an extra plate of dinner if you want it. I mean, you don’t have to, but I figured you might be hungry if you’re getting home so late because you were stuck in traffic.”
He glances over my shoulder at the huge grandfather clock that was passed down to me from my mother and then back at me with regret. “I am, but it’s late. I should let you get some sleep.”
“I’m off tomorrow morning.” I’m quick to point out. “Schedule change, I work the closing shift.”
It doesn’t take but a second for him to answer. “You got beer?”
I bite my lip as I think. “No. But I have vodka.”
“Works for me.”
Before he can change his mind or I chicken out, I walk to the kitchen in front of him. I’m thankful I put on these leggings as I grab his plate from the fridge while he takes his suit jacket off and rolls up the sleeves of his white button-down shirt.
He sits at the small table in my kitchen, and I’m very aware of his presence as I put the plate in the microwave. I have to raise my arms to get the vodka, and there’s a tickle of a breeze when my shirt rides up. I turn around and blush, catching him lazily lifting his head, unabashedly checking out my ass. He wets his lips as he drags his gaze up my body.
He’s not much of a talker, so I guess I’ll be the one to initiate conversation. “So, how was your work trip?”
“Same as always.”
“And what’s that? The same?”
He contemplates his answer for a moment. “Same shit, different day. I’d imagine much like anyone who’s been at the same job for a while.”
I serve him his food, and he thanks me quietly. While he’s eating, I make us each a drink and lean on the counter, sipping mine. “Have you lived in California your whole life?”
“Yeah. Born and raised.”
“Me too.” I take a gulp of my vodka cranberry.
He points at his plate with his fork. “This is really good, Iz. You’re a great cook.”
“Thank you.” His compliment makes me blush even more. “I come from a large family with a lot of old-school women who taught all the girls to cook at a young age.”
More time passes in silence than I realized because he takes the last bite and then tips his glass, swallowing the last of the cocktail. His throat is even sexy, and I have the urge to lick it. I turn my head to set my glass down and hide the crimson staining my cheeks.
This is it. This is my one shot to have a chance with him. Sure, I have his cell number now, but what excuse would I have to call it? If I don’t do this right now while I have the courage, I never will.
He starts to push himself up from the kitchen table, but I get a jolt of nerves that makes me stumble off the counter and reach out and catch hold of his wrist.
In a semi-squatted position, he slips me a curious glance.
“Stay.”
I have no clue what to expect or what he’s thinking because he’s not responding. At all. He’s looking at me, but his face is blank, and he’s dead silent. The grip I have on him loosens, and I pull my hand away, twirling my thumbs around each other, wishing I could take back the past ten seconds. Shit. That stings. I totally read him wrong, and now I’ve made a fool of myself. A wave of embarrassment rushes through me, and my throat burns at the humiliation of being rejected by him.
He finally does something and pushes up to his full height. I take a step back, he takes one forward, and since my kitchen is so small, I’m already backed against the countertop. He crowds me and continues to just stare at me. My skin sensitizes, and I’m suddenly breathless. I throw my head back as his gigantic frame encompasses me, a little intimidated by him for the first time. He could do whatever he wanted to me, and I’d be left powerless. Good or bad, but I never thought about the bad part.
I just know he’d never hurt me.
My lips part to tell him a lie, like I only meant stay for dessert. My mind races as I try to focus on what’s in my cupboards and freezer, but I’m so preoccupied with the way he’s studying me that I can’t think of