But her appeal does not end with her voluptuous body. No, she’s got all of the qualities I like. She’s funny. Smart. And even a little mean.
Maybe it’s the youngest child in me, but I like that part too.
I like it more than I probably should, sitting here with taco wrappers going soft and greasy on the tray between us.
“So you just cowboy?”
I smile at her verbing the noun. “I cowboy. Or ranch, if you prefer.”
“For money.”
“Sometimes.”
“Fascinating.”
“You’re mocking my profession.”
“I’m trying to understand your profession.”
“No, you’re not.”
“No,” she admits, and something in her mouth curls at the corner. “I’m not.”
I laugh, loud enough that the guy behind the counter glances over.
She smiles.
Not the tiny one I managed to drag out of her at the hospital. A real one this time.
It takes over her whole face, crinkles the skin at the corners of her eyes. One dimple pops in her left cheek.
Fuck me, I’m in real trouble here.
There should be some kind of warning before she does that. A blinking light or a siren. Something to warn a guy that her smile is a weapon of mass destruction waiting to infiltrate my heart.
I pick up another taco, mostly so my hands have somewhere to be that isn’t on her. Because I’m about ready to just pull her into my lap just to feel the weight of her against my body. I shift in my seat, noting that my cock is just as interested in her as the rest of me.
“What about you?”
“I don’t cowboy. Or ranch.”
“I figured.”
“I teach art.”
“You teach?”
“Elementary school.”
I stare at her.
I can’t help it.
It’s unexpected. Still, I can readily admit that maybe, on the surface, Jules and young kids don’t make sense. But then I think about everything I learned in my classes and my own experiences in the classroom, limited though they are. Her in-your-face attitude and no-holds-barred straightforwardness are exactly what most kids love.
She immediately points a finger at me, taco still in her other hand. “Whatever you’re about to say, don’t.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything.”