The First Taste (Slip of the Tongue #2) - Jessica Hawkins Page 0,7
city, but it’s been a while since I spent an evening somewhere other than Timber Tavern, the only bar I’ve hit up since Bell was born. It’s also been a while since I got to flirt with someone who wasn’t a high school classmate, or a friend of one, or a friend of a friend of one . . .
On a whim, I hide her divorce papers behind my back. “What’re your plans tonight?”
She scoffs. “It’s Friday night. What aren’t my plans? I have drinks with friends in an hour, then a late dinner, and who knows after that.”
“Cancel them.”
She gapes at me. “Cancel my plans? Why would I?”
“Come out with me. Sadie says there’s a place around here with great pizza.”
She laughs, tilting her head and exposing the smooth column of her throat. “First, I don’t eat carbs, so there’s no way you’re getting me to do anything with the promise of pizza. Second, I just told you—I don’t date.”
“And neither do I.”
“Then why are you asking me out?”
“Because despite what you may think, I’m a gentleman, and it’s only good manners to buy you dinner first.”
“First?” she asks, wrinkling her nose. “What’s second?”
We stare at each other. I let her figure it out on her own. It’s rare to meet a woman like me, someone who truly has no interest in finding a partner. I’ve heard that claim from enough girls to know when they’re bullshitting me, and unless Amelia is a Grade-A con artist, she definitely isn’t looking to get serious.
When she understands, the wrinkles on her forehead ease, and she parts her lips. I answer with a knowing smile. Suggesting sex within half an hour of meeting someone might normally get me slapped, but I get the feeling Amelia appreciates a more direct approach.
“I don’t date,” I say, “but I’m still a man with eyes.”
She makes no secret of looking me up and down. “You’re not my type either,” she warns. “I like men who carry a briefcase and see a barber regularly.”
I run my hand through my black hair, which I know is too long. “How’s that working out for you?”
She narrows her eyes. “Fine. Perfect.”
“I have some tattoos too,” I say. “And own a motorcycle. Since that’s normally how I get most girls, I suppose those are turn-offs for you.”
“They are,” she says immediately, straightening her shoulders. “I’ve never understood the appeal of a bad boy.”
“Then tonight, we’re a match made in heaven, aren’t we? It shouldn’t be hard for either of us to say goodbye afterward.”
She bats her eyelashes a few times, not because she’s flirting but because she’s thinking. Considering. Which means it’s basically a done deal. I’ve never gotten this far with a girl only to have her walk away. “Why even bother with dinner?” she asks.
I take a moment to study her, her shoulder-length, perfectly coifed blonde hair. Her defined red lips that look like a heart when pursed, which is often. Yeah, based on the fact that I’m noticing details—something I try not to do anymore—I know I’m feeling her tonight. Most guys would jump at the opportunity to skip the small talk, but that doesn’t really appeal to me. I like women, always have. Just because Shana fucked me in the head doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate them. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to spend time around them—just so long’s it’s surface stuff.
I don’t want to scare her off by suggesting I might want to have a conversation with her, so I just shrug. “Because I’m starving.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Indulge me then. I need my energy.”
“For what?” she asks.
I arch an eyebrow at her. I’ll definitely need sustenance to handle her for a night.
She reads my expression, and her cheeks redden. “Oh.”
I mentally high-five myself for making this obviously composed woman both laugh and blush in such a short timespan.
She squints over my shoulder and after a few seconds, shakes her head. “No. It’s a bad idea. I’m sorry.”
Huh. I expected some pushback, but not a hard no. “What’s bad about it?”
“I just haven’t been with anybody since—” She focuses behind me, as if there’s something holding her attention. I know there isn’t. She doesn’t want to refuse me, but it’s easier if she pretends not to see me. “So, I wouldn’t be . . . it’s been a while since I did it.”
“Did what?” I ask. I know what she’s getting at, but she seems to value her façade, and that only makes me curious about what’s beneath