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“Oh, Lord, now that’s a sight.” Laughter shakes her shoulders.
Truth be told, I couldn’t give two shits about the party or keeping up appearances. Really, I just want an excuse to spend more time with her and the party seems like the perfect cover.
“What do you say? Help a poor guy out?”
“I already told you, I have class in the morning.”
“What time?”
“Ten.”
“And how much sleep would you say you need in an average night?”
“I don’t know, eight hours.” She gives me an amused smirk.
“And how long does it take you to get ready in the morning including your walk to class?”
“An hour, maybe.”
“Well, considering it’s not even seven. By the time we leave here...” I click up my fingers as I count. “I’d say that I have one, two, three, four. Counting the time it takes us to eat and get to the party, and the trip back to your dorm, and let’s not forget about the goodnight kiss I plan to make drag out for as long as possible. I’d say we have roughly five hours from now before you’d have to be home. That would give you plenty of time to shower, sleep a full eight hours, and still have at least an hour to get ready before class. So what do you say?” I ask again.
She regards me for a long moment, a mixture of humor and uncertainty tugging at her features.
“Fine,” she finally concedes. “But don’t think for one second you’re taking me up to one of the spare bedrooms to have your way with me. I know how these parties work.”
“Trust me”—I lean forward, pressing my elbows against the table—“as much as I want to fuck you, I have no desire to do so on a dirty bed that belongs to someone else. No, when I fuck you, Rory Hensley, it’s going to be good and proper.”
Her entire face heats to the familiar shade of pink I love so much.
“Has anyone ever told you that you have a dirty mouth?”
“Oh, Rory, Rory, Rory.” I tsk. “You haven’t seen anything yet.” I trail my tongue along my lower lip slowly.
“Um, maybe we should figure out what we want,” she stammers, clearly not sure how to react. That’s one thing I find so damn attractive about this woman—the way I can work her up with no more than a few simple words.
“Whatever you want.” I wink, not just talking about the food. “And I do meanwhatever.”
“You’re kind of a perv.”
I bark out a laugh, unable to hold it in. “Is that a bad thing?”
“Nope. Just an observation.”
“Noted.” My smile only widens. “So, food?”
“Yes, food,” she agrees.
Turning, I hold a hand up, letting the waitress, who brought us water when we first sat down, know that we’re ready to order.
