The waiter delivered their drinks.
Hank took a long pull from the beer bottle. “I have a proposition to make. Let’s not talk about our day, the crazy people around us or any other general bitching.”
“I’m game.”
“What should we talk about?”
“The weather?”
He rolled his eyes. “Lame.”
“Politics?”
“Hell no. I’m trying to eat here.” He popped a chip heavy with salsa into his mouth.
“Okay, so you pick.”
“Sex.” The word came out in a single-syllable dare.
The frisson of attraction that normally buzzed in the background whenever she was near Hank moved front and center. It reached out, making her nipples tingle. “I don’t—”
“No specifics,” he interrupted. “Just general factoids. I’ll start. Women who work out have more orgasms than those who don’t.”
“How do you know that?”
“You should know that already, you’re at the gym what, three times a week?”
“Five,” she squeaked out.
The green in his hazel eyes darkened and he stared at her expectantly.
Her breath caught. Damn, she couldn’t think over the dirty movie playing in her head at the moment. But the longer she stayed silent, the greener his eyes turned and the wetter her panties became. Desperate, her brain finally stumbled upon a factoid.
“The most popular flavor of edible underwear is cherry. Totally true, I read it in Cosmo.”
“Cherry’s always been a favorite flavor of mine.”
When did her bra get so tight? It had fit perfectly this morning. Now the lace cups scratched against her hard nipples with enough friction to annoy but not enough to ease the lust turning her brain to mush.
“Got one.” He chuckled softly. “Vegetarians like to give blow jobs more than meat eaters.”
The waiter picked that moment to arrive at their table with a tray loaded down with Mexican food. He acted as if he hadn’t heard anything, but the tips of his ears were pink. Keeping his eyes glued to the table, he made fast work of unloading the food, the dishes clanking on the wood table, then sped back into the main dining room.
They busied themselves with filling their plates from the family-style serving dishes. More relaxed than she’d been in months, she snagged an enchilada, cut a chimichanga in half and scooped rice onto her plate. She savored the first bite of cheese and onion wrapped in a handmade corn tortilla. Not as good as abuelita’s, but awful close. Next, a bite of beef chimichanga. The deep-fried shell snapped under her fork as she cut off a piece, making sure to get some guacamole with it. The seasoned beef revitalized her taste buds. She felt more herself with every second that passed.
“It’s not true, you know,” she said before taking a second bite of chimichanga.
“What’s that?”
“About blow jobs. Carnivores love oral sex.”
Hank’s cock caught her meaning a full five seconds before his brain and he choked on his enchilada.
His eyes watered as he reached for his beer. All the while, she ate her chimichanga like nothing had happened, as if she hadn’t just given him a month’s worth of wank-off material.
She blinked her big brown eyes at him, an innocent look on her face. “You okay?”
No. Absolutely not. “Affirmative,” he managed to sputter.
Entranced, he watched as she did some sort of girl trick where she flicked her head and all of that luscious, shoulder-length brown hair fell into place. God, what he’d give to bury his fingers in that silk while she went down on him. His mouth went dry. He didn’t think it was possible, but he got harder.
Let’s talk about sex. What a boneheaded idea that had been.
“The workout thing?” She paused to take a drink of her Pepsi. “I can confirm that.”
Fuck.
Chapter Three
Beth smoothed down her white skirt, as if by doing so, she could soothe the lust buzzing inside her like she had swallowed a beehive. It had been like this every day for the past three weeks since her dinner with Hank. And at night? Her fantasies would make porn stars blush.
What had she been thinking that night at dinner? Just remembering her quip about carnivores had heat steaming her skin. Flirting with Hank wasn’t just swimming out of her depth, it equated to treading water in shark-infested ocean with a twenty-pound weight tied to her toes. Not a good idea.
And yet, here she was in Claire’s living room, toasting her best friend’s soon-to-be-rebuilt Harvest Bistro while denying her secret hope that Hank would throw her over his shoulder, sneak her away and ravage her until her body turned to Jell-O.
“Guess what I just heard.” Claire nudged Beth with an elbow.