She laughed outright and hauled me closer to the counter by my wrist.
“It’s certainly no Michelin star, but close enough,” she said, throwing me a wink.
“Close enough, she says.”
Another joyful laugh filled the air, and I couldn’t help smiling at her happiness. It was contagious.
“Trust me. Ian makes the best dogs this side of Philly.”
I dug my heels into the pavement, and we came to a stop. “Ian, is it?” Eva playfully rolled her eyes. “I can’t remember the last time I had a… hotdog. And it’s probably attached to a memory I’d much rather forget.”
Her mouth parted slightly, guilt pinching her features. “Derek, I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think—”
Sliding an arm around her waist, I put a finger to her lips. “It’s okay. I’ll eat the damn hotdog.” She made a motion to protest, but I shook my head and leaned in close. “As long as you eat one for me too.”
My finger was still pressed against her lips when she brushed them lightly and nodded, eyes on mine.
This woman didn’t even have to try, and she already had my dick hard and aching to be inside her. Sliding her fingers through mine, she pulled me toward a large cardboard menu with an endless list of toppings and unhealthy entrées.
As a kid, I was lucky to get a cold hot dog, let alone bread. But the amount of variation in front of me had my eyes wide and, maybe, just a little bit, my mouth watering.
We sat with our dinner on a nearby bench, far enough away from the sidewalk that we had privacy. I held a small tray piled high with toppings and fixings while Eva had one breadless dog wrapped in aluminum foil.
“Not that hungry?”
“It’s not that. I just have to watch my carbs.”
Eva was so beautiful, so full of life, that it was easy to forget her illness.
“How was your trip?” she asked, carefully unwrapping the food over her thighs.
“It was just business. Nothing special. I’m glad to be back.”
She let out an incredulous laugh. “You’re happy to be back here? In Philly, over France? I don’t believe that for a second.”
I eyed the mountain of toppings on my lap, trying to figure out how the hell I was going to dig in without looking like I needed a bib.
“I don’t understand what you mean. This is home, isn’t it?”
“Anything’s better than here. Some of my best summers were spent in the French Riviera and Marseilles.” Her eyes slid in my direction, and she shrugged her shoulders. “The sights, the city of love and all that? I’m sure those French girls were swooning over your tattoos and unapproachable, brooding face.”
Nearly choking on a bite of hotdog—which was surprisingly quite good—l swallowed audibly, washing down the remnants with water. “For one, this face is very approachable.” She belted out an exaggerated laugh. “And two, I don’t give a damn about those French girls. Look at me, angel.” I reached for her, tipping her face to me. She was serious now, gaze drifting between my eyes and lips. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”
The smile she gifted me made my chest tight. And another loud swallow echoed in my throat. I suddenly felt the urge to put a hand over my heart and grip my shirt.
Was I having a fucking heart attack?
“I’m glad you’re back too. But you have something on the corner of your mouth.” She giggled.
“Oh, fuck.”
Eva beat me to the rough sheet of sandpaper they tried to pass off as a napkin and gently wiped the corner of my mouth.
“It’s just ketchup.” Her soft touch was warm, heating my skin where her fingers lay on my forearm, the fire bleeding through the fabric of my jacket.
A lightheaded feeling forced my eyes closed, and I drew a breath.
Was I coming down with something?
