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“When she called you my wife.”
“Oh . . .”
His eyes hold mine. “I liked it.”
My stomach flips as we stare at each other. “Me too.”
I want to say something playful and fun, but it doesn’t seem to fit here.
He liked it.
We are taking steps forward in leaps and bounds here.
We arrive at the airport bar and take a seat. “What do you want to drink?” he asks.
“I’m celebrating with a margarita.” I smile.
“Good idea.” He disappears to the bar, and I sit alone at the table and have a mini meltdown. I can’t believe that just happened.
He liked me being called his wife. This is progress.
This is big!
Huge.
He arrives back at the table with our two drinks and slides mine over to me and holds his up. I clink my glass with his and take a sip. “Thank you.”
I mutter into my glass, “I don’t know if you realize what you’ve gotten yourself into by taking me to Thailand.”
“Why is that?”
“I’m a stripper in Thailand, you know?”
His eyebrow raises as if impressed. “Really?”
“Uh-huh.” I smirk, proud of myself.
He sips his margarita. “Well, anal with a stripper, I’m good with that.”
I cough-snort my drink through my nose. “Aah . . . no. Your stripper does not do that.”
His eyes twinkle with mischief. “Why is that?”
“I’ve never done that.”
“What?”
I shake my head.
“What . . . never?” He frowns, fascinated.
I shake my head, and I get the feeling I just put a target on my ass . . . literally.
He smirks and holds his glass up in a silent toast to me, and I feel myself blush as I imagine him going there. He’s way too big for that . . . I can’t even . . . I would end up in the hospital, surely.
Jeez.
I need to change the subject. “Where are we sitting on the plane?”
