Marina smiles that sexy smile at me, and we touch glasses and sip.
“Oh, good God,” I say. “That’s delicious.”
Her smile is satisfied. “Thought you’d like it.”
Talking with Marina has become so incredibly easy. I don’t know when that happened. It’s like I’ve known her for years and know she gets me, and when she asks about my writing, I just open up like a faucet.
“I may have finally found my groove with this book,” I say, and I can feel my own excitement rolling through me, the way I always get when the story is flowing along smoothly. “I can’t remember the last time it came this easily.”
“You were struggling earlier, no?” Marina puts her forearmson the table and leans toward me, clearly interested in what I’m saying. I can’t remember the last timethathappened either.
“I was, yes.” I take a sip before I continue. “Honestly, it’s been a long time. I’ve struggled for…quite a while now.”
“I remember. What do you think has changed?”
Her question is so innocent and genuine, and I almost laugh. And then I toy with honesty. Do I tell her the truth? Do I make something up? Do I dodge the question altogether? When I look at her, when I fall into those dark eyes, when I’m caressed by that gentle smile, there’s no option other than honesty.
“You. That’s the change.” I say it softly. Not quite a whisper, but close. “You’ve inspired me. And I’m not easily inspired, believe me.”
Marina’s cheeks blossom a pretty pink, but her expression is one of clear satisfaction. “Me, huh?”
“You.”
“Well.” And here, she gets what’s just this side of a goofy grin on her face.
Yeah, she’s definitely satisfied with my answer, and she’s so fucking cute and sexy right now, I start entertaining fantasies about the two of us. Naked. Oh my.
“I did offer to help with inspiration, and you did accept that offer, so I guess we both win.”
“I guess we do.”
And then there’s a lot of staring. Eye contact. Knowing half-grins. The throbbing between my legs is tapping away, making sure there’s no way I can ignore it. My underwear is suddenly damp.
“So, I was thinking,” she says.
“Uh-oh.”
“Funny.” That smile again. I’m focused on her mouth, and my brain sends me an image of kissing her. Then I lose myself and when I come back to the present, I realize she’s waiting forme to answer the question she just asked.
“Sorry. What?”
Her grin is knowing—how is it that I feel like this woman I’ve barely known for a few weeks can see right into my soul?—and she repeats her question. “I asked if you’re busy for dinner.”
“Tonight?”
“Yes. It’s actually why I texted in the first place. I wanted to invite you to my place for dinner.”
The idea of getting to see where Marina lives, to be in her space and surrounded by her things is much more appealing than I even want to admit to myself, and I don’t hesitate. “I would love that.”
Her face lights up so brightly, I wonder if she thought I’d say no. “Yes?Eccellente.”
“What can I bring?” I ask.
“Nothing. Your beautiful face. And Reggie.” We both look down at my dog, who is happily watching the world walk by. When I glance back up, Marina is studying me. Her eyes on me feel like her hands on me, and I like it. We stay like that for a delicious moment before she breaks our gaze. “I will text you the address. You can take a cab or an Uber.”
I nod. “And are you cooking?”
“Oh, yes. Is there anything you don’t eat?”
