“Kathy’s not ready,” Winnie finally stammers out.
“Between you and me, Creampuff, I’m not actually here for Kathy.” I wink at her.
“You’re—” she croaks then swallows.
I’m mesmerized by her neck.
“You’re not supposed to be here.”
“Where else would I be?”
“Kathy’s going to meet you at the restaurant. It was in the date plan that I sent over.”
“Let’s talk about that. That was more thorough than most investment presentations I’ve gotten.” I admire the familiar foyer. I’ve been in here a hundred times, and I’ll never get tired of the way it smells like her—sweet, like the pastries she makes. “You act like I’m too incompetent to plan a date that will knock a woman off her feet.”
“Clearly you are, if you waltz into her home uninvited.”
“God forbid I show up to a woman’s home to pick her up for a date.”
“You need to leave. Go wait in the car.” Winnie gestures to the front door.
I ignore her and check my watch. “How much longer can Kathy take? She’s a supermodel, right? She wakes up gorgeous.”
Winnie’s mouth purses.
“Aren’t you going to offer me a drink while I wait?” I smirk down at her.
“No. And you’re early. You’re like an hour early.”
“Traffic.”
“Traffic?” She rushes after me as I head to the wet bar in her living room.
“You didn’t account for traffic in your plan, Creampuff.”
Goddamn, all I want to do is kiss her.
I’m here in her house with her.
It’s thrilling.
I try to pretend like I don’t know where anything is.
I inspect her liquor.
I pick the cognac I left as a present for her a couple weeks ago.
“There’s a massive sports event tonight. Roads are clogged.” I hand her a glass of the amber liquor. “People come in from the suburbs—they don’t know how to drive. They wander around in the middle of the street. I didn’t want either of us to be delayed getting to the restaurant and thought it would be better if we were stuck in traffic together. An opportunity to get to know each other, you know?”
I sit down on the couch, the one we were on last night, the one she lay sprawled out on, a present just for me, as I stole those gasps of pleasure.
Her cheeks redden.
Does she remember? Remember last night? Remember me?
I know I don’t smell the same.
I’m wearing my imported cologne, the new one, an indie brand, the one that smells like teak and the Colorado sky. Even if she presses her lips to the back of my neck, wraps her arms around me, she won’t know I’m the masked stranger who almost made her come last night.
