes his head. Beneath the table, I can feel his knee moving where his foot is tapping on the floor. His motor’s running again.
Outside, the darkening sky is suddenly lit with a flash of lightning. Mack looks out at it, lost in thought. I count, and seven seconds later thunder rumbles out to sea.
His gaze comes back to me, and he studies me for a moment before he has another spoonful of Tiramisu. “In one of your advanced videos, you talk about safe words,” he says.
“Oh. Yes. I read it’s a good idea. That way the guy doesn’t have to worry whether no actually means no or if the girl is playing.”
He turns the spoon upside down and sucks the chocolate off, then removes it and points it at the window. “Lightning,” he says.
“What about it?”
He has another spoonful. “That’s your safe word.”
“Oh.” A frisson passes through me. “Okay.”
“I have a feeling you won’t need it,” he says. “But just in case.”
I scoop up a spoonful of the dessert. “What do you mean?”
