Page 12 of The P*ssy Next Door
I watched, awed by Willa's expressive face and the way she talked with her hands, marveling at how at ease she seemed speaking in a whole other language.
They said a couple more things to each other, and then the waiter headed toward the kitchen, hollering something to whoever was working in the back. If I had to guess, it was something about the crazy-hot white chick in their dining room who spoke Vietnamese.
She turned to me with a grin. “I hope you don't mind that I just ordered for us. They totally speak English, but it's fun for me to surprise them with my mediocre-at-best Vietnamese. They never expect a chubby white girl to know a word of their language, even when I'm in Saigon.”
I couldn't resist reaching out to tuck an errant chestnut curl behind her ear. “You'll have to teach me how to order too.”
The first date guide suggested that I teach her how to do something on our date, but I doubt she wanted to know how to read a defense or memorize the play book. I'd been trained to make snap decisions on the field, so I was using that skill now to call an audible on this play and flip the script on the dating playbook just like she had on the waiter.
Before I could pull out any of the other smooth lines I'd planned to try out on her, the waiter reappeared with a tray holding a pile of leaves and sprouts, and two steaming bowls of broth with noodles and pink slices of beef. He set them down and I stared at the food I was sure was from Mars or Venus. “Isn't this what Klingons eat?”
“This is ph? tái, a pretty classic version, not generally found on Kronos,” Willa teasingly explained and grabbed a handful of the leaves, which she tore up and sprinkled across the soup.
The fact that she got my Star Trek reference made her ten times hotter.
Next, she grabbed some bright red but tiny peppers, broke them in half and added those to the broth too. “But I'm impressed that you thought of gagh, and I'm about ninety percent more attracted to you now.”
Huh. I was not expecting Willa to be a Trekkie. But if that's what she was attracted to, I was going to let my Trek flag fly. “Star Trek is my jam, Imzadi.”
Willa paused, her hand mid-air, and gave me a look that I absolutely couldn't interpret. “I'm way more Lwaxana than Deanna.”
Ah, she was testing me to see if I was really a Trekkie or not. “If I remember correctly, they both had a thing for Riker, and I'm the man when it comes to throwing my leg over a chair and sitting in it backward.”
She gave me the tiniest of nods, licked her lips but didn't reply, and went back to preparing her bowl of gagh. I was both planning our next date where we watched whichever Star Trek episode or movie she deemed was the best in full surround sound in my living room, hopefully while making out, while also watching in stunned fascination as she built up the concoction in front of her.
She added bean sprouts, some deep brown sauce out of a squeeze bottle, and then bright red Sriracha in thick swirls, topping the whole thing off with a squeeze of lime.
So weird. But it did smell great and not at all like hot worms.
“We'll have to Star Trek and chill sometime, huh? Now you try,” she urged, pushing a plate of garnishes across to me. “I'll walk you through it.”
My brain was stuck on the “and chill” part of her offer and I thoroughly mangled several sprigs of herbs and added way too much Sriracha, until I had a questionable-looking mound in my bowl. “I'll provide the Star Trek and you bring the chill.”
Yeah. I'd just said that. Dumb. I'm a football player not a Casanova, Jim.
Luckily, there was a fork and one of those big Chinese-style spoons, so I didn't have to embarrass myself too badly trying to eat with the chopsticks. I'd made enough of a fool out of myself tonight.
Willa did use her chopsticks, and I watched her loosen the pile of noodles and mix all the garnishes and goop we'd piled on top into the broth. I did the same but with my fork.
“Bon appétit,” she said and deftly lifted a pile of noodles from the bowl into her mouth, slurping them right up. I maybe stared at her mouth for a minute too long before I ducked my head and did my best to twirl some noodles onto my fork. One bite, and I nearly moaned out loud. “Oh man, this is fuh-cking delicious.”
Willa grinned around a mouthful of noodles. “Told ya. Denver has quite the Vietnamese community, and that means great Vietnamese food right here in the Rocky Mountains. Who knew?”
I nodded vigorously, slurping up another big bite of the savory soup. Drops of the broth dribbled down the noodles hanging from my mouth, off my chin, and onto my shirt. So much for dating manners. I slurped those noodles right up and licked my lips.
“Hey, Hayes?” Willa's voice had dropped to a low, sultry register that made my body lock up. I glanced over to find her watching me intently, that full bottom lip caught between her teeth.
“Yeah?”
Leaning in close, her eyes danced with mischief. “If you're that enthusiastic about slurping noodles, I can only imagine how good you'll be at other things you can do with your mouth.”
Oh, ho. My dick went nuclear at her brazen innuendo, arousal zinging straight through my heart and down my spine. So, we were onto the sexually charged flirting phase of the date, were we? We'd skipped a few steps on my checklist, but I was down for the changeup if it meant she was thinking about all the things my mouth could do to hers and her body.
Not that I knew what I was doing, but once again, I'd learn, and I was always a straight A student.
I went to lean in and whisper in her ear that I was particularly good at using my mouth for entertaining purposes, but instead, I upended the tray with the bottles of sauce and the full jar of chili oil.
“Fuck a duck.” I cut the litany of swear words I wanted to say and blinked down at the hot mess that was now my crotch.