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“Thank you,” she says, sitting back in the banquette and rubbing her belly, which is, admittedly, a little bigger than when she came in this evening. “I’ve never had anything like this. Unbelievable.”
This is part of what I like about this woman. Not the big belly per se, but that she doesn’t hide that she enjoys food, even to the point where her tummy protrudes like it does for all of us after a big meal.
Too many Manhattan women would pretend there weren’t hungry or didn’t like the food before they’d allow their stomachs to stick out even the tiniest bit.
Livvy lets it all hang out. And it’s sexy. Not that she doesn’t take care of herself—she’s always well-put together even if she is wearing socks with her Birkenstocks—it’s just that she knows where to stop. She doesn’t have the blown-up fish lips so many women do, nor the blank stare the same ones get from too much Botox.
She’s real. And natural.
I never knew how hot that was.
Enzo’s waving his finger in her face again, this time with the last crumb from her dessert plate. She parts her lips and wraps them around the last taste of dessert so quickly she looks like a lizard catching a fly.
Except, she doesn’t let his finger go, instead letting the last morsel of chocolate wash through her mouth, not missing a single tastebud. She closes her eyes as she swallows.
I try to swallow too, but my mouth is too dry.
Enzo pushes his finger in a little further.
Goddamn him. Cock-blocked again.
He looks at Weston and me. “She liked the dessert, guys, and she likes this even better.” He twists his finger between her lips and pulses it in a way she’ll either think is sexy as hell or the most vulgar thing that’s ever happened to her.
I’m thinking she’ll go with the latter, but when she snort-laughs, relief washes over me. All we need is to mortally offend this woman just when we’re making some progress on our developing friendship.
Weston elbows Enzo out of the way and moves closer to Livvy, so close their mouths are nearly touching, which they finally do when he buries her lips in his. One of her hands is on the side of his face, the other splayed on the table, her fingers flexing and opening, her nails digging into the wood beneath them.
I scoot around the other side of the banquette to sandwich her, and when she realizes I’m there, she shocks the shit out of me by breaking with Weston and kissing me. I glance around to see if anyone in the restaurant is enjoying the show, but the only people left are back in the kitchen, banging things around.
Looks like we have a wild child on our hands again. Wonders never cease, and all that shit.
While Livvy is being tag-teamed, Enzo lowers the lights. Votive candles, continuing to flicker on the tables, give the room a twinkly effect with just enough light thrown on Livvy and the guys to present a scene that is sexy as fuck. I unbutton her blouse, revealing a lacy bra holding the nicely rounded breasts I’d enjoyed the night before. Weston goes after her neck while she’s turned toward me, and she moans lightly, giving me a huge fucking hard-on that I may have to rub out in the men’s room.
Livvy comes up for air. “Guys, my apartment is just a few blocks away.”
“Mine’s even closer,” I pipe up.
She raises an eyebrow. “How do you know where I live?”
“I’ve seen you come and go. You think you’re the only one who follows people?”
Even in the dim light I see her blush.
“You noticed me in the neighborhood? You follow me?” she asks, incredulous.
“Maybe. I’m not incriminating myself, so that’s all I will say.”
I’m not a stalker, but of course I’ve noticed Livvy around, coming and going, as we all do. And I might have followed her to the grocery store once or twice, because she was wearing a spectacularly snug pair of blue jeans. She never had a clue.
But she doesn’t need to know that shit.
We waste no time guiding Livvy to her feet. Without another word, I take the restaurant’s keys out of my pockets, let everyone out the front door, lock up, and lead the way to my place.
23
OWEN
Livvy giggles,holding hands with each of the guys as I bring up the rear. They talk and laugh under the streetlights, and a light splatter of rain starts to dampen our hair and clothes—but not our moods. A wet asphalt smell rises from the street, and I think about how far I’ve come and how much further I’ll go if all continues according to plan.
