I huff at that as I start to juice the lemons with my little wooden handheld juicer. “Aren’t most men?”
Maren wraps a loop of hair around her fingers, and I can’t help but notice how pretty her hands are. Long fingers withshort nails painted in a pale blue that matches the Magnolia Bait and Marine polo shirts she usually wears.
With a half-juiced lemon in my hand, I lean over and kiss her slowly. There’s something…special…about not having to run things. Of actually wanting the person you’re having sex with to hang around with you. Can’t remember the last club girl I said more than a few words to.
“You sure know how to kiss a girl, Knox,” she says softly.
“Thank you. I got some other moves I’d like to show you later.”
She bats my shoulder. “Just when I thought you could be sweet.”
I finish making our drinks. Maren feeds me olives. I steal a kiss and the occasional grope because I’m only human.
“Alright,” I say, handing her the glass. “Moment of truth.”
Maren grins as she takes the crystal tumbler. “I’m sure it’s going to be delicious.”
I clink my glass to hers. “Cheers. Now, drink.”
“Cheers,” she says, and takes a sip.
There’s a pause. One long enough for me to sip and know I nailed the recipe.
“Okay,” she admits. “That’s actually really good.”
“Did you honestly think it wasn’t going to be?”
She points to the egg white. “I was trying to convince myself this bit wouldn’t be gross, like an undercooked meringue. But it’s not.”
She licks her lips and then takes another sip, closing her eyes as she savors it. “Mmm. Definitely delicious.”
I take a sip of my own drink. “I’m taking the compliment.”
“Don’t get too used to them,” she says.
I shake my head, but I’m smiling into my glass. “I won’t.”
And somewhere between the first drink and the second, it really does start to feel like we’re on our very own private date.
Maren puts on some music, and on a ridiculous whim, I take her hand and we dance in silly circles, and sometimes I spin her out and catch her.
“This is exactly what I had in mind,” Maren says as I hold her close.
“What is?”
“This. You. Me. Dancing. Making whiskey sours. Learning things about one another.”
I kiss her softly. “It’s all a ploy to get you into bed later.”
Maren hooks her hands around my neck. “I certainly hope so.”
I wrap my arms around her a little more tightly. While I’m not ready to admit it to myself, let alone say it out loud, there is something bone-deep satisfying about being here with her.
There are no servers or fancy tablecloths. None of it is upscale, apart from those damn glasses North got on discount. But it feels…real.
By drink four, we end up sitting on the floor, our backs resting on the foot of the bed. I brought snacks. Not a full meal, which was probably foolish given the volume of alcohol we’re drinking. Crackers. Cheeses. Sliced meats. More olives. And chips.
They lay open around us.
