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A flash of relief crosses her face as she sets her tray down, then pulls the chair out a little further and gracefully slides into it, adjusting her skirt as she draws herself closer to the table. “Thank you,” she says as she drops her purse on the chair beside her.
Her sexy, posh cadence is smooth and delicious, like gravy on mashed potatoes, and my nipples point straight at her like they know she’s gonna be the future Mrs. Trigger.
“You can sit on… with me anytime you want.” Yeah, a little corny, but I gotta start somewhere.
She looks down at her food, a blush to her face. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
I can’t tell if she’s playin’ my game or taking my words at face value, but I decide to back off. I don’t wanna scare the horse before she’s out of the gate. “So, guessing I wasn’t your first choice, hey?” I sound cool to my ears. Voice doesn’t squeak or sound too eager.
She looks up and into my eyes, a small smile playing at her lips as the blush grows deeper. “My other choice was those two guys over there with the matching golf shirts.” She tilts her head to the left.
I follow the direction. Yeah, two idiots not even aware of how stupid they look. “So you chose me for my fashion sense.” Her scent canters across the table and up my nose. She smells like the very last woman I’ll ever fuck.
Her eyes flick over my body. “Yes. And your ink.” She gives me a saucy smile and drops her eyes to her food.
I was right on first instinct. This girl knows what she’s about.
I laugh softly. “Trigger.”
“What?” She was concentrating on pulling her chopsticks from the package but stops and raises her eyes.
“Name’s Trigger.”
She flits her gaze to my arms then back again. “Wow, now I know why you need those biceps.”
I snort a laugh, liking her way too fucking much. She’s all body, which makes it easy for me, but she comes with a personality too. That scares the shit out of me.
“Road name.” I wait for the inevitable reaction – terrified or immediately flirty.
She does neither. Instead, she picks a small white triangle out of her noodles with the chopsticks and delicately puts it into her mouth.
My dick is like a loaf of French bread left unbagged on the counter for three days.
“Nice to meet you Mr. Trigger. I’m Evanee. Not a road name.”
Intriguing. “And you were knocking my name.”
She grins. “I know.” She waggles a long painted nail at me. “My self-defence.”
I grin and take a huge bite of my power bowl to do something with my hands other than adjust myself again. “What’s that shit you’re eating?” Her struggle to snag a long piece of noodle fascinates me.
She finally gets a grip on the slimy bugger only to have it slip away. “It’s called Phad Thai. One of my favourites.”
“How’re you going to get those noodles into your mouth?” I’m thinkin’ about that Lady and the Tramp show, picturing us eating the same noodle until our lips meet, which makes me wanna swallow her tongue.
She raises the noodle up to her mouth, tries to grab it with her little pearlies, but it slips again, this time dropping on the exposed mound of her milky breast.
Please, please, let me lick it off.
She picks it up with her long fingernails and slips it into her mouth, then licks her lips like she knows I’m putty in her hands. “I’m a train wreck, it’s unavoidable.”
“You’re the prettiest train wreck I’ve ever seen.” Lame, sure, but in my defense, I’m struck dumb by the goddess in front of me.
Her laughter tinkles in the air. “And how many train wrecks have you seen?”
I try to recover. “None as first class as you.”
She flushes, then turns her attention back to her pad-ti shit, fishing for another noodle. I watch in reverence for about 30 seconds before she realizes I’m staring.
