Wow, okay . . . not sure my heart can handle such a statement.
I swallow deeply and say, “Of course you can make something if that’s what you really want. And my parents don’t have any allergies other than my dad can’t have cashews, but I doubt you’ll put any cashews in the lasagna.”
“Not so much.” He stuffs his hands in his jogger pockets. “Okay, I’m going to run to the grocery store then. Do you need anything?”
“Um, I think I’m good. I can pick up a dessert on the way home when I’m finished here.”
“Don’t worry about that. I got it covered.” He smirks at me. “Picking up some ice cream.” And then he winks, and I swear to God, I can feel my heartbeat between my legs. “Text or call if you need anything.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“Catch you later, Penny.” And then he leaves, shutting the door behind him.
Blakely, mouth ajar with humor in her eyes, turns toward me and says, “Oh, he wants you.”
“Oh my God, can you stop with that? He doesn’t.”
“He does, and I say go for it.”
“You have completely lost it. There is no way. He’s just a nice guy.”
“Okay, keep telling yourself that.” She takes a mouthful of her salad and leans back in her chair. “Mark my words, you two will be married in a year.”
“Ha.” I guffaw. “Wow, okay, sure, Blakely.” Eli Hornsby has made it very, very clear that marriage is not on his radar. She’ll be eating her words.
Have I told you how much I hate my friend?
Because I hate her.
Tremendously.
Since lunch, all I can think about is Eli and the slightest chance he possibly likes me. Which I know is not the case, but now that she’s put that in my head, it’s all I can think about. He sent me a text a few times at work about random things, nothing serious, and I kept thinking, is he texting me because we’re friends or because he wants more?
The logical answer is because we’re friends.
The horny, hormonal answer is he wants me.
He wants me so bad that he wishes he could smell me through the phone. That’s why he texts so often.
Yup, my mind went to teleporting smell through a cellular service.
And then it graduated from there.
Teleporting scents was just a blip on the radar.
My mind went so far to think that as I’m walking through the door of my apartment to the tangy, tomatoey smell of lasagna, he’s waiting on the counter, stretched out completely naked with an oven mitt on his ding-dong, waiting for me to rip it off and start sucking.
Yes, sucking.
That is where we’re at, folks. Sucking a man on a countertop.
And what’s even worse, when I actually walk through the door and look toward the kitchen, I’m devastated to see that there isn’t a man spread across my kitchen counter with an erection pointing at the ceiling with my name on it. Instead, he’s leaning on the counter, looking at his phone . . . dressed.
Sure . . . he looks great and all in his light blue sweater and dark jeans with his hair styled to the side that says, I’m meeting the parents tonight. There is nothing about him screaming, “suck my cock, bitch,” and it’s incredibly disappointing.
He glances up from his phone, and when he sees me, he smiles. “Hey, how was the rest of work?” He sets his phone down and grips the counter, but the damn sweater he’s wearing reveals nothing. Not even a slight flex.
“It was fine,” I say while hanging my purse on my purse hook in the entryway. “Nothing super great.”
He frowns as he studies me. “Are you okay? You seem like you’re in a bad mood.”
I am, because you’re not asking me to take my top off the minute I walk through the door.
“Tired,” I say while offering him the best smile I can muster.
Tired . . . not so much.
Sexually charged . . . one thousand percent.
Something has happened to me. Sure, I’ve been craving intimacy lately. But ever since this morning, since Eli tweaked my nipple, it’s almost as though he turned on a light switch in my body, and I can’t seem to turn it off.
And my best friend, the one who’s supposed to help me, did nothing but throw fuel on the fire.
Instead, she put unrealistic thoughts in my head and then sent me articles about how my “genital sensitivity” has increased drastically and how I should take advantage of it.
She didn’t have to tell me that. I already noticed, thank you very much.
“Should we reschedule for a different night?” Eli asks as he walks up to me.