“I see. And you're such a good listener, huh?”
I grin. “Of course. Sweet, introverted, unassuming librarian, remember?”
One of these days, I might shock him and tell him about my fanfiction. He’d see a whole new side of me.
And possibly run for the hills.
He’d realize then that flirting and banter and kissing the way he just kissed me is serious stuff in my world.
Your fantasy world. Your imagination. Get a grip.
“Right. Well, Miss Sweet Librarian, you’re going to have to be a little less than lady-like for a few minutes and straddle that seat.”
That sounded very dirty. I can’t help it. I know he means it literally, but my whole body is hot and tingling after that kiss, and David has absolutely been the inspiration for several recent dirty scenes I’ve written.
Knock it off. You’re not falling in love with him and you’re not going to mentally fuck him all night. He’s being a good guy, and you’re having fun, and sure, the kissing is great, but it’s just kissing to him, and he’s not trying to seduce you.
“Got it,” I say, making my voice as normal as I can. I hold my skirt down between my knees and throw one leg over the seat, showing nothing inappropriate.
He looks like he wants to say something but thinks better of it and simply climbs onto the four-wheeler in front of me.
“Hang on tight,” he tells me for the second time tonight.
I would love to hear him say that to me in bed.
Knock it off, for fuck’s sake! I tell my inner hussy.
But she won’t be silenced. As David starts the four-wheeler and the engine rumbles beneath us, I have to wrap my arms around him again, now from behind, pressing up against the hard, bunching muscles of his back. My earlier story plotting takes a sharp turn into another sex scene, this one happening on the back of a four-wheeler.
I wonder if that’s possible.
I’ll have to look it up.
Or you could just ask David. See how he responds to that question.
I sigh inwardly. I can’t shut this voice up.
It’s going to be a long night.
It’s only a mile up to David’s house, which takes us just a couple of minutes, and yet that entire scene is full and vivid in my mind by the time we get there. My imagination doesn’t seem to care if it’s possible to have sex on a four-wheeler. It happens in graphic detail in my head.
It can’t be that different from doing it on a chair. He’s sitting on the seat, the woman is on his lap. She could face forward or face him. Facing him would be more fun…
I hope David thinks that the pink in my cheeks is simply from the humid August air.
He pulls into the garage attached to his house, and I notice that his truck is missing.
David shuts off the engine, climbs off, and sheds the hip waders—which is far sexier than it should be considering they're green rubber and covered in mud—leaving him in blue jeans and a plain dark gray T-shirt. Then he holds out a hand to me. “Come on.”
I take it and he helps me off, then opens the storage compartment and retrieves my bag. “I’ll hose your boots off later,” he says. “I wanna show you something.”
I’d forgotten about my boots. And my bag.
He leads me through the huge garage that houses another truck and an enormous workbench with numerous tools hanging on the wall over it, stacks of wood next to it, and a circular saw attached to one end. He heads for a door that I assume leads into the backyard.
I am so ready to see whatever the surprise is that would immediately tip off his brothers that he’s not feeling casual about me.
What does that even mean exactly? Not casual. That’s not ‘just friends’. That’s not ‘you’re nice but I don’t want to kiss you’. He clearly does want to kiss me. But not casual doesn’t mean he’s going to get down on one knee.
