Virgin Daiquiri - Elise Faber Page 0,12

fact, I loved Indian food. “Is it spicy?”

“Is it Indian food?” he countered.

“True.” I giggled. “Well, the good news is I do like spicy things.”

He waggled his brows. “I’m hoping you’re saying that in reference to my spicy personality.”

I snorted. “I’m starting to understand why Kace says you’re annoying.”

“It’s a skill I’ve honed over many years.” He pressed the screen a few more times. “Okay, so pizza is an hour out”—he pocketed his cell then took my hand, started drawing me back to the couch in the other room—“so we’ve got time to see John McClane blow some shit up.”

“And eat caramel corn,” I said, letting myself get drawn along, partly because he was strong and fighting him would take effort I was feeling too lazy to exert after having spent the last hour in his arms, enjoying his mouth on mine, his hands on my body. But although I’d thoroughly enjoyed those kisses, I mostly let him lead me to the other room because I liked spending time with him. He was funny and kind, and had a no-nonsense way about him that I really appreciated after Frank’s duplicity. I liked how carefully he held me against him, as though I were important, but not like I was fragile.

And I liked how he teased me.

Gently, not in a mean way, and paired with a self-deprecating smile as he equally poked fun at himself.

I liked the smiles.

I liked the laughter.

Both made me feel lighter than I had in years, and the pain from Frank, the hole I’d opened, and the uncertainty I felt in leaving home and everyone I knew, shrank.

How two days could change a person’s life so unequivocally, I couldn’t quite believe, but it had changed. And not just because of Brent and how he made me feel, but also because the distance away from home, from what I was realizing was a black hole, emotional-vampire-filled drama den, had given me clarity.

I could do this.

I didn’t need my parents. I didn’t need my so-called friends. I didn’t need Frank.

And perhaps understanding that meant I would be able to let in more people like Brent.

“You’re pretty when you’re pondering,” Brent said.

I came out of my head enough to realize that he’d led me to the couch, had tucked me into his side. “I’m sorry,” I murmured. “I’m not used to having my head in the clouds this often. Usually, I’m a feet-on-the-ground, eyes-forward, plowing-on kind of person.” I wrinkled my nose. “Which is probably why I missed the fact that my fiancé was sleeping with every available female in the vicinity.”

“Men who are going to cheat, cheat,” he said. “Nothing you did or didn’t do would have changed that. But a real man would have talked through his problems with you about your relationship rather than do that sneaking around bullshit.”

My nose stayed wrinkled. “It’s not fair that you’re funny, kind, gorgeous, and smart.”

He grinned. “I’m not sure about any of that, but I’ll take the compliment.”

I dropped the fake consternation and touched his jaw. “Good. I mean it. And . . . thanks for taking a leap in coming over yesterday, then weeding through the Christmas crazy and the pie meltdown to hang out. It’s nice to make a new friend.”

“Why is that phrased like a kiss-off when we have two large pizzas coming?”

My jaw fell open. “Two large pizzas? How are we going to eat that much?”

“I think you forget that I saw you go to town on carbs last night. It’s not a matter of how we’re going to eat the two large pies, but whether two large pies is enough to fill that hollow leg”—he patted my thigh, and yes, my pussy flared to attention at having his hand so close to that particular body part—“of yours.”

I was concentrating so fiercely on the space between my thighs that it took me a moment to process what he’d said.

Brent laughed at my glare and kissed the top of my nose. “Also, just to be clear, I’m not here to make a friend.” A heavy moment as he held my gaze, waited for his words to sink in. And they did, though they were paired with no small amount of disbelief. “I like you, darlin’. More than any woman I’ve met in the last few years, and more than anyone I’ve met maybe ever. You’re smart and beautiful and funny, and it’s no trial to walk a few blocks to hang out with you.” Another light brush