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Now it’s Henn’s turn to scoff playfully. “Liar. Who’s your celebrity crush?”
“It doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t pay fifty bucks to sleep with him. Twenty, tops.”
“Who is it?”
I smile, suddenly realizing how much Henn reminds me of the actor I’m about to name. “Have you seen Easy A? He’s the love interest in that one.”
“Penn Badgley. Easy A is one of my all-time favorites.”
“Mine too!” I launch into singing “Pocketful of Sunshine,” a song that plays a major role in that movie, and Henn doesn’t hesitate to join in, until our singing eventually dissolves into giggling.
Henn asks, “Do you have a crush on that actor in general or on his character in that movie?”
“I love him in everything, but I think I love him most when he’s playing that obsessed psychopath in ‘You.’ Have you seen it?”
“Love it.”
“I hate to admit it, but I think it’s so hot that he knows who he wants and he’s willing to do anything to get her.”
Henn bites back a smile.
“To be clear,” I add quickly, “I wouldn’t want him doing all that stuff in real life. I don’t condone murder or anyone throwing a rival into a cage in a basement. I’m just saying, as a concept, I appreciate a man who’s willing to go the extra mile to get the girl he wants. At least, for the sake of entertainment, anyway.”
“Got it. Murder and a cage for my rivals: bad. Going the extra mile to get the girl: good.”
“Very good.” I nuzzle his nose. “Speaking of which, thank you for flying to Seattle to take me out. And for all the flowers. And for the amazing dinner. And for renting out Holy Crepe and arranging a private lesson for us. Talk about going to the extra mile to get the girl.”
“Oh, that kind of extra mile is good? Phew. I thought you meant you wanted me to hack you.”
I laugh. “Hey, whatever it takes, right?”
Henn winks. “Absolutely.”
I run my fingertip flirtatiously along Henn’s bare shoulder. “I’m sorry I’m saying this after you’ve already paid for a hotel room, but would you like to stay here with me this week?”
“I’d love to. Thank you.”
“Every minute I’m not at work this week, I’d love to spend with you.”
“Awesome.”
I drag my fingertip across his bare belly underneath the covers, along the treasure trail of soft hair leading to his penis. “Fair warning: I plan to get as much bang for my fifty bucks as I can out of you this week.”
Henn chuckles. “Like I said, I’m at your service. Get your money’s worth, baby.”
“Oh, I will.” I brush my fingertips across his dick, and it’s only semi-hard. Clearly, he needs a bit more time to recharge his battery. “So, who’s your celebrity crush?”
“Emma Stone.”
“Liar.”
“Not lying. I fell in love with her in Superbad and then Easy A sealed the deal. I love her because she’s gorgeous, but also kind of a dork. Plus, she’s funny and smart, too. In my book, a girl like that is the total package.” He looks at me pointedly and grins, and it’s plain he’s nonverbally telling me he’s just described me, every bit as much as Emma Stone.
“I think you just implied I’m your type,” I say flirtatiously.
“Ma’am, there’s no better example of my type than you. God used you to make the mold of my type, and then he smashed it into a million tiny pieces, so you’d never be duplicated again.”
After I regain my ability to speak and breathe, I exhale a shuddering breath and whisper, “Damn, you’re good.”
“I meant every word.”
“That’s why you’re so damned good.”
I stroke his full length under the covers, making him tremble with arousal. And soon, it’s abundantly clear I’m going to get the next bang for my fifty bucks right fucking now.
13
HENN
“This is fantastic,” I say, looking up from my plate and smiling at Hannah’s expectant face. “I love it.”
“It’s so easy to make,” she says. “I frequently make it for myself on work nights.”
We’re sitting at Hannah’s small kitchen table on our sixth night together in Seattle, and it’s the first time she’s cooked for me. Last night, when Hannah got home from work, I had my famous stir-fry ready for her, along with a chilled bottle of white and a fresh bouquet of flowers. Her reaction was fucking awesome. Like I’d slayed a dragon for her. In fact, she attacked me on the spot. Which meant I had to reheat the stir-fry and the texture of the veggies wasn’t perfect by then. But hey, I’m not complaining. I’ll take a flood of lust and passion over perfect veggies any day of the week. Before last night’s stir-fry, however, we’d gone out or ordered in every dinner.
“Can I get the recipe?” I ask. “I think I’ll make it for my mom when I go home for her birthday next week.”
