Sure, the famous Emma Fairchild was involved in my life as far as sending a check to my old man to finance a nice place for me to live, my private school, and whatever shit I needed that he couldn’t afford, but that was about as far as her mothering went.
So to get her attention, I acted out.
Smoking pot in the bathroom during high school assemblies. Skipping finals just because. Fucking teachers because they were attracted to me. My mother never reacted, but it certainly left my old man pulling his hair right out of his head. Honestly, I’d take back all that shit I caused him if I could.
The door swings open and all I can smell is Maggie. All I can see is Maggie. And all I can feel is Maggie. She has launched herself at me and thrown her arms around my neck, finding my lips in the heartbeat of a second it takes me to figure out this is real, and not some fantasy I’m imagining for jerk-off purposes.
Of course in that fantasy she’d be naked, coated head to toe in whipped cream, and have cherries on her titties. Immature, yeah, I know, but it’s my fantasy.
Panting and out of breath, I pull back. “Maggie . . .” I exhale slowly.
Those bright blue eyes of hers sparkle when they lift. “Hi.”
Taken completely off guard by this, my hands somehow end up on her ass, and I consider my options here.
“Is your face going to remain the perfect picture of desire?”
Decision made, I push her ass right into my straining erection. “Depends on what you do next.”
She raises an adorable brow. The fact that she is playful and bold at the same time turns me on beyond my control. “Do you have something particular in mind?”
My mouth dips back down and hovers over her lips. “As a matter of fact, I do. Maybe we could say we have already gone on the date and this is the good-night kiss?”
Her tongue sneaks out and licks my lips. “If that were the case, I’d have to close the door right now with you on the other side.”
I snatch her tongue between my teeth and slide my tongue into her mouth. “Or, the date could have gone so well, you’re now inviting me in.”
She reaches around and her fingers thread through my hair. “For a cup of coffee before I send you on your way?”
“No, because you can’t keep your hands off me, my little bedwrecker, and you want to drag me into your bedroom to have your wicked way with me.”
She laughs. “Oh, Keen, you have to do better than a lip-lock for that on a first date.”
I bury my lips behind her ear. “You’re going to make me work for it, huh?”
She steps back onto the pinewood floor and grabs her purse near the door. “You better believe it. I expect you to woo me. Now where are we going?”
“Wait one minute! You get me all riled up and just like that you’re ready to go spend hours at a restaurant?”
She bats those long eyelashes of hers. “Yes, a date is what you called this, and a date is what I want. Just because I let you in my pants before doesn’t mean it will happen again.”
I yank her out the door and right up to my chest. “Good thing I have reservations at the perfect restaurant, then.”
She straightens the collar on my plain white button-down. “We’ll see. I have very . . . unique tastes.”
Lacing my fingers in hers, I lead her toward my car. “Yes, so I’ve observed.”
For a moment her flirty façade slips and I get a glimpse of the real Maggie. The one that wants someone to understand her.
Little does she know . . . I already do.
Her façade goes back up within seconds of slipping. “Like I said, we’ll see.”
This man might not be used to having to woo a woman, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know how.
“Challenge accepted, Maggie May . . . I’ll have you begging for me by the time the night is over.”
Guaranteed.
Maggie
Gracias Madre is beautiful.
A cross between Mexican chic and Palm Springs casual, the restaurant is decorated with festive cushions and bold tiles, a gorgeous courtyard, and inside, high ceilings and a very stylish bar.
Oh, and the guacamole is fantastic. For a Mexican restaurant (and a vegan one at that) to screw up guac would be enough to cause me to walk out, but considering it’s the best I’ve ever had, that’s not anything I have to worry about. And when coupled with their truly addictive house-made chips, my mouth was watering.
I think I ate an entire bowl all by myself.
Keen’s lips quirk up. “So, what do you think?”
The small remaining piece of what was once quesadillas de calabaza on my plate should give it away. The butternut squash and salty caramelized onions tucked inside the tortilla were absolutely scrumptious, but rather than tell him that, I contain my glee. “It was good.”