Page 39 of On His Knees
“Carbs,” I say as I stab my fork into a big meatball. “You can’t go wrong, right?”
She shakes the arm sporting her Fitbit. “Oh, you can go wrong,” she says with a grin. “I’m going to have to double my steps after this.”
“I told you, you’re perfect. But if you want to work off the calories, I can think of better ways.” Thunder rumbles again and the lights dim for a moment. The TV flickers off and I leave it that way. “I had a dog growing up. He used to hide under the bed when it stormed,” I say, guiding the conversation to a more personal level.
“Poor thing.” She breaks a meatball in half, and it hovers over her mouth when she asks, “What was his name?”
“Arlo.”
She laughs. “What a cute name for a dog.”
“Dad named him after his grandfather. Did you have any pets growing up?” I slide a forkful of pasta into my mouth and lean back against the sofa to stretch my legs out.
“No, we weren’t allowed pets where I lived. I would have loved to have one though.”
I tap the floor, and she shimmies back to join me. Lightning zigzags across the sky, and with the floor-to-ceiling glass windows on two sides of the suite, we have perfect spot to enjoy the storm as we ride it out.
“Let me guess, cat person,” I say.
I reach out, wipe the sauce away from her chin. “Nope,” she says.
I put my finger into my mouth. “You’re kind of a messy eater.”
“I am not,” she says, and grabs a napkin.
“You snore, too.”
She whacks me and I laugh. “Dog person?”
“Nope.”
“Please don’t tell me a guinea pig or anything like that.” I feign a shiver. “Those things always freaked me out a little.”
“You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who freaks over anything.” She shakes her head, and a few strands of hair fall to her neckline. “And no, not a guinea pig person.”
A smile plays on her lips. She’s being coy with me. “What then?”
“I’m partial to donkeys,” she says, and bursts out laughing.
“I’m going to have to pay you back for making me wear that.”
“Come on, the kids loved it. You were adorable,” she says, and leans into me to place a soft kiss on my mouth. She pulls back and reaches for her wine. She takes a small sip and hands the glass to me. I drain the sweet wine, then grab the bottle to refill it.
“So you weren’t allowed to have pets in your Brooklyn apartment,” I say, curious to know more, for many reasons.
She angles her head, worry lingering behind those astute eyes as they move over my face. “How do you know where I grew up?”
“You told me.” I tap my head. “I don’t forget anything.”
She nods. “As a bartender I supposed that’s a good trait to have. You can remember people’s problems when they come back in.”
“Do you want to tell me your problems, Summer?”
She smiles softly. “Vacations aren’t for talking about problems. Vacations are for fun and relaxation.”
“And sex. Don’t forget sex,” I say.
Her cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink. “Lots and lots of sex.”