He raised an eyebrow. “You don’t like pancakes?”
“What? Yes, I like pancakes.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“The problem is I was going to have eggs and toast.”
“You’re still hungry after the pancakes, you can have that,” he told her.
“What? No, I can’t eat that much.” She stared at him aghast. She shifted around on the seat, feeling angsty. “You know that ordering for me like that isn’t sexy.”
“Who said I was trying to be sexy?” he drawled.
Shoot. Why had she said that?
“I just. . .”
“Baby girl, what’s the real problem here?” He half-turned towards her, his forearm resting on the table. “You think I’m being a jerk. Wasn’t trying to be but I’ll take that on board. Not saying I’ll change, of course.”
She rolled her eyes at him.
“You really don’t want the pancakes? I’ll go change the order.” He moved along the booth. She reached out and wrapped her hand around his arm.
“No, wait. . .”
He stilled, watching her carefully.
“I like pancakes. I just haven’t had them in years because. . .” Because why? Because she wanted to be healthy? Or because Greg wanted her to be thin?
“When I met Greg, I was bigger. I had curves.” She missed having boobs and an ass. “He helped me with my diet. If I stray from it, then I’ll put on weight again.”
Except, it had been Greg that cared about that, right?
And Greg was gone, so why was she continuing on like he hadn’t left?
Duke moved in closer, his scent wrapping around her. Leather and spice. “Babe, a man shouldn’t try to mold his woman into something else to make him happy. That ain’t a man. Not a good man. A real man wants his woman to be happy. With herself. With him. A real man wants his woman to be healthy. A real man makes a woman feel desired and safe. Secure in the knowledge that her man thinks she’s fucking sexy no matter what. Being healthy is good, not saying pancakes every day is a great idea. Not saying you should immediately become a junk food addict. But some treats aren’t a bad thing. You got to live a little, baby girl.”
Her heart stopped for a moment. That was not what she’d been expecting him to say. And her insides melted. She took in a low breath. He was right. She nodded her head. “Extra whipped cream and syrup might have been overkill.”
He smiled. Holy hell. That smile was lethal. “Who said that was for you?”
She rolled her eyes at him.
“How long have you known you were a Little?” He leaned back in the booth. How did he suck up so much space? And air? And her ability to think? Her mouth was dry and she reached out a shaky hand for the sweet tea, managing to spill some on the tabletop.
“Shoot,” she muttered, reaching for some napkins.
“Here, let me.” He grabbed the napkins and mopped up the mess. Then he wiped down the glass. “Drink up, babe. You’re probably still a bit dehydrated.”
She nodded then took a sip of the sweet tea.
“Not a coffee fan?”
“I am, but Greg didn’t. . .” her voice trailed off at his frown. “Maybe we shouldn’t talk about him.”
“Might be best,” he agreed. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“Noticed that, did you?”