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Maybe because, foolishly, I want it to be more than sex between us. Between going back to his place Friday night and talking with him on the phone yesterday, I’ve realized I want more than a rough tumble.
And I think he wants more than that, too.
Would a man interested in only sex have asked if this was a date? Would he be sitting here now telling me about his past, something that is obviously difficult for him and something he could have easily hidden, if getting in my pants was his only goal? I don’t think so.
And now I sit here, both thrilled and highly uncomfortable. Thrilled to be here with him and uncomfortable because of my dang underwear!
I should have excused myself to the restroom soon after we sat down, and now it’s too late. If I go now, he’ll think I’m running out on him because of what he’s telling me. I can see how his eyes dart from mine and the way his thick fingers clench on the white tablecloth. This is hard on him and he’s expecting rejection.
I’ve never known anyone who’s been arrested or in prison. I guess I have led a sheltered life. It dawns on me that maybe that’s why he keeps calling me princess.
“I got sentenced to ten years and got out after serving seven. Followed by five years of probation.”
Doing the math in my head, I try to work out how old he was when he was arrested. “You were twenty-three when you went to jail?” So young.
“Twenty and it was prison, not jail.”
Twenty! That’s even worse.
“What’s the difference between jail and prison?”
For the first time tonight, Jake laughs and the husky sound has my toes curling in my heels and reminds me how much I missed his laugh.
“Let’s hope you never learn the difference between the two,” he says, plating up a large stuffed mushroom and handing it to me. Taking one for himself, he dumps his silverware out of his napkin and grabs his fork.
My lips twitch, but I say nothing. I gently unroll my cutlery and place the white linen napkin on my lap and dig into the crabmeat stuffed mushroom.
Closing my eyes, the flavor bursts upon my tongue and my stomach roars to life. After my drunken antics the other night, I’ve been very careful to baby my stomach and apparently, it’s more than ready for an actual meal.
“I like the crab,” Jake comments, scooping the flaky meat out of the huge mushroom cap.
“Me too. So, what happened after you got out of ja-,” I stop and quickly correct myself, “prison?”
“I was lucky to get into the place I have now and got hired on with Clark Township Sanitation Department.” He scoops up another bite and grimaces. “Few places will hire ex-cons.”
It never once crossed my mind that he was at his job out of necessity rather than his own choosing. Putting my fork down, I lean across the table. “If you weren’t a trash collector, what would you do?”
Jake’s lips curl up in a grin that positively steals my breath. He’s so handsome that it feels unreal that I’m sitting here with him. Walking in with him, I felt the looks of envy some of the other women were giving me and I tipped my chin up higher.
“Honestly? No clue. A job’s a job. I got nothing I’m passionate about or any major dream jobs.”
He forks another mushroom and plops it down on his plate. “What about you, princess? When you’re not doing rich girl stuff, what do you do?”
I pause with my fork halfway to my mouth, my brows arching up as I set my fork down. “Rich girl stuff?”
His grin widens. “Yeah, shopping, getting your nails and hair done, hot girl yoga or whatever. More shopping, posting on your phone about shopping.”
He laughs and I laugh right along with him. “Got us all figured out, don’t you?”
I dab my lips with the napkin and carefully place it back in my lap. “I’m a fundraising coordinator for Breathe Better, a nonprofit that works to spread awareness and bring much needed resources to those suffering from cystic fibrosis and other disorders of the respiratory system.”
Jake’s mouth falls open and I’m tempted to reach across and stick my finger in. I refrain from that childish action, barely.
“Shit,” he mutters, rubbing his hand across his jaw. “Sorry, princess.”
Unable to resist, I lean across the table and flick his nose. “Don’t judge. It goes both ways.”
His laughter draws some curious looks, but I’m too busy staring at the handsome man across from me to care about them.
