Page 39 of Suddenly Dating
“No. It’s a very small kitchen.”
He looked around them; it was one of the biggest kitchens he’d ever seen. When he turned back to make that point, she was standing at his elbow, holding a butcher knife. Maybe Harry was a little too drunk, but he flinched.
“What?” she asked innocently, then dropped the knife into the sudsy water.
“How does someone as cute as you write a book like that?” he asked.
She smiled, clearly pleased. “I have a very vivid imagination.”
“I always heard writers were supposed to write what they know,” he said.
“I don’t think you have to worry... yet,” she said, and tilted her head back, looking up at him. “But if I were you, I’d keep up the good work just in case.” She slapped his butt like a coach, brushed past him again, and poured more wine into their glasses. Harry had lost track, but he thought maybe a second bottle had been opened.
“Seriously? From what little I read, that is some dark stuff,” he said, curious about her book.
“Well yeah, because she’s a cute psycho. Looks can be so deceiving, don’t you think?”
Harry stopped washing and looked at her. Lola burst out laughing. “I’m teasing you!” she said as he dried his hands on a towel and turned toward her. “It’s one hundred percent fiction. Haven’t you seenGone Girl?”
“No,” he said.
“Well, don’t,” she said, frowning a little. “It might alarm you.” She laughed as she tossed down the dishtowel, then removed her superwoman apron. She put her hands on her hips, tilted her head to one side and smiled at him. “You know what, Hardhat Harry? This has been fun.”
“It has,” he agreed. “You’re an excellent cook.” He could see the pie tin behind her, and his hazy thoughts wandered toward a second piece.
Lola followed his gaze, then looked back at him. “And you’re the perfect dinner companion. You eat everything on your plate.”
“I have a long history of being a perfect dinner companion then. I’d have to say the same of you, Lola. Not every woman out there is into the Mets.” That reminded him—there was a game on tonight. He said, “I think I know the perfect end to this delightful evening.”
“Wait... are you thinking whatI’mthinking?”
“I think so.”
Lola laughed. So did Harry. But he didn’t get it at first, didn’t see it coming until Lola put her hands on his chest and rose up on her toes and pressed her soft, warm lips against his. It shocked him—he was not used to women planting one on him, and in that moment, he froze, his head frantically trying to decide what to do while his heart was totally into it. The rest of his body got in line behind his heart when her tongue began to tease his stunned mouth, and then, somehow, his hand was on her breast. And then he was moving. He was lifting her up without any thought at all and putting her on the counter. He shoved his hand into her hair, cupping the back of her head as he pulled her into his body, pressing against her. She had lit a flame in him, and desire was suddenly burning him up, turning his inside to ashes.
Lola drew her knees up around him; her skirt had slid down her thighs, baring them to him. He took hold of one, kneading her flesh as he kissed her. His body was reacting, powering up, ready to launch... but then something pierced his wine-fogged brain.What the hell was he doing?Where was he going with this?
Harry managed to corral the rest of himself and stopped what he was doing. He pressed his forehead to hers, wiped her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. “That should not have happened,” he said roughly.
“Uh-huh,” she said dreamily.
“We’re roommates,” he reminded her.
Lola opened her eyes. “Temporary roommates at that,” she said and let go of his wrist, which he hadn’t realized she was holding until that moment. She pushed him back, then slid off the counter, straightening her skirt, shoving her fingers through the wild mess of her hair.
“I’m sorry—” he started.
“No, you can’t,” she said firmly, putting her hand over his mouth. “I can’t stand it when a guy apologizes for touching.”
He pulled her hand away from his mouth. “I’m damn sure not sorry for that,” he said. “I’m sorry for having crossed a boundary.”
“Well don’t be,” she said, and picked up the dishtowel. “I’m the one who crossed it.” She began to polish the countertop. “We’re grownups, Harry. We can kiss if we want.”
“Right,” he said uncertainly. Kissing was not a game to him. Kissing was a door that opened onto a whole other landscape.
“But I think we both agree the night got away from us,” she said as her polishing intensified.
Now she sounded like some middle school teacher. “Yes,” he said obediently.
