Why did I still care?
“It wasn’t easy.”
I wasn’t willing to say more. The earlier talk with Monroe had me too worn out to travel any further down memory lane.
Presley finished his sandwich and pushed the plate toward me. “You know I was only kidding about the fries. Finish them if you want.”
“Nah, then I won’t be able to eat my dessert. And here it comes.”
Roberta set our plates with the pie and cake down and took away Presley’s food. Fluffy white cream covered the shortcake, and glistening, red strawberries peeked out from the high, creamy swirls.
“That looks sinfully good,” Presley said.
I stuck my finger into the cream and held it in front of his lips. “Here. Try.”
Those soft lips of his wrapped around my finger, and his silky tongue swept over the cream. “Mmm…” Eyes closed, he sucked and drew his mouth down and off my finger.
That one vibrating syllable set off a storm of longing through me. I’d never held out on having sex with a man, and while it was driving me crazy, it was nice getting to know each other. I wanted to learn more about his childhood and his parents. In my three-year relationship with Carson, I’d barely found out more about him than the fact that he’d moved to New York City from a small town in Pennsylvania. We spent more time together with our clothes off than on, and the times he’d come with me to Long Island or the Hamptons to visit Ethan, he’d preferred swimming or playing tennis to sitting around and talking.
Presley had eaten half his pie and ice cream when he set down his fork. “Do you have any plans for the weekend?”
“None at all. I usually spend it in bed, hungover from Friday night, then go out and get drunk all over again.”
“As appealing as that sounds,” he drawled, eyes bright, and I wanted to kiss him right there by the little dimple in his cheek, “I have another idea. How about getting together Saturday night?”
“What do you have in mind?” I waggled my brows as I slid another piece of cake into my mouth.
“Not what you’re thinking,” Presley said with a laugh. “But I’d like to spend time with you aside from these quick, after-meeting catch-ups, so that we can actually get to know each other.”
Seeing Presley sitting across from me with hope written on his face and his teeth nervously gnawing and mauling those perfect, kissable lips did something funny inside my chest. “Sure. Saturday night. It’s a date.” When had this gone from just a hookup to someone I wanted to see again and again?
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been out on a proper date, and the little thrill of anticipation was something I hadn’t felt in years. Every moment I spent with Presley brought me closer to not wanting to let him go.
Chapter Nine
“Where should I go with him? And don’t say into bed.”
“I wasn’t,” Frisco huffed, then smirked, and I marveled how he avoided whiplash from the rapid switch of emotions. “That’s so boring. Beds are overrated.”
“Frisco,” I warned. I needed him to help. I thought there’d be so much we could do, but midwinter in the city was the least pleasant time of year. It was cold and windy, and the forecast called for snow. “Help me. I want to do something he’s never done before.”
“I have a feeling going on a date and not having sex will be a first for your Nate. He’s got a bit of a rep as a hard-core partier, you know.”
Not that it surprised me, but I’d wondered. “What have you heard?” I hated gossiping but had a need to know. Call me a hypocrite.
“Oh, the usual. Picking up waitstaff and bartenders at parties and clubs. Fooling around in the bathroom.”
“Lovely. And bythe usual, am I to assume that’s standard operating procedure for you as well?” Why Frisco didn’t understand he deserved so much more than a quick suck-off eluded me.
“First of all, I hear the condemnation in your voice. Don’t look down on me for my choices when you’ve lived the past six years regretting your own.” He didn’t often get angry with me, but when he did, Frisco could be a bit mean and hurtful. Did I forget truthful as well?
“I’m sorry, that was obnoxious, you’re right. You’re such a special person, I want you to find someone who can appreciate you.”
“It was rude as fuck, but you’re forgiven because I’ve been equally harsh with you, and I know you meant it in a different way than it came across. And as far as being appreciated, I am. Many men have called out to God and Jesus while in my bed.”
There was no response to that, so we ate our breakfast in silence. I’d texted and asked him to meet me early on Saturday, before I opened the store, to help me brainstorm for my date with Nate that night. The weather Friday night had been horrible, with icy sleet pelting the windows and a howling wind that made me long for hot summer nights and cold rosé wine. Nate and I spent some time video-chatting about our day. He’d kept poking at me, trying to find out what we’d be doing, and I had to put him off with, “You’ll see,” over and over. Now it was Saturday, and I still had no idea.
“How about something food-related? I have a friend who’s a chef, and he holds cooking classes.” Frisco returned to our earlier conversation.
