Imperfectly Delicious (Imperfect Series #6) - Mary Frame Page 0,58
it?” His brows dip and he stops to watch my reaction to his words. “Tell me if it’s just me.”
I blink at him in surprise. “It’s not just you,” I admit, heart pounding. Waiting for him to laugh and say he was kidding or something.
But he doesn’t.
He smiles. It’s large and the rare dimple makes an appearance.
Heat rushes straight south. I want to do him again. Now. Here. Wherever, really.
I shake my head. “You have to stop smiling at me or we’ll never leave this room, and I didn’t bring another condom.”
He disappears for a second around the counter, voice muffled while he rummages in the wine fridge. “Why didn’t you?” he calls out.
“Bringing one was wishful thinking.”
“You could go get a couple more and grab some dessert while you’re at it.”
“Any flavor preference?”
“I would really like to try the ‘Guy Chapman is a butt-sniffing douche double chocolate with nougat’. I’ve heard good things.”
I laugh. “It’s a best seller.”
We smile at each other like a couple of dopes.
“Hurry back,” he says.
“Right. Be right back.” Flustered, I turn to the door and push my way through. I’m excited. Drinking wine and eating cupcakes and having more sex sounds like the best version of heaven I could imagine.
I hug his thick chef coat around me. It smells like him, the extra fancy forest, and I’m inhaling it, stepping out into the cold.
“Is Guy here?”
My smell party is halted by a feminine voice.
A throaty, sexy voice. She’s tall, with cheekbones that could cut glass. Dark, perfectly highlighted hair waves around her face like she’s just come from a salon. I don’t know anything about fashion but whatever she’s wearing is like something you can’t even buy in stores yet because she yanked it off the runway. The woman is gorgeous. My hair is all day work followed by sex hair. Which, although it might sound hot and torrid, is really a jumbled frizzy mess. And I didn’t even put on mascara this morning when I woke up at three am.
My thoughts are swirling and I only half register the taxi pulling away from the curb.
She’s waving a hand in front of my face. “Hello? Is Guy Chapman in there?”
“He’s…inside.” The words are forced through suddenly cold lips.
She sizes me up, her eyes lingering on Guy’s jacket hanging loosely from my shoulders. She smiles dismissively, maybe even a little condescendingly. “Thanks.” She moves past me, but then stops and turns before she makes it more than a few steps. “You might be wearing his jacket but I’m still his wife.”
I stand there like a statue and watch as she disappears into Savor.
The words don’t register at first, like a dog barking nonsense in my mind, but then they do and I’m a little shocked. Still his wife? Still?
Was she lying? What if she wasn’t? I glance back at the door quizzically.
How did she know he was here? This restaurant isn’t even opened yet.
I should go in there and ask. But I don’t think I can face him, not standing next to the glamazon supremo. He would look between the two of us and realize what a huge mistake he’s made.
Do I even have a right to demand an explanation? We aren’t even…I mean we just slept together, and it was intense, and he said it was momentous, but he’s never promised me anything. He’s never even said he wants to be exclusive, and here I am jumping in bed with him. Not even bed, a counter. I jumped on the counter with him. And the wall. And ugh I keep making the same mistakes over and over.
But is it a mistake? It’s not one-sided. I didn’t imagine the sweetness, the private side he only shows to me and to his sisters. I should trust my gut.
But past history considered, my gut is usually an idiot.
Okay, I’ve got it. I take a few deep breaths.
I’m not going to jump to conclusions. I hate it when people do that. I’m just going to go in there and ask him what’s up like a normal adult would.
I stalk back to the door and then stop with my hand on the handle. But…what if they’re making up? What if I walk in on…in my imagination, he’s taking her up against the wall instead of me.
I shake the image off. It’s not happening.
One more deep, calming breath that does nothing at all to calm me, and I shove back into the warmth of the restaurant.