Page 56 of Take A Number
“You cooked last time. It’s my turn.”
My brows wrinkle at the loss of control, but I hear myself grumble back, “Okay then.”
“Okay then. I’ll see you tonight.”
“See you tonight.”
“And Norah?”
“What?”
“This will get easier.”
I sigh heavily. “You could make it easier by torturing me less, you know.”
“But where’s the fun in that?”
We say our goodbyes, and I drop onto the bench, and a million nervous butterflies leave my belly. Dean was spot-on: I totally just made my first booty call. And I sucked at it. Not only did I suck at it but I also lost all the control I was subtly trying to claim.
However, if letting Dean take charge this weekend inspired a whole new croinut flavor, maybe letting him cook for me can inspire a whole new pastry. The creative side of my brain alights with that exciting possibility because let’s face it, my creative brain has been shoved to the backburner for far too long while I’ve been focusing on the Denver location and the franchise plans.
Now might be the perfect time for creative Norah to come out and play.
Dean’s townhouse is on the edge of Boulder, a little off the beaten path for a guy who loves the nightlife so much, but as I pull up, I can see the appeal. The homes look brand new with great views and a really nice bike path just across the street. Based on the people milling around, it seems like a community of young twenty and thirty-somethings. I never gave much thought to where I lived after moving out of my parents’ place when I opened up the bakery. I knew if I was getting up before the sun rose to prep dough, I needed as much convenience as possible.
I ring the doorbell and straighten out my slouchy pastel pink sweater that I threw on over a simple white V-neck tee and ripped skinny jeans. Rachael said since this was technically a third date, I should dress casually. She then added that since this was a casual sex situation, fire engine red lingerie underneath was a must. Thankfully, I have drawers full of this stuff so that was the easiest choice I made for the night. However, now that I’m standing outside Dean’s house visualizing sex again, I’m starting to feel highlyuneasy.
Dean opens the door, and his scent immediately hits me, causing me to bite my lip to hide my pleased smirk. God, he always smells so good. It’s hard to resist the urge to press my nose into his chest every time he’s near. His cologne probably costs more than my car payment, though.
He props his arm on the doorframe, offering me an easy smile as he stands barefoot in a pair of jeans and an untucked button-down, looking all tall, dark, and Boulder. He’s trimmed his beard to a five o’clock shadow again, and I have to admit, I prefer him this way.
I thrust the Tupperware into his hands that I brought and swipe at the sweat collecting on my upper lip. “It’s a seven-layer strawberry cream cake.”
“I already made dessert,” Dean replies, narrowing his eyes at me. “I told you I was cooking tonight, Norah.”
“You can save it for later then. I’m a baker, Dean. I rarely show up anywhere without something.”
Dean tilts his head and adjusts his glasses while his penetrating gaze takes a slow inspection of my body. “I’m glad you ditched the baker’s coat and classic rock bandana because you look good enough to eat.” He winks before stepping back and gesturing for me to come in. As I walk past him, he leans down and whispers in my ear, “And I’m not just saying that because you’re probably wearing sexy lingerie underneath those clothes.”
“Um…thank you?” I chirp while biting my lip and trying my best to ignore the flurry of butterflies that once again take flight in my belly at the feel of his hot breath on my neck.
As I walk through the entryway and enter the living room, the swirling in my stomach stops when I see the image before me. “I thought you were rich,” I blurt out, pointing at the floor.
“What?” Dean laughs and strides past me toward the attached kitchen.
I point at the seating. “What kind of rich guy has beanbags for furniture?”
“Those are surprisingly comfortable.” He pulls two beers out of the refrigerator and uses a bottle opener before returning to where I’m standing. “Come on, try one out.”
He passes me the beer, and I take a sip, wincing at the bitter taste of the IPA. “Refreshing.”
He pins me with a seductive look. “Now have a drink while sitting on my beanbag.”
I bark out a laugh. “Not when you say it like that.”
“How did I say it?” His eyes dance with mirth as he watches me with a delighted smirk.
My nose wrinkles, and I curl away from him. “Like you just asked me to sit and spin or something.”
