He laughs quietly. “I make the best pancakes in town. Just saying.”
“And you’re offering to make me some?”
“Maybe. Depending”
On what?
He reaches out and wipes something off my chin. “You had some chocolate there.”
Crap. Frantically I rub at my chin and try the paper napkin again. “Sorry.”
“Mmm…” He sticks his finger into his mouth to suck it clean, and I have to clench my thighs to ease the throb starting there, and deeper inside. “Don’t be.”
Oh boy.
“So you like mythology,” he says, the low, sexy timbre of his voice not helping matters down there. “And pancakes. And maybe indie rock.”
And you, I think. I like you.
But I don’t trust myself, my judgment, my weakness for pretty boys.
“I also like cats.”
“That explains the T-shirts you wear every time,” he murmurs.
He noticed! “And you’re often on campus. Taking many classes?”
“A couple, though I have no fucking clue what I wanna major in.”
“At least you’re trying to figure it out. I’m not sure where I’m going, to be honest.”
Our heads bend together in mutual commiseration, matching rueful grins on our faces.
“It will come to you,” he says. “The answer.”
To life, the universe and everything?
“Yeah. To you, too.”
“Bet you say that to all the boys.”
“Only the promising ones,” my smart-ass mouth says for me.
“Good.” He pushes his coffee mug away and looks straight at me, a question in his light eyes that I can’t decipher.
What does he want from me? I can’t stop myself from staring back, at those golden-fringed baby blues, then at his mouth, so wide and full, so close and tempting.
“I have to go,” he says, breaking the trance I’m in. I realize I’ve leaned embarrassingly close to him and jerk back. “Work and all that.”
“At the garage.”
“That’s right.”
I think about those muscles gleaming with sweat and oil as he works at the garage, and I clear my throat, suddenly feeling too warm.
I push away my empty plate and lean back in my seat, licking chocolate syrup from my lips. “Let’s go.”
With a slight shake of his head, he pulls out some bills and throws them on the table. “You’re trouble,” he mutters, and I frown, because that’s exactly what I think of him. “Tomorrow, same time?”