The waitress picked that less-than-ideal moment to return with their soups and a basket of hot, yeasty bread. Normally Kim would’ve dug in before the plates even hit the table. Now she couldn’t seem to get her arms to unclamp from the edge of the table. In a second, her muscles would be quivering.
“Just FYI, virginity isn’t a curse,” he said once the waitress left. He picked up a piece of bread and buttered it, then shocked the heck out of her by setting it next to the soup she hadn’t touched. “Surely you were a virgin once?”
“I guess. I can’t remember anymore.”
He surprised her by laughing, and the tension between them ebbed away. He’d been yanking her chain, that was all there was to it. “I’ve heard born-agains are pretty popular.”
“I’m not a born-again anything. The first time was plenty, thanks.”
“New question. Are you single?”
“Dude, I’m so single my vagina thinks I’ve abandoned it for wetter pastures.” At his wide eyes, her laughter turned into a snort. She picked up her piece of bread and took a bite. The moan that escaped was purely accidental.
The look he gave her, however? Incendiary, with a side of oh shit.
Before she had a chance to take another bite, he started buttering the next slice. She had to laugh as he set the second on her plate. “What’re you doing?”
“If keeping you in bread will get you to moan like that again, you’re going into a carb coma tonight.”
She shook her head, smiling. “Are you really single?”
“Yes, I’m single,” Michael said finally, drawing her attention to how long it had taken him to reply. That probably wasn’t a good sign.
So far he was potentially coupled up, could be underage despite his assertions to the contrary and potentially inexperienced if his defense of virgins meant anything. A trifecta of drama if she’d ever encountered one. Which begged the question: why was she still leaning toward him across the table, unintentionally revealing her cleavage thanks to her snug V-neck sweater?
“Sure about that?” she asked.
“I’m sure.” After swallowing another mouthful of soup, he set down his spoon and reached for his untouched bread. He pulled off the crust in a neat ring, unaware that she’d stopped nibbling hers to watch him. “I’ve been single for more than a year. Before, the person I was with…it was complicated.”
“How?”
For a moment, she didn’t think he would answer. “Rochelle and I had an unusual relationship.”
“She was into freaky shit?” Kim nodded sympathetically and lifted her soup-laden spoon.
Narrowly, she managed to resist moaning again as the spices, tender meat and warm broth flowed over her tongue. It was a chilly November night, and man, did the soup hit the spot. One of them anyway. With the low lights of the diner glowing against the windows and chasing the rain away, she almost felt cozy.
Now if she could find her way to being comfortable with her dinner guest, she’d count the evening a success.
“No. Not at all.” He laughed and tilted his head, sending a hank of his unruly hair into his eyes. “But it sounds like you’ve been there yourself.”
“Oh you have no idea.”
“Like what?” Clearly fascinated, he leaned forward. “Tell me.”
She waved her free hand without letting go of her spoon. The soup was going to be gone in thirty seconds or less with the way she was sucking it down. “If you can imagine it, some guy has suggested it.” She grinned. “Or I have.”
“Tease.”
“It’s not teasing if you intend to put out.” His eyes lit. “Eventually,” she added, laughing as he pulled off a hunk of bread and shoved it toward her lips. She bit down, deliberately dragging her lips and teeth over his forefinger.
His eyes narrowed, thick lashes framing irises rimmed with gold. They were black. “I may hold you to that.”
“I meant verbally, shy guy. I wasn’t referring to physical affection with a near stranger. What kind of girl do you think I am?” She flung a bit of her own bread at him. It landed in his soup with a plop.
“An intriguing one,” he said quietly, bypassing all of the usual flattery in favor of something that sounded an awful lot like the truth.
Just like that, she melted. Rain dripped down the pane of glass at her side, and her good intentions puddled beneath her feet. She’d believed she had irreversible immunity to any game he threw at her—other than the game she chose to respond to—but she hadn’t expected honesty or anything real to transpire between them. The steadfast expression on his face put a lie to that assumption.