Weekend Wife (Sassy in the City 1)

His eyebrows shot up. “What feelings are those?”

I opened the bag and popped a chip into my mouth. “Hunger and sexual frustration.”

“I can take care of both of those.”

I had no doubt.

Eating with Leah was the first time it occurred to me I didn’t have a table. I ate at the island, on the sofa, or at my desk. There was room for a dining table, I’d just never gotten one because it seemed unnecessary. I didn’t even remember the designer suggesting one, now that I thought about it. Maybe I threw off a vibe of workaholic dude eats alone or in restaurants.

But while eating at the island next to Leah felt casual and comfortable, it would have been better to be able to sit across from her and see her as we talked. A real meal at a table in my own apartment with a woman. It had never mattered to me. But with Leah the idea held appeal.

Everything about Leah held appeal.

She had destroyed a burrito in about thirty seconds and was now eating plantain chips with guacamole while firing questions at me with a speed of three per minute. Or close to it.

“Sunrises or sunsets?”

“Sunset. I love the night. Besides, the sunset is when you applaud yourself for an accomplished day.”

“I’m the opposite,” she said. “I love the possibilities of a new day.”

That didn’t surprise me about Leah. She was a very optimistic person.

“What’s your favorite dessert?” she asked.

“You,” I said without hesitation.

Leah laughed. “No, I meant for real. I love key lime pie. I would do some shady things for a slice of it.”

“I’ll make note of that.” Seriously, I was going to have to send her a whole key lime pie next week as a thank-you gift. No vibrator included. Just the pie. “That’s good ammunition to have.”

She rolled her eyes. “What’s your answer?”

I thought about it and shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not a big dessert guy. I guess maybe chocolate cake.”

“Solid choice.” Leah stuck her finger in the guacamole container and scraped the last remaining bits up. “Do you speak another language?”

The random questions kept coming. “Yes. French, learned at boarding school. Spanish, taught to me by my nanny. How about you?”

“Nope. I suck. I really should learn Spanish at least but I don’t seem to have an ear for it.”

“It’s not an ear. It’s not intellect. You have to feel a language.”

“Interesting. Not what I would have expected you to say.”

“I do know how to feel things.”

Leah grinned. “I know you do.”

I nodded. “And I’m just getting started.”

“I can’t wait to see what you mean by that.” But then she went right back to drilling me. “How long have you lived here?” she asked.

“Two years.”

“Rent or own?”

“Rent. I realize that’s ironic given I own real estate but I have a penthouse in mind that is eighteen months out from completion. I moved in here intending it to be temporary but then I couldn’t find the right property.” The place I wanted was insanely huge for a single guy but it seemed like the next logical step.