AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Yes. Biology class, freshman year in high school, but it feels like yesterday. Would you want to get pithed by a panicky, pimply high school kid?”
“Your lab partner?”
“Nope. Suzie Ashurst was cool as ice tea on a Sunday afternoon. Sadly, I was the panicky kid. I was the pimply pither who, at the last minute, couldn’t go through with it.”
I inhale bubbly water, and burst out coughing and laughing at the same time. One hand flies to my face trying to contain the seltzer that sprays out of my nose.
“Uh-oh.” Dylan bites back a smile. “The curse of the frog rescue story strikes again. Are you okay? Or do I need to give you mouth to mouth?” He waggles his eyebrows.
I stop snorting, my cheeks turning warm, and I stifle giggles. “I’m fine. I’m fine.”
“Albeit a little wet.” He grabs a napkin and pats my wet face. My wet lips. My wet chest right above the dress where it takes a V turn down my cleavage.
“Sorry.” My face might be flushed from laughing but that doesn’t explain why the V between my legs is also warm, throbbing, and wet. “You crack me up.”
“We’re going to do just fine together, you and I,” he says, removing his hand – dare I hope reluctantly – and regards me with something more than affection, his blue eyes twinkling.
We sip on our bubby water that I miraculously manage to keep inside this time, and chat like we’ve known each other forever.
“Cubs or White Sox?” he asks.
“Don’t care as long as Chicago makes it to the playoffs,” I say. “Dallas Cowboys or the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders?”
“That depends on what activity you have in mind.”
“Point taken.”
“Why is Chicago called the Windy City?” he asks.
“You did not include ‘pop quiz’ in your instructions.”
“You read that?”
“Of course I read that.”
“Geez, no one reads anything I write.”
My nose scrunches. “I call bullshit.”
He laughs.
“And Chicago’s called the Windy City because the politicians talk B.S. all the time,” I say.
“Get out. I thought it was the winds gusting off the lake.”
It’s a dance without a dance floor. And so it goes for another twenty minutes. Dylan’s funny. Self-deprecating. Kind-hearted. Gorgeous. The more time I spend with him the more I like him. The more time I spend with him the more I want to spend.
“You’re smart, Evelyn,” he says inside the elevator as we ascend to the Penthouse. His gaze slides from my face down to my breasts, then back up.
His lips are so full, his cheekbones high and strong, and the glimpse of groomed chest hair revealed by the two undone buttons might be my undoing. Good God, this man is hot. “Call me Evie.” I avert my eyes and fiddle with my hair, pushing strands behind my ear so I don’t spontaneously combust right here, right now in the elevator.
“Evie, it is. Ready to meet an intimate crowd of my worthy adversaries, dearest enemies, and ruthless hosts? I’ve got to warn you. They’re not the nicest people in the world. I should have put that in the instructions, but God forbid that goes public, these assholes will never let me hear the end of it.”
“I’m not sharing anything you tell me with anyone.”
“Good,” he says. “I’m not kidding. Gamblers are a weird lot. Case in point. The Fast Food King plays tonight. I grew up down the road from him in Dallas. He’s got this disturbing habit of licking his lips when he sees a pretty girl. If he stares at you and licks his lips, run for the hills, darling. His next move will be trying to get in your pants.”
“The Fast Food King will fail because I’m wearing a dress.”
