Mr. Masters (Mr. 1)
Page 65
“There are lots of old things in the United Kingdom.” He raises his eyebrow suggestively as if to imply that he is one of those old things.
He’s just so…
“Do you travel much for work?” I ask as I try and remain casual.
No drooling at the table, fool.
“Not really.” He sips his wine. “I’m guest speaking at a conference.”
“Wow.” I smile. “Impressive.”
He smiles shyly and drops his head. “Hardly. I’m speaking on the effects of prison on drug addicts.
“Oh, that sounds heavy.”
He nods. “Could say that.”
We stay silent for a moment as the air buzzes between us, and if I’m not mistaken, he seems a little nervous too… or maybe that’s just because I’m nervous enough for the both of us.
“What have you got on this weekend? Anything fun?” I ask.
He exhales. “No. Not yet. You?”
“I’m going out with Emerson on Saturday night.” I sip my wine and lift my glass to him. “And you needn’t worry, I won’t be coming back here to embarrass myself again.”
He rolls his eyes. “Why do you keep bringing that up?”
“Because it’s beyond mortifying. I’m having it put on my tombstone.” I put my hand up in a rainbow shape. “Here lies Brielle, champion refrigerator humper.”
He chuckles, and I close my eyes, faking a shiver.
“Are you going out with your Canadian friend again?” he asks, suddenly falling serious.
I cringe. “God, no. That guy is a douche, and so not my type.”
His sexy eyes hold mine. “You have a type?”
My stomach flutters.
You… you’re my type.
“Everyone has a type… don’t they?” I smile shyly.
He shrugs. “I don’t know.”
“Do you have a type?” I ask.
He refills our glasses as he contemplates my question. Jeez, slow down. These drinks are going down way too easily. We don’t want a repeat fridge humping performance.
He purses his lips as he contemplates my question. “I guess the women I’ve dated lately do fall into somewhat of a type.”
“You’re dating?” I ask, acting surprised. Thankfully, he has no idea on my spying activities this week.
His eyes dance with delight… or mischief. I really can’t tell.
“I date.” He smiles against his glass. “I’m not that old. I’m not dead… yet.”
I bite my bottom lip to hide my goofy smile. “I never said you were old.”