“Would you like freshly shredded Parmesan?” the server asked.
“Yes, please.”
I told her when after a semi-respectable time.
Matt lifted his glass of Malbec. I lifted my glass of Sauvignon Blanc.
“To new friendships,” he said, tapping his glass to mine.
As a reminder to myself, I added, “And fake dates.”
Was that disappointment in his eyes?
No, it can’t be. Must be the ambient light.
We tapped our glasses on the table before sipping our wine.
“Dig in,” he said, lifting his fork.
And we did. The meal was amazing. The creamy sauce and seasoned shrimp were I-want-to-eat-myself-sick delicious, and I had to force myself to slow down.
“Want to try a bite?” I asked.
“Sure. Want to trade bites? This steak is cooked to perfection.”
“Yes, please.” As a Texan, I loved all things steak.
“It’s medium rare, is that okay?”
“The only way to eat it.” Cooking steak more than that was an insult.
Instead of handing each other our forks, we fed each other.
Matt’s pupil’s dilated as I pulled the steak off his fork. His knee hit the table when I licked my lips.
“Sorry,” he said, steadying the table while trying to hide his flushed cheeks.
I enjoyed having that effect on him. It meant I wasn’t the only one thinking about the night we got naked together and wanting to do it again.
Could we be friends with benefits?
Three faces flashed in my mind’s eye.
Nope. My father’s sons would make our lives a living hell if they so much as suspected we might be sleeping together.
“Your turn,” I said.
Eating pasta isn’t sexy. Unless it’s Matt eating it off your fork while staring into your eyes and moaning as the sauce coated his tongue.
Chapter 18
Matt
The look in Madi’s eyes as she watched me eat the pasta was enough to make my erection impossibly hard. Her tongue darted out and swiped her bottom lip.
What I wouldn’t give to do the same. And maybe nibble on it too.
She’d liked it when I’d bitten her lower lip six months ago.
