“I don’t think I’ve ever had Pho before,” I say. “I’ve always heard about it and wanted to try it. I hate that I’ve waited this long. It was so good. Thank you for bringing it home.”
JP, who was done about ten minutes ago, leans his head against his propped-up hand and asks, “What’s your favorite cuisine?”
“Mexican.”
He nods. “Fuck, I could’ve guessed that. Those tamales your mom makes are fucking killer. And her homemade refried beans. Hell, I’d do anything your mom wanted for them right now.”
I smile. “I know how to make them, and it’s been said that I make them better than my mom.”
JP’s eyes narrow. “Says who?”
“My mom.”
“Okay, so what do I have to do to get you to make me some?”
“How about this—if you’re not doing anything tomorrow night, we can make them together.” When he doesn’t answer right away, I ask, “Oh . . . do you have something going on tomorrow? I shouldn’t have assumed. You have been spending quite some time with me.”
“Kelsey, chill. I’d love to make some tamales with you. I was just thinking about a meeting I have at four, but it shouldn’t take long. Should we start at six?”
“That would be perfect.”
“I can pick up the ingredients if you want.”
I shake my head. “No, that’s okay. I’m particular about brands. Trust me, it makes a difference.”
He holds up his hand. “Don’t want to get in the way of the chef. Just let me know how much I owe you.”
“JP, do you really think I’ll take your money?”
“No . . . should I grab dessert?”
I smirk. “I think we’re starting a trend.”
“Yeah, one that’s killing my six-pack.” He pats his stomach.
“Doubtful. You still get up early and work out.” I point at his stomach. “Let me see.”
He slouches in his seat and puffs his stomach out, making a poor attempt at a gut. It’s poor because I can still see the outline of his abs.
“Stop that.” I poke his belly.
“Don’t play with my gut. I’m sensitive.”
“Oh my God, that’s not a gut. I can still clearly see your abs. Nice try.”
“Well, if I keep it up, no woman will want to see me naked.”
That makes me actually laugh out loud. “Once again, doubtful. I’ve, uh . . . seen enough to know that any woman would want to see you naked.”
His brows raise in surprise. “Kelsey Gardner . . . tell me more.”
“Oh, Jesus.” I roll my eyes. “This is why I hesitate to compliment you. I knew this was going to happen.”
He scoots closer and wiggles his brows. “Were you impressed with my body? How about my penis? Did you like the old log between the legs?”
“Eww, who says that?”
“Who says eww when referring to a man’s prized possession?”
“Someone who’s responding to a person who’s being obnoxious, which is you. Your penis isn’t a log, it’s . . . a regular penis.”
That makes his face fall in disbelief. “A regular penis? You think I have just a regular penis?”
“Well, yeah. I mean, it doesn’t have any adornments and, sure, it’s well kept, but there’s nothing super special about it.”
“Um . . . not to sound like a fucking voyeur here, but I’ve been in enough gym locker rooms to know my penis isn’t regular. Just because it’s not pierced doesn’t make it ho-hum. There’s a lot to my penis that you don’t know about. And the length and girth alone are probably better than anything you’ve had.”
“How do you know the kind of penis I’ve had in my life?” I challenge him, humor in my voice.
“Given how innocent you are, most likely those penises have been regular. Mine is anything but regular.”
“Said every man ever.”
His eyes grow dark and all humor fades from his face. “Do I need to take my cock out right now?”
“No, that’s okay. I can still remember how it felt when you sat on my face. Very . . . fleshy.”
“That’s because it is fleshy.”
“I always thought penises were supposed to be soft like velvet, you know? I didn’t get that from you.”
“Where the fuck did you hear that? And what cocks are you hanging out with that are velvet?”
“Ones in romance novels.”