“I’m good.” My voice sounds meek, and he takes his hand away as if scorched.
I slide a mitt on, and bending from my waist, I retrieve the food. Plating it, I hope for the best as I take the first bite.
Bile rises when I chew on the bland and barely cooked meat. It’s not even edible, because good would taste differently.
“This is delicious,” he says through a big swallow, rinsing with a gulp of water.
I spit the rest in the napkin, pushing the plate aside. “If it were, you would chew it. It’s atrocious.”
We burst into laughter, and I apologize when he places his hand on mine. “This is so thoughtful. Thank you for preparing dinner for me.”
Just push your hand into my chest and take my heart out already, will you? It feels foreign in my chest. It wants to follow its rightful owner.
Those carnal lips of his, I know all too well what they can do, curl up in a mesmerizing grin as he continues eating.
“So do you like football?” he asks in between bites.
I’m still astounded that he keeps eating my food.
I shrug. “It bonds me with my father. Growing up, he was away a lot and…”
He nods. “I understand.”
“But it’s not like I like to watch football in my spare time.” I opt for sincerity.
“Ouch. Am I not entertaining you?” His voice lowers to that husky rasp, and I could tear my clothes off, offering myself to him to do whatever he pleases.
I trace the rim of the glass. “Oh, you sure are.”
A mesmerizing grin stretches the corners of his lips. “If you watch my next game, I’ll make sure to entertain you more. All my touchdowns will be for you.”
I bat my lashes subtly, hoping for a flirtatious look. “The honor. Do you do that with all the girls you meet?”
“Never had the urge before,” he says, the earnest tone erasing any doubt.
Awareness hits me square in the face. We’re full-on flirting.
I clear my throat, hoping to bring this hazardous game to a close. “We should head to bed. It’s late.”
“Should we?” he chuckles.
I lower my head on the table, banging my forehead a few times. “You know what I mean.”
“Lilly, we’re friends,” he says, brushing a strand of my hair back.
I hastily shoot up from my chair, the plates rattling just like my insides. “Friends don’t…”
Sighing, he stands up and kisses the top of my head. “Good night, flower girl.”
“Good night, reckless guy,” I rasp.
He puts our plates in the dishwasher before he leaves.
In bed, I stare at his name on my phone, tucking the device to my chest.
Oh, Ian, something tells me you’re the temptation of my life, and I am so very weak for you. To resist you is nearly impossible.
I fall asleep with a sigh, but when I wake up, a smile lifts the corners of my mouth—used to these feelings he elicits in me. Or maybe I am going mad. It wouldn’t surprise me at this point.
