Page 6 of Easy Come

We ordered iced teas and Kyle lumbered off, looking as if he'd rather be anywhere but serving food in a mom and pop restaurant.

Trey's long legs stretched out beneath the table. His toe touched my foot. I wasn't completely sure it was accidental. The way his intense gaze seemed to be assessing me made me fidget with the place setting. The knife fell on the floor, producing enough clamor to grab everyone's attention for a second before they returned to their meals and conversations. Trey leaned down to pick up the knife and took his time about it.

His head popped up, and he placed the knife on the corner of the table. "Nice legs."

The comment caused me to lower my hands and yank down the hem of my skirt, even though it was already plenty long enough and no one could see my legs through the table. My defensive response made him smile. It was a great smile. Of course.

I leaned forward and put my elbow on the table and then remembered my mom's admonishment to never put my elbow on the dinner table and pulled it off. I rested my hands on my lap to avoid pushing another piece of silverware to the floor. "Do you eat here often?"

"When I feel like a home cooked meal. Sometimes the high brow restaurants with their tiny, artsy portions just don't cut it. I save those lunches for—"

"Important people and not frazzled reporters looking for tabloid fodder?" My nerves were settling, and I was feeling a bit more myself.

"No not at all. I leave snooty restaurants for snooty people. A lot of people assume that I was always rich and that the guys and I just used a chunk of our trust funds to start a company. But that's not the case." He paused as Kyle lowered the teas in front of us. I ordered a quiche and Trey ordered a burger.

"Up until just two years ago, Zane, Chase and I were sharing a crummy two room apartment and Aidan was living in his sister's garage."

I sipped some tea. "Please continue. I'm far more interested in hearing about your success story than how you run the company. In fact, before Meredith took her father's place at the magazine, I wrote human interest stories."

"I know. I did some quick research on you before Chase walked you into my office. Impressive resume. I read that you won some prestigious journalism awards."

My face dropped to hide the blush.

"It's a shame the magazine is changing its format. They are wasting your talent."

I was never good at accepting compliments, and when they were doubled up, it was extra hard. "You were telling me about starting the company," I interjected quickly for a topic change.

"The four of us grew up together in a crummy neighborhood where there were more empty strip malls than open businesses. Our first money making venture was starting a garage band, which failed after we realized that none of us were musical. Each one of us had our family problems. I grew up with a single mom, and I had to help take care of my younger brother, Quinn. My dad left when I was three so I barely knew him. My mom had to work two jobs to keep shoes on our feet. And at the rate the two of us grew, that wasn't easy. After high school, the guys and I all parted ways, trying to find our paths in life. Only those paths brought us all back together at a friend's wedding. We were all still looking for our futures. The one thing we all had in common was we loved women and sex. Seems like a shallow reason to start a business, but once the ideas started flowing, the thing took off like a rocket. Turned out a lot of other people had the same thing in common with us."

A group of young women came in, laughing and texting and tossing back long, shiny hair. Kyle practically ran across the room to give them menus.

"You mentioned you had a story idea? Something that would benefit all parties? Is it the rags to riches plotline? I love the idea, but I don't think Meredith will bite. And I use the term bite freely when it comes to that woman."

"I agree. From what Chase has told me about her, I don't think she'll bite either. I have another idea, but you need to keep an open mind."

"I always have an open mind." I pulled the notebook out of my bag.

"Just listen first. You won't need notes because this story is going to be about you."

"That's funny."

"I'm not joking." Trey pushed his sleeves back farther, exposing a circle of barbed wire tattooed around his arm. It might have looked barbaric on someone else, but on him, it just looked . . . good. "Let's start with your sex life."

"And we're done here." I slid out of the booth. His fingers wrapped around my arm, there was a firmness to his grasp that should have worried me. Instead, it sent an unexpected surge of heat through me.

"Sit and hear me out. Then, if you hate the idea you can just walk away."

I sat back down. "Fine."

Trey titled his head and looked at me, waiting for me to answer his question.

I fidgeted with the collar on my blouse and noticed, for the hundredth time since I’d met the man, that his eyes were focused on the top button. "At the moment, my sex life is—well, it's non-existent. I was seeing someone for a few years, but we broke up."

"Why is that?"

"Peanut butter sandwiches."

His smooth brow arched up. "Peanut butter sandwiches?"

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