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"Uh, yeah. My friend Suri kept joking that it would be someone old and slimy."
He smirks, piling scrambled eggs on two big, square plates. "Are you saying I'm over the hill?"
"I didn't know you'd swoop in to rescue me."
"That wasn't a rescue. Believe me." He checks the oven again, then shuts it. "Do your parents know?” He sticks his hands into his pockets and leans against the sink. “I assume not."
"They don't."
"I'm surprised your friends let you go through with it."
"I needed the money," I say. "And it was one friend. I didn't really let her argue."
"Well, I'm good for it." He rubs the bridge of his nose, like he has a headache.
"Do you win a lot at poker?"
"More in investments." He peeks into the oven one more time, and I think how sexy he looks in chef mode. "What kind of jam do you like?"
"Strawberry."
"I'm a strawberry man myself."
He slides the jar of homemade jam over to me, then puts the oven mitt back on and opens the oven, pulling out a tray of...
"Beignets! Holy crap, I love beignets!" He puts two on a plate and slides it across the bar, then puts two on his plate. He does not come around and sit beside me.
I pick one up and turn the hot pastry around in my burning fingertips. "You're incredible."
"You think so?" He regards me silently over the counter as he polishes off a piece of bacon, then says, "I know you're doing this for Cross Carlson. I'm not sure if I think you're stupid or amazing."
I scrunch my face up. "That's not the only reason. I'm also doing it because I'm tired of being a virgin."
That draws a chuckle from him. "What's so tiring about it?"
"I guess I'm tired of all the anticipation."
He grins wickedly. "I'd say anticipation is one of the best parts."
"I wouldn't know," I murmur, biting into my beignet.
"Are you saying that you want to know?"
"Oh yeahh.” I squeeze my eyes shut, blissed out over the warm, doughy goodness. When I open them Hunter is smirking at me. I blush. “I meant oh yeah, that stuff is really good. But yeah, I do I guess. Otherwise I would have hung onto it."
Slowly, languidly, tiger-like, Hunter walks around the counter. He wraps his hands around my biceps, turning me gently to face him, and pulls me close. Then he bends down slowly, bringing his face close enough so I have an amazing view of his lips. As I sit there, brainless and overheated, he leans closer and licks my lip.
"Powdered sugar," he purrs.
I'm panting, halfway to a heart attack, when he stands back up, looking down on me with a suddenly serious expression.
"You think about this, Libby. Really think about if you want to be with me. It'll be a one-time thing. You just said it—I don't do relationships, and I don't make exceptions, even when I'm tempted."
"I don't either.” Although I haven’t ever had the chance, and with him, I totally would.
"Well I'm in if you are." He strokes his palm over my hair. "You give me half an hour and I'll come find you. You sure?" he murmurs.
I nod, clutching the bar stool so I don't fall off.
