Page 81 of Striking Heat
She giggles. “I think that’s because of August.”
“True.”
“What do you think he’ll do if he figures out there’s something happening here?” she asks.
“Is there something happening here?”
We’ve never really talked about it, but we’ve danced around it. The malice in her voice seems to have died down. That could be because I’ve stopped working so hard to push her buttons. Now I’m more focused on pushing other buttons that turn her on.
I lean back in my seat, taking a small sip of wine. Watching her. Waiting to see if she’ll answer this question for us. When shedoesn’t, I speak. “I’d like to think there’s something beyond our professional relationship. What do you think?”
“I think we passed professional when you put your mouth on me.” She giggles and takes a sip from her wine glass.
“Yeah, well, you weren’t complaining.”
“Never said I was.” She winks at me, and I laugh. I love this little playful side of her that’s come out to play. I don’t see it that often.
“Touché.”
The food arrives and we dig in. I have to stop myself from staring at her. She looks so beautiful in the dimly lit restaurant with the sun setting beside us. Her moans as she enjoys her pasta are not lost on me either.
“Here I thought I was the only one who could make you make those sounds,” I tease her.
She looks up and flushes. “Sometimes a really good plate of pasta can do it too.”
“Noted.” I return to my food but catch her still watching me. “What?”
“Thank you for this. I know I’m tired and was a little moody about coming out. But this is a nice night. Almost feels like it’s a date.” She watches me carefully, waiting for my response to that.
“I feel like this might be a date too. You deserve to be wined and dined. I should have done it sooner and I’m sorry for that. I do know better.”
“Your mama raised you right,” she teases.
“Are you diverting away from the actual topic at hand? If so, you’re doing an excellent job of it.”
“Am I that transparent?”
“Just a tad. But we don’t have to talk about this if you’re not comfortable.” I try to hide my disappointment, but I’m pretty sure she can see right through it.
“You were kind of hoping to talk about this tonight, huh?”
“Not entirely the reason for our dinner, but I thought maybe if you were open to it, we could discuss it.”
“I’m stuffed,” she says, leaning back and placing a hand on her stomach.
I nod. “We can get ready to head out if you’d like.”
“We don’t have to go. I’m just full.”
We sit in awkward silence for a bit until the waitress, sensing that our date is over, comes back with the check. I take it and pay the bill while Mac’s leftovers are boxed up and taken home with her.
“Do you want to sit out on the beach?” I ask her. “I think I have a blanket in the car.”
“Sure,” she says.
I deposit her leftovers on her seat and grab a blanket from the trunk. Once we’re situated on the beach, she cuddles up to me.
“This is nice, listening to the waves crash in the dark.”
