Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Which, of course, meant I had to practically lick the plates, even if the button on my jeans was starting to dig into my skin.
“I take it back,” he said as I exhaled hard, trying to convince myself to eat the last bit of chicken on one of my plates. He reached across the table, stabbing it with his fork, and bringing it to his mouth.
Did I need anything to bring attention to his lips? No, no I did not. And did I watch as the fork went in, came back out, and he started to chew? Yep. I did that.
“I can finish it,” I insisted when he reached out again, ready to swirl up the tiny little circle of pasta I had left.
“I’m sure you can, but you’re starting to look green, and you made your point,” he said, starting to twirl it.
“Jesus,” I said, shoving his arm to the side, watching confusion etch on his gorgeous face. “You had your sleeve over the candle,” I told him, gesturing toward it. “I’m pretty sure your Family wouldn’t love it if you got set on fire while out with me.”
“Good catch,” he said, sighing a little as he brought the pasta to his mouth. I probably should have been focusing more on the way he seemed defeated about his seemingly endless accidents and near-misses. But a bit of carbonara sauce was on his lower lip. And his fucking tongue slid out to lick it away. Which obviously stole all of my focus.
“So, ah, what time tomorrow?” I asked, shifting in my chair, hoping it came off as restless and not horny.
Anthony reached for his phone, shooting off a text as the server removed our plates.
“Do you want dessert?” he asked, smirking as I placed a hand on my too-full belly.
“Yes. But I want gummy worms. And I want them in bed.”
Did his eyes flash at the mention of my bed? Or was that just wishful thinking on my part?
With that, he passed the server his card, and this time, I didn’t even argue with him about it.
He was slipping a hefty tip into the checkbook when his phone buzzed on the table.
“How about ten tomorrow?” he asked, reading a message from, I assumed, one of the Morelli brothers.
“That works for me,” I agreed.
“Do you want me to pick you up at home, or at the warehouse?”
“Warehouse. I want to take the dog on a long walk if we’re going to be gone for a while.”
“Do you want to drive or take the ferry?” he asked, waiting for me to slide out of my seat and move in front of him before following me to the door.
Fine.
I kind of thought his good manners were hot.
But probably only because they were so uncommon.
It was like finding a foreign accent attractive.
It was nothing personal.
Or, at least, that was what I told myself as his arm extended over my head to open the door for me. Then as he moved behind me to walk on the street side.
“I’ve never taken the ferry,” I admitted.
“Then let’s do that. It’s half the time,” he told me. “You can get back to your poor, unnamed dog sooner.”
I was actually starting to feel really bad about the no name thing. I’d tried out a few names before walking her that morning. But nothing felt quite right.
As much as I hated to admit it, it seemed like Keith was right about needing to know her before picking a name for her.
“Oh, wait,” I said, turning back and nearly bumping into him.
“What’s up?”
“Does the ferry have a metal detector?” I asked. Because, well, that was a deal-breaker for me. As much as I was starting to trust Anthony, I didn’t know these Morelli guys, and I wasn’t going to be caught around a bunch of mobsters without at least one weapon on me.
“No,” he said, the tug of his lips telling me he knew exactly what I was thinking. “You might occasionally see a bomb-sniffing dog, but that’s about it.”
“Okay. Good. We can do that then. Well, I guess we can go our separate ways from here,” I said, ignoring the way disappointment surged through me even as I said it.
Clearly, I needed to go home, stick some new batteries in my vibrator, and go a few rounds before I was alone with this guy again.
“Yeah, we can… shit,” he said, going to pat his chest like he was looking for something, but there was no pocket there. “My jacket,” he said.
“What jacket?”
“I had one on when I came to the gym,” he said. “Your mom took it, and I forgot to get it back. I’d leave it, but my apartment key is in the breast pocket.”
“Oh,” I said, reaching for my phone to check the time.
“Is it closed?” he asked.