A summer breeze shifted, and a fresh scent with a hint of citrus hit me just as he turned around.
“Wow,” he said, staring down at my dress, his blue eyes open wide. “You look like a girl.”
“I am a girl.”
“So people keep telling me.”
“What people?”
“My mother, for one.”
“How is your mother?” I asked.
He stared down at my peaches, mouth slightly open.
I held my hand in front of my cle**age and moved my fingers like a hand puppet. In a silly voice, I said, “Tell your mother my sweater puppies say hello.”
He stepped backward on the porch and looked down at his feet, shuffling them as he stuffed his hands in his pockets.
“You look nice, too,” I said in the ensuing awkward silence. “Is that how you used to dress when you were a high-powered real estate mogul?”
He coughed. “Mogul?”
“That’s the right word, isn’t it? Mogul. Or am I thinking of those ski bumps? Mogul. Mogul?”
“Mogul.” He looked up thoughtfully, avoiding my eyes.
“Mogul. Hmm. Now it just sounds made up.”
Adrian pulled out his phone. “We can solve this dilemma in two shakes.”
After a few seconds, he glanced up at me, cocked his head to the side, and put the phone back in his pocket. “Interesting,” he said.
“Are you going to tell me?”
“Are you going to invite me in off your porch? Or did you mean what you said last night? That if I walked out, I wouldn’t walk back in again, or something to that effect.”
To avoid answering him and talking about my humiliation the night before, I pulled my phone out of my purse and looked up the word. FYI, mogul can describe an influential person, and it also can be a bump on a ski hill, or a member of the dynasty that ruled India until 1857.
As I put away my phone, I said, “We were pretty drunk last night. I’m sorry for trying to take advantage of you, but you’re just SO handsome and desirable. Honestly, you’d better stay out on that porch, because heaven help you if you set foot inside my lair again.”
“I knew I should have brought my bear spray.”
He made a show of coming right up to the door frame, resting his forearms high on the frame, and looking around but not coming in. For an instant, I was reminded of the first time Dalton Deangelo came to visit, and how he’d lurked on the porch before trying to scare me with his vampire character’s fangs.
“You’re not invited in,” I said coldly.
“Why not? Where’s Shayla?”
“It’s Saturday night, and I’m wearing a designer dress from a boutique in LA. Look at my toes, peeking out from my dressy sandals. That’s a fresh pedicure, and fresh pedicures always need to go out, so, no, you’re not invited in to eat potato chips and feel me up on my secondhand sofa.”
Grinning, he said, “That’s good, because I have reservations for us at DeNirro’s.”
I pulled my purse strap up my shoulder and grabbed my keys. “Now we’re talking.”
~
On the short drive to the restaurant, I tried to pry out of him whatever information he had on Black Sheep Books, but he refused to give it up so easily. Typical Adrian, playing hard to get.
He really did have restaurant reservations, which was a good thing, because the little Italian restaurant with the red-checked tablecloths was full of people. The air was rich with that gorgeous Saturday night aroma of perfume, wine, and fresh bread. Absolute heaven. And the gorgeous man sitting across from me didn’t hurt, either.
“You shaved,” I said once we were seated.
He leaned in across the table and patted his cheek. “Feel.”
I reached across the table tentatively and stroked his cheek. “Smooth as a freshly-powdered baby’s bottom.”
He took my hand, and—to my surprise—popped my thumb into his mouth. He made eye contact with me as he sucked my thumb in his hot mouth. My ni**les went BA-WANG. He licked the tip of his tongue along my thumb. All the other parts of me also went BA-WANG.
Chuckling, he withdrew my thumb and gave me a wink. “Couldn’t resist,” he said.
My cheeks flushed with heat as I looked around the crowded restaurant. It didn’t seem like anyone had noticed, but ever since I’d become an Internet-Famous Person, I’d gotten a touch paranoid about photographers and evil reporters—not that they’re typically found in a small town like Beaverdale, Washington.
I grimaced and pretended to be disgusted by Adrian’s saliva on my thumb. I rubbed off my thumb with a cloth napkin. I whisper-yelled, “How dare you fellate my thumb in public.”
“You don’t enjoy a little pre-dinner thumb fellatio?” he asked, feigning innocence.
The waitress, who thankfully wasn’t anyone I knew, came up to take our drinks order. She gave me a knowing smile and said, “Pitcher of sangria again?”
Adrian laughed. I didn’t know the waitress, but she sure knew me. I kicked him under the table, then ordered a Diet Coke. He ordered a root beer float.
“That was my favorite drink in high school,” he explained. “I’d rather have beer, but I’m not drinking if you aren’t. You already outsmart and outwit me too easily when I’m sober. You always did.”
I laughed, shaking my head at his attempt to flatter me.
Did I outsmart him all the time? Of course I did. I knew that.
His flattery washed over me repeatedly, and I did feel myself glowing from the compliment. I always have been a smart girl, even though I’ve done insanely stupid things (like not realize I was pregnant, until I was giving birth at fifteen, alone and unprepared).
He said a few more flattering things, but I didn’t catch all the words. Instead of hearing him, I shuddered at the memory of nearly dying alone because of my stupidity. Why could I never just enjoy someone saying something good about me without torturing myself with my mistakes?
Perhaps it was an internal fail-safe to keep me from getting a big ego. For the last few days, acquaintances had been coming out of the woodwork, complimenting me on scoring an underwear line endorsement and being the model for the ad campaign. To most of those people, I’d blurted out, “Yeah, but it’s a plus-size line, so they wanted a regular girl, not a model.” Even though I was a model, part of me still rejected the notion.
The waitress brought our drinks, and we ordered dinner. I sipped my Diet Coke as I eyed Adrian’s root beer float, which was foaming over like a science fair volcano.