I like a chick who can wear five-inch heels, a little black dress that leaves little to the imagination, and downs cheap beer and piping hot slices of pepperoni.
“You’re different than I expected.” I watch as she takes a giant bite without giving two shits about burning her mouth.
She opens her mouth, waving her hand frantically in front of her face. “Oh fuck.” Tears start to form in her eyes, and she grabs her beer, chugging half the glass.
“Are you okay?”
“Who needs all that skin on the roof of your mouth anyway? Hell, taste buds are overrated too.” She laughs, wiping the tears from her eyes.
I push my glass of ice water across the table. “Drink,” I tell her.
She doesn’t hesitate in taking the glass and downing the entire thing in a few gulps. “Christ. Okay. Maybe it’s not that bad.” She laughs again.
“Do you want to go?”
“No. I’m going to make this pizza pay for burning my mouth.”
It’s my turn to laugh. She has the best attitude about everything. I can’t imagine her being down a day in her life. Knowing what she went through, losing her husband, I know there’s still hope for me.
“Don’t hold back on my account. I love a woman who can eat.”
“Well, Ang, you’re about to see me demolish the hell out of this bad boy.” She takes a smaller bite this time, careful not to have a repeat performance. “Eat fast or risk starvation,” she tells me.
I only take a few slices, putting them on my plate for safekeeping. I really want to see how much this little redhead can put away. She’s great at shit-talking, but I need to know if she can back it up. I’m giving her free rein over the remaining two-thirds of the pizza.
“Do your damage,” I tell her, loving the little noises she makes with each bite.
My cock seems to like it too. Each moan causes the fucker to twitch, telling me I better get my shit together. Three years is a long time to go without being inside a woman, vows or no vows. I said the words, not my cock and balls, and they’re starting to revolt.
I’m slow to eat my pizza, staring at Tilly in amazement as she puts away each slice like she’s an NFL linebacker and not a Southern lady who wouldn’t be caught dead in a pair of blue jeans. In under thirty minutes, she polishes off every slice of pizza on the tray and half a pitcher of beer.
“I’m stuffed.” She dabs her lips with the napkin.
I stare at her in amazement and shake my head. “I don’t know where you put it.”
She drops the napkin to the plate and grips her stomach. “You can’t lay down a challenge and not expect me to follow through. I’m as competitive as they come.”
“I can see that.” I can’t wipe the dopey smile off my face. “You want more to drink?”
She shakes her head. “I seriously can’t fit another thing inside me, or I’ll look more like a sausage roll in this dress than an actual human.”
“Don’t be silly. You’re a knockout.”
“It’s been a long time since a man has flirted with me.” She touches the base of her throat, drawing my eyes away from her face. “I could get used to this.”
“I highly doubt I’m the first. Maybe you just weren’t listening. If a man has a pulse, he’s at least thinking what I’m saying.”
She blushes again. “I’m sure all the ladies are after you.”
I shake my head and laugh. “A single father isn’t really most-eligible-bachelor material.”
“A handsome man with two children whom he loves and cherishes is most definitely a head-turner.”
“Well, my attitude sometimes has a way of putting women off.”
“You’re intense, but that shows you’re passionate.”
“I’ll remember that the next time my sister tells me to stop being an asshole. I’ll just tell her I’m passionate.”
