‘Pizza, Hawaiian,’ she said firmly.
‘I love Hawaiian,’ said Will delightedly.
‘And sweet potato fries.’ Healthier than fries, she knew, and she loved them. ‘Sparkling water.’
‘Same,’ he said to the waiter, his eyes on Ginger.
They ate, and talked as if they’d both been in a desert for years, starved of human company.
They talked about his family, hers. He loved Aunt Grace, whom he’d met when he’d helped with the endless unopened boxes.
‘Should have her own TV show,’ he said.
‘Yes, with Esmerelda in it too: they could sell jewellery and add hints on life.’ Ginger giggled. ‘Esmerelda is worried I won’t ever find a man, so she is suggesting women lately. Once I get the ring on my finger, that’s all that matters. Esmerelda has a very clear-cut view on life.’
‘She and Grace both look like women who have lived good lives, enjoyed the heck out of it,’ Will said.
‘Yeah.’ Ginger looked up to find Will watching her wiping her mouth with her napkin. His eyes were a little glazed as he watched and Ginger realised she was turning him on.
Right there in the restaurant, she felt herself heat up to about one thousand degrees.
‘Let’s go,’ he said.
In the gym car park, they looked at their two cars. ‘I don’t want this evening to end,’ Will said. ‘Would you like to sit in mine and talk before you go home?’
‘You mean we’re not going to spend all night together?’ teased Ginger, astonished at her own daring.
Will groaned. ‘Please, don’t tease me. Let’s do it slowly, go slowly. I would sell my soul to go to yours right now and rip that cat sweatshirt off and hold you but—’ He took a deep breath, steadied himself by leaning both hands against his car. ‘But slow. Right. I’ve tried the fast thing and it doesn’t work.’
Ginger nodded as if she knew this too, when she really had no idea. She felt jealous of him going fast with anyone.
They sat in his car, some jeep type thing that was high up.
‘Right now I’m sorry I don’t have one of those classic old American cars with the bench front seat,’ he said, turning to face Ginger, and she grinned. She knew exactly what he meant.
It was slow. Will leaned forward and took Ginger’s face in his two hands, cradling her, and then his mouth was on hers, moving softly. And suddenly, it wasn’t slow at all. He kissed her with intensity and this time, Ginger didn’t even have to think about where to put her hands. She felt safe and sexy, wanted to be holding him, to be held by him. Their tongues melded, her hands strayed to his T-shirt, pulled it up to rub her flat palms over the sculpted beauty of his chest.
‘Don’t,’ he moaned.
‘I want to touch you.’
‘I want to touch you too, but not here, not in my car in the car park.’
‘Five more minutes,’ Ginger said, and pulled him back to her.
This time, his hands slid under her sweatshirt.
Both their breathing caught as his hands reached her full breasts, his large hands roaming, making Ginger moan at the exquisite sensitivity of it.
‘Oh Ginger, not here.’
Will sat back in his chair, looking seriously rattled, his eyes dark with desire.
‘We are doing this properly, in a bed.’
Sanity reasserted itself. ‘Right. In a bed,’ Ginger agreed. ‘Whose bed and when?’
Will laughed. ‘Very soon,’ he said. ‘Or I might just explode.’
