“Please tell me you’re about to own that piece of meat.”
Slyly, she glances at me and says, “I own every piece of meat that’s put in front of me.”
Good.
Fuck.
My dick just twitched. Not sure if it was out of excitement or pure terror, but I guess there’s only one way to find out.
Have you ever eaten a meal by yourself? The peaceful silence, the thought-provoking conversations you have in your head, the inside jokes you tell yourself. A winning experience every person should have at least once.
But when you have it, make sure you’re actually alone, not sitting across from a burger-annihilating woman with a pinch in her brow and a snarl in her lip.
First, I’d like to preface what I’m about to say with this: I find it super sexy when a woman eats in front of a man. I love it when they’re not embarrassed and just act themselves. Now, don’t kill me when I say, watching Dottie Domico take down her burger is one of the most terrifying things I’ve ever experienced.
I don’t think she stopped to take a breath.
It was as if her burger were a pair of ripe tits and she motorboated them until there was nothing left. At one point, I looked up to see her cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk, ketchup hanging off her chin, chomping down like she had one minute left to eat the whole thing.
I’ve never seen anything like it.
It’s clearly why we sat there in silence the whole time, not a word passing between us. Every time I went to ask her a question, it was as if she had a sixth sense—knowing exactly when I was going to speak—and she shoved another big bite in her mouth, followed by a fry chaser.
After my fifth attempt to say something, I stopped trying for the mere chance that if she kept going at the rate she was, she could die from asphyxiation by burger meat.
So instead, I sat there, ate my burger at a normal human rate, and tried to think of things to talk about after we were done with our meal.
Because I’m a good guy, I feel this need to make right on this date, to really give her the full experience, even if she accidentally donated to my charity. Which, can we pause for a second and talk about that? A little bit of a gut check happened when she claimed to want to donate to something else. That kind of realization never feels good, but what I did find interesting is somehow she was looking at my fundraiser, especially if Lindsay and Emory sent it, so there was some interest there. Who knows if it was interest in me or interest in my charity. Either way, I’m still in the picture.
Interest is all I need. If there was no interest, I’d probably think of an escape route, but something tells me there’s more to Dottie. It’s like I’ve seen the incredible, fearsome, and fucking amazing surface . . . her façade. What she gives to those she doesn’t yet trust. But she’s Emory’s best friend, so I know she must be good people. I want to know the next level. Who is she away from her desk? Who is she when she’s not a bigwig of a major company? And why hasn’t she asked anything about me? I’m still confused how we didn’t know each other in college. And I’m extremely curious why she denied four times that she had a crush on me. That little tidbit has been filed away in the I’ll explore that later box. Right now, I’m determined to find the friend. The girl I’m sure I’ll like.
Plus, I’m that guy who needs everyone to like them. It’s why I cook for my teammates. I want them to know I can nourish them, that I’m the key to pleasing their taste buds. It’s general knowledge that chefs are always loved the most in the group of friends, because who doesn’t want to be fed properly?
Dottie is putting up a front, acting like she doesn’t like me, like she doesn’t want me near her, but I’m going to peel back that defensive layer and let her true personality shine.
She’ll want to be friends by the end of this night, I just know it.
“Enjoy your burger?” From the back of her throat, she burps, the sound muffled by her closed mouth but I still heard it, so I say, “I’m going to take that as a yes.”
She presses her napkin to her mouth, her cheeks turning a light shade of pink. “It was fine.”
“Fine?” I ask, unable to control myself. “No one takes a burger down like you just did if it was only fine.”
Her cheeks flush even more. It’s interesting that a strong, put-together woman who doesn’t care to shred an ounce of emotion can actually blush. Maybe there’s a living being inside her after all.
“You know, I wasn’t judging the way you ate one fry at a time, your pinky finger reaching to the sky, so why don’t you lay off the way I eat a burger?”
“Oh, so you were paying attention to me. Huh, I thought you were just trying to tongue your burger the whole time. I almost put a do not disturb sign on your office door.”
She folds her arms over her chest as she leans back in her chair, a look of disapproval on her face. “Explain to me how being an asshole is saving you from me calling security?”
“Threats are like assholes; they’re pointless.” Huh, is that what I wanted to say?
“That makes no sense at all, and I don’t know about you, but my asshole is impeccably clean.”
I motion for her to stand with my fingers and whistle as my fingers twist, indicating her to turn around as well. “I’ll be the judge of that. Whip them off, Domico.”
Her eyes narrow, her face contorting to one of pure hatred.
Yikes.
Looks like my teasing approach is a no-go.
“We’re not friends, so don’t talk to me like one. If I ever ‘whipped’ my skirt off, it wouldn’t be for you. And, security is here.”
“What?” I turn around in my chair to see two large men, dressed in all black making a beeline for me. They both grab one of my arms and lift me out of my chair. “Unhand me at once,” I say, struggling to get out of their grasps. I’m a large, strong man who’s spent many hours in the weight room, but I’m no match for the two men dragging me out of Dottie Domico’s office, my heels dragging in her plush rug.
“Thanks for the burger.” She waves and then turns back to her computer.
“You eat like a savage,” I call out. “And you have a piece of pepper in your teeth.” Her office door slams as I mutter, “Ungrateful wench.”
In the elevator, I find out the names of her security guards—Edgar and Harry—and that they’ve been working with Miss Domico for two years now, and I’m the first one to be dragged out of her office. By the time we reached the lobby, we’re good friends. I signed a few autographs for them, took a picture for my IG—it’s always about the gram—told them I would tag them, and then I took off.
To say I’m confused is an understatement.
What the hell just happened?
“I knew telling you about the empty space across from my apartment was a bad idea,” Knox groans while I file into his living room wearing nothing but a pair of my favorite silk pajama pants, midnight black. They feel so smooth on my ass and balls that I love wearing them around the house, only to slip into my bed completely naked. It’s like a pre-game of relaxation for my most private areas.
I take a seat on his couch and set down a plate of freshly baked brownies. I’m a sucker for a deliciously rich brownie, especially if they have walnuts and marshmallows in them. *Kisses fingers* Perfection.