“Well, if you’re willing to risk the streak of bad luck… I know I’m not.” I keep the smile from my face as she eyes me. Probably trying to decide if I’m kidding or some kind of weirdo. “Scouts honor,” I add for good measure, and because I never was a scout, I’m not really lying. Wait, does that even make sense?
“Fine, I don’t need any bad luck either,” she says and walks through the threshold. She stops a few feet inside, and my gaze lands on her ass as I close the door behind us. She looks to her left, then to her right, taking in my place.
“Sorry about the mess,” I say. I hadn’t had a chance to clean up after Daisy tonight.
“It’s not messy. It’s homey,” she says and turns back to me, a small smile on her face. Her gaze leaves mine and drops to my bare upper body. “I…uh…you…”
“What?” I ask.
She takes a deep breath, a gesture that is becoming familiar, and says, “If you point me to the kitchen, I’ll cut the pie so you can go put a shirt on.”
Is my near nakedness throwing her off?
If so, maybe I shouldn’t put a shirt on.
Dude, get it together. You are not sleeping with this girl. Enough that you brought her into the house.
“Yeah, okay.” I take her shoulders, and her entire body goes tight when I spin her around. She sucks in a fast breath, and the tension in her body travels all the way to my dick, gives it a nice slow stroke. Fuck, man, if I knew she was going to show up at my door, I would have tugged one out in the shower so I wouldn’t be so tempted. Everything about this girl brings out the animal in me, and reminds me I haven’t had a good hard fuck in ages.
I hurry upstairs and tug on a shirt. I rake my hands through my mess of hair to smooth it down and by the time I get back downstairs, Sam is placing two slices of pie on the table.
“Damn, that looks good.” She dips her finger into the sauce and brings it to her mouth. She makes a moaning sound, and my cock jumps in my pants.
Motherfucker. This is going to be a long, hard night.
“Good, huh?” I ask. Shit, is that my voice?
“Delicious.”
“I can’t wait to try it.”
I take a step toward her and she pulls a chair back for me. “Then have a seat.”
“How about a drink?”
“Sure.”
“Wine okay?” For some reason, she strikes me as the wine type.
“If it’s no trouble.”
“No trouble at all,” I say and pull a chilled bottle of white from the fridge. Quinn brought it the last time she came for dinner. I uncork it, and Sam sits there with her hands on her lap, waiting patiently for me to join her at the table. I kind of like that she hasn’t dug into her pie. She has great manners, and that makes my thoughts stray to the bedroom. Everyt
hing in me tells me she’s prim and proper, a nice girl. But I get the sense that her tastes match mine behind closed doors.
I pour wine into two glasses and hand her the stemware. I hold mine up for a toast, and say cheers. She averts her gaze, goes to clink glasses, and I stop her.
“Wait, are you telling me that you don’t know the rules of toasting?”
Her brow furrows and she gives me a suspicious look. “What’s with you and all the rules?” she asks. “You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who follows many.”
I laugh at that. “Well, this is an important rule. You have to make eye contact after clinking glasses and before drinking.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Bad sex for seven years.”
Her big brown eyes go wide. “You’re making that up.”