Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 40311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 202(@200wpm)___ 161(@250wpm)___ 134(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 202(@200wpm)___ 161(@250wpm)___ 134(@300wpm)
So I went for it.
“You should cook for me some time,” was my rumble. “I’d love to taste.”
Most women would be horrified. Ladies in New York don’t cook, they have jobs. Or they don’t like getting their hands dirty and nails chipped. But Maggie was completely different.
She blushed and dropped her eyes to her plate.
“I’d love to,” was her murmur. But then her eyes flew up to mine, sparkling with mirth. “But I’m all about comfort food. Casseroles, mac n’ cheese, sloppy joes. Do you like that kind of stuff?”
Please, I’ve got an appetite like a monster. That was exactly up my alley. You can eat at five-star restaurants sometimes, but not all the time. The butter and oil will kill you, cholesterol clogging your veins.
So I grinned.
“Sloppy joes are my fave,” was my low growl. “It’s been a while, but I used to always order them at school.”
The brunette giggled then.
“I can’t even imagine it,” she said. “Evan Lincoln, his chin covered with sauce? It seems impossible.”
Oh, it was possible. And I wanted more than meat sauce covering my chin. I wanted her hot pussy honey, the nectar that flowed between her legs. My dick jerked under the table, making itself known once more.
But these thoughts were wrong. It was too early. Maggie deserved a good meal before the scene got raunchy. So I plastered a smile on my face, even with my dick stiff as a rod beneath the tabletop.
“Please, eat.”
I poured some rum punch for both of us. And only once she picked up the fork, did I start on my own food.
“So, tell me about yourself,” was my invitation. Perfect. The girl would never suspect that I was dying to pound her right now, to split open that creamy snatch and make it mine.
“Me?” she murmured surprised. “Well, there’s not much to tell,” she blushed. “I’m actually originally from Chromia, but I moved here a while ago to get my degree so I can one day be a vet. I’m taking classes the local community college.”
I frowned, thinking.
“Chromia? That’s a tiny country next to Switzerland, right?
She nodded.
“Yeah, we only have two million people, so we’re really small. I’m surprised you’ve even heard of us because most Americans I’ve met never have.”
I grin.
“Hell, most Americans have never even heard of half the countries in Europe. But my latest watch is Chromian-made,” I say, holding out my wrist. “You guys are known for your workmanship.”
Maggie nods, taking in the gleaming silver accoutrement.
“We are known for our watchmaking abilities,” she says in a soft voice. “But we’re so small that there aren’t that many opportunities other than watch-making, so I decided to move here to pursue my education.”
I nodded. It makes sense, plus it was clear that Maggie had ambitions and was trying to further herself. Nice. My dad would like that.
“In the meantime,” the pretty girl continued, “I’m working at DoggyMart part-time. I know, I know,” she laughed, holding two hands up. “The store name is so ridiculous.”
Hey, DoggyMart was no worse than K-Mart. Customers knew exactly what they were getting.
“Do you like it?” I asked curiously. Most women hate their jobs, hoping and praying for a prince to sweep them off their feet so they can quit. Strike that. They’re waiting for a sugar daddy to set them up so they can quit.
But Maggie was different.
“I love it,” she admitted shyly. “The animals are so innocent, it’s impossible not to love them. They just want to be taken care of by a nice family. And it’s terrible that more people don’t feel the same way. We get a lot of strays because DoggyMart is also an adoption clinic,” she explained, “and not just a pet store.”
The girl opened her heart, talking about her dreams in life. She was caring, sincere and genuine, wanting to make a difference in the world by taking care of ailing animals.
And fuck, I loved it. Because maybe she didn’t have money, but she had a lot of what counts.
Good values.
Good priorities.
An open heart.
So I leaned back, idly tapping my wine glass.
“It’s great your so into dogs. Bowzer loves you already, that’s clear.”
She blushed and looked down, smiling. Those long lashes rested pretty and dark on those ivory cheeks.
“You’re welcome,” she smiled. “By the way, where is Bowzer?” she asked, craning her head around. “I haven’t seen him yet tonight. Did you lock him up?”
I let out a short bark of laughter.
“Hardly. Ain’t nothin’ going to keep that dog chained up. He’s sleeping in the guest room,” I explained. “Out like a light after a meaty dinner and a long walk.”
The girl’s laugh tinkled, making my balls hum.
“See? I told you,” she teased. “He’s a good dog at heart, nothing like the big monster you make him out to be.”
But then her tone went serious.