14
Kate
My mouth watered as I read the menu.
Shishito peppers. Mushroom buns. Sautéed brussels sprouts. Kampachi.
I straightened my spine, humming happily, as I pointed to the menu. “I’ll take one of everything.”
Jake laughed. “That’s almost always a good idea.”
I arched a brow, determined to keep things fun and light tonight. “And with role-play too. Tonight, I’ll order the teacher and student. Tomorrow, I’ll have the handyman and housewife.”
His eyes darkened a touch. “I’d like your menu, please.”
I pointed to the brussels sprouts. “What’s the deal with brussels sprouts?”
“You sound like a comedian about to slide into a riff,” he remarked.
“Seriously though. Do you remember when brussels sprouts were the punchline of a joke? Or the horrid thing served only at school cafeterias?”
He smiled his deliciously crooked grin. Jake fit in perfectly with the restaurant’s modern styling and trendy decor—put together, handsome, but not pretentious. Not showy. Simply easy on the eyes. He wore a button-down with a lightly checkered pattern and charcoal slacks. The lawyer after-hours. He looked delectable, all the more so with his unshaven jaw.
Which was all the more reason to focus on brussels sprouts.
“A punishment food,” he mused. “That’s what they were for a long time.” He adopted a deep, patriarchal tone, shaking his finger. “Eat your brussels sprouts, Timmy, or you won’t get any dessert.”
I smiled. “Exactly. And now it’s like they’re the belle of the cooking ball. It’s a competition at different restaurants to make brussels sprouts the tastiest dish in all creation.”
“That is true. You can’t go anywhere without brussels sprouts trying to tempt your taste buds.”
“They’re the vixens of vegetables. The sirens of salads.”
He leaned closer. “They offer themselves up in all sorts of tantalizing forms. Sautéed, fried, roasted. How is a man or woman to resist?”
“Resistance is futile. No one can deny the power of the sprout.”
Just then, despite all my lectures to myself, all that mattered was this. This conversation. This night. This surfeit of fun we were having. Jake was the antidote to the past several months of my life. He was the opposite of work. He was exactly how I wanted to spend my nights, and I didn’t want my nights to end.
This night, of course.
We had an expiration date, since we were only spending a weekend together. And really, wasn’t that all I needed? And all he wanted?
“Then don’t deny it, Williams,” he said, reaching across the table and gripping my hand like he was making an impassioned plea. “Don’t deny the sprout.”
“I won’t. I can’t. I shall devour them tonight.” I placed my hand over my heart. “I, Kate Williams, hereby profess that I am obsessed with finding the best brussels sprouts ever.”
He squeezed my hand tighter, then let go, a glint in his eyes. “I feel a bet coming on.”
“Ooh. Don’t get me excited.” I set down the menu, eager for a wager.
He shot me a cocky smirk. “Don’t get you excited? Are you sure about that, Williams?”
I took the bait, loving the flirting. Flirting was fine. Flirting wouldn’t feed the emotions I was trying to starve out. “Fine. Get me excited. If you must,” I said playfully.
Under the table, he slid a hand up the denim of my thigh. “If you insist,” he said, his fingers traveling along my leg. He let a rumble cross his lips, then lowered his voice and murmured, “I’ll bet these brussels sprouts are orgasmic.”
I blinked. “That’s your bet?”
He squeezed my thigh. “Yep. Nice and simple.”
“And if they are?”
A smile curved his lips—no, it was more like a knowing grin. He took his time, licked his lips, then answered, “Then we do this again tomorrow.”
I was quiet, saying nothing at first, letting his wager sink in.
It was almost as if Jake already knew I didn’t want the weekend to end.
15
Jake
I was surprised at the ease with which I got her to make the bet.
And at the same time, I wasn’t surprised at all.
True, I’d only spent one night with her, but one night was enough to know I wanted more.
All day, I’d thought about her.
From the moment I woke up in the suite, the scent of her on the pillows, the scene of the crime still fresh—the crime being the hottest sex in my life—Kate had commandeered my thoughts.
She’d been in my head all day.
When I went to the gym with Finn and Adam, hitting the basketball courts for a pickup game.
When Finn asked how my night had been.
When I’d remarked that it was fantastic as we’d walked off the court.
“Sounds like maybe someone finally found his balls,” Adam had said.
“Let me know if you need help finding yours,” I’d said, the only acceptable response.
Later in the afternoon at home, I’d replayed the sex again and again.
But not only the sex. The conversation too. She’d let me in more easily than I’d thought, and I’d relished learning more about her—her past, her present, her goals.
I wanted more of that tonight.
And tomorrow too.
More Kate, before we had to shut this down.
This weekend was temporary—she had her work to focus on, and I had no interest in another Debbie situation—but there was no reason this weekend fling had to end today. Sunday night could become part of it too.
It all hinged on the veggies.
Kate arched a brow, smiling coyly at me. “You’re angling for another night?”
No reason to deny the truth. We had set the boundaries, we’d mapped the exit strategy, and while I was in this, I was damn well going to be in it all the way.
I nodded, owning it. “I am. I absolutely am.”
She moved a little closer, her eyes never straying from mine. “Then I hope the brussels sprouts are a ten.”
I wanted to pump a fist. To kiss the air. To shout in victory because she craved the same damn thing as me.
She mimed slam-dunking a basket as we finished the appetizer. “Ten,” she declared, and the sight of her like that—animated and vibrant—felt like a new detail about her, one I enjoyed knowing.
“Ten,” I said, seconding her.
That felt good too—being on the same page and acknowledging it.
Setting her fork down with gusto, she shook her head in amusement, smiling. “I guess that means you’ll have to take me out tomorrow night.”
I feigned annoyance, then snapped my fingers. “Damn it.”
We moved on to other food, chatting as we made our way through peppers and mushrooms, Kampachi and cucumbers, and a bottle of wine.
As Kate lifted her glass, she took a deep breath, as if preparing to ask something hard. “So, what’s your story, Mr. Hamilton? Why are you Captain Single?”