Only One Chance (Only One 2)

Now I have to wonder if this was actually a good idea. Fuck, maybe I should have thought things through before I just showed up here unannounced. Yet the minute I see her in her shorts and tank top, I know I made the right decision. “Figured it would be hard to ignore me if I was right in front of you.” I walk into the house, her shocked mouth hanging open. I want nothing more than to kiss her, but instead, I kiss her right on the cheek. “It smells great in here.”

I step into the foyer and wait for her to close the door. “What are you doing here?”

“I sent you more than five texts,” I say. “According to Google, I should give you until tomorrow to get back to me.” I shrug, thinking about the list that told me not to come over here, not to mention the texts, and, more importantly, give her space. “I’m not one to follow the rules.”

“You don’t say,” she says, shaking her head. “What if I was with someone?”

I look past her into the house. “Are you really with someone?” I ask, suddenly pissed that she would do that.

“No,” she says, rolling her eyes. “But still.”

“That isn’t funny,” I say. She walks away from me, and I can see the cheeks of her ass in those shorts. My cock suddenly wakes up, and I don’t move. She stops and looks over at me. “Just checking out the view,” I say, and she throws her head back and groans.

“Walk in front of me,” she says, and I smirk at her.

“Want to check out the goods?” I say, walking past her. “I can walk backward if you want to check out the main event.”

“What are you doing here?” she asks me, walking with me into the main room, and I follow her into the kitchen.

“I wanted to take you for ice cream,” I say, and she looks at me. “And I wanted to see you.”

“Did you eat?” she asks, and I shake my head. “I was too busy trying to text you and then reading bad information online about this.”

She laughs then, and I finally feel my stomach settle and don’t feel like an idiot for just showing up. “What did you make?”

“Crispy chicken, honey parsley carrots, and basmati rice,” she says, and I just look at her. “What? I like to cook.”

She places two plates on the counter and scoops the food onto them. Walking over, she sets them on the counter. “Do you want some water?”

“Yes, please.” I pull out the chair and sit down, waiting for her to come back. I see her plate is half the size of my portion. “Thank you,” I say when she sits next to me. “I wasn’t expecting this.”

She shakes her head. “I wasn’t going to be rude and eat in front of you without offering you some.” I grab the knife and pick up a carrot. “And I figured you wouldn’t leave anyway.”

“It’s like we’ve been together forever.” I wink at her. “These are the best carrots I’ve ever had.”

“You don’t have to pretend,” she says while eating a carrot from her plate. “So what else did Google say?”

“Well, I’m not supposed to discuss the text, which is stupid,” I tell her as I chew another piece. “One piece of advice was to wait five days,” I huff out. “Five days is equivalent to a year.” She laughs. “It also said not to ask you out again. But that shit was too late since we’re going for ice cream.”

“So you basically just made your own rule book.” She chews a piece of chicken.

I put my fork down. “I’ve never been in this position before.”

“The one where the girls don’t text you back?” she asks, not making eye contact as she scoots the food around her plate.

“I mean, yes and no,” I tell her. “I’ve never had to jump through hoops.”

She pushes away from the counter and takes her plate with her, tossing half of it in the garbage. “No one is asking you to jump through hoops.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “I didn’t ask you to come over here.”

I look at her now, trying to read her. “Oh, trust me, I know.” I finish eating my plate. “I like this.”

“Me glaring at you while you eat the dinner I made for myself?” she says, and I clap my hands, laughing.

“This,” I say, pointing at her and then at me. “And for the record, I want to jump through hoops for you.” I see her shield come down just a bit. “Now, can I please take you for ice cream?”

“I’m lactose intolerant,” she fires back with attitude.

“Really?” I say. I fold my arms over my chest, knowing full well she’s lying. “So if I get up right now and look in your fridge, I won’t find ice cream?”