An embedded niggling feeling whispers that he sounds too good to be true. Maybe I was on the right track with the serial killer persona.
Thanks, Caroline. You’re a peach. Don’t say anything to him please, I write back. As soon as I send that text, another from Leif’s number bubbles up.
To you, it says. It confuses me until I look out my car window and see him raising a beer toward me, a grin plastered on his face. He found me.
So much for having the upper hand.I hit a pothole, I tap back.
If by pothole, you mean you slammed into my beautiful, chiseled body and had to stop and ogle, then I agree.
I gasp at his forward text but laugh. My gaze dips down to his rock-hard body and my own body heats—a tingling of need ignites between my legs.
His head is still bowed over his phone, so I don’t text back yet. Another text from him chimes,So, this one is for you. And to the only relationship in the history of time that began with chicken wings.
I swallow down my pride and go with it. Because it’s easier than fighting against the riptide current of my sensibilities.
To chicken, I text to him, raising my phone so he can view it.
He chugs his beer as the sun sets behind him. It’s the magnificent shade of red that I love, punctuated by the most sculpted, chiseled, man I’ve ever seen in my life. A man that at this moment in time, only has eyes for me. My chest tightens with something akin to excitement, but it’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt. This could be the start of something amazing. I let the swell of excitement take over before real life crushes it to bits.
Lunch tomorrow can’t come soon enough.
