Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 59396 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59396 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
I don’t care what he insists this little outing of ours is. It isn’t just to catch up.
He’s scoping me.
And I’m scoping him.
And I’m pretty damned sure we both like what we see.
“Find anything yet?” I ask him pointedly.
“Have you?” he sasses back.
I innocently lift my eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
Finally, he cracks a smile. “Maybe we’ll skip tea.” He sets down the menu. “You like toying with me? Are you hoping I feed you dumplings and rub your feet for you?”
Wow. He really doesn’t forget anything, does he? “Not at the same time,” I joke back.
He tilts his head slightly and gives me an appraising look. “Not to burst your footsy flirt bubble happening underneath this table,” he says, setting the drink menu aside, “but I really was serious about just wanting to chat and catch up.”
I frown at him.
This wasn’t the reaction I expected.
When the server comes by, I drop my foot to the floor. Our steaming-hot order of pork dumplings, rolled rice noodles, and barbecue pork buns now fill the table, as well as a basket of sticky wings. After the server leaves, the steam coming from the bowls creates a veil between me and Danny through which we stare each other down.
He smiles. “Let’s dig in.”
And so we do.
Danny wasn’t kidding; every bite I take is better than the last. The pork dumplings transport me and every taste bud in my mouth to another dimension of sweet and salty heaven. I can’t help but moan as I enjoy the rice noodles, which Danny explains are called cheong fan, as well as the succulent char siu bao—the barbecue pork buns. Where has this place been my whole life?
When we get to the wings, I quickly realize there’s just no easy way to eat them. That is made perfectly clear the moment Danny grabs his first one and starts devouring it. I think with any other guy, the spark would probably go straight out as I watch my date make a mess of his face and hands eating wings covered in sticky sauce. It’s like a two-year-old trying to figure out the puzzle of fitting a whole chocolate cake in their mouth.
But Danny makes it normal. Adorable, even. This could be our hundredth date, and these sweet, endearing moments could be our life together.
Except this isn’t a date, remember?
He’s on his second wing before I’ve even started my first. He’s enjoying them so much, he only just now notices. “You gonna eat? They’ll get cold.”
I cross my arms on the table and smirk at him. “I’m having too much fun watching you.”
Danny quirks an eyebrow, then frowns. “I’ve got sauce on my face, huh?”
He does. A tiny dot right by his lip. Another on his chin. I kinda don’t want to tell him. “Nope.”
“You sure?”
I lean forward. “Are you sure this isn’t a date?”
He stops chewing. “Yes,” he says. “This isn’t a date.”
“Then why don’t I believe you?”
“I don’t know. Ask yourself.” He resumes eating.
I decide to let my foot resume asking the questions. It was doing so well a second ago. This time, I kick off my shoe and bring my socked foot to his leg, where it slowly starts to slide up, up, up, making its way to his inner thigh.
His chewing stops. He stares at me across the table, his fingers full of sauce, those two cute dots of flavor still clinging to his chin and the side of his lip.
I lift an innocent eyebrow. “What?”
He swallows his bite. “You know what.”
“Just admit it.”
“Admit what?”
“You’re into me.”
His lips part, for a moment appearing indignant. Then he snorts as he goes for another wing. “Well, that’s kinda presumptuous of you, don’t you think?”
“Is it, though? You were giving me all the right signs at the gym, checking me out. You asked me out on this date.”
“Again, not a date,” he says, his mouth full.
“And I dare you to tell me you don’t like where my foot’s going.” I slide it farther up his inner thigh, smirking. “You like all of this, don’t you? The fact that we’ve reunited. That we’re out together again. Alone together. With nothing in the way.” My foot reaches his crotch, where it stops. “No one in the way.”
Danny stares back at me.
“Admit you’re into me,” I tell him, “and I might stop torturing you.”
“Romeo …”
My foot presses more firmly into his crotch, where I make a discovery through the thin material of his pants: he’s hard. Rock hard.
I nod with admiration. “Seems like you don’t have to admit it. Your cock is doing all the talking.”
“This isn’t a date. We’re eating dim sum and wings. Well, I am at least.”
“I don’t think you’re being honest with yourself. C’mon, Danny. We used to be so open with each other. Don’t you want me? Isn’t that why we’re here?”