CHAPTER FOUR
GINGER
I DON’T KNOW WHERE WE’RE going.
Dylan’s fingers thread through mine, and he pulls me through the restaurant, out the front door.
We stand at the curb, and he looks down the street. “I’m parked two blocks down.” His gaze drifts down my body and stops at my feet. “Are you able to walk in those?”
I look down at my feet, too dazed to remember what shoes I put on. “Um,” I whisper. Damn Lexi for making me wear these. Three-inch black sling backs are not my ideal walking shoes. To and from the car is no problem, but when talking blocks in Chicago, that is a no-go. “Think we can get an Uber to your car?” I joke.
“No.” He releases my hand and stands in front of me. In one motion, he bends and swoops me up in his arms. I frantically wind my arms around his neck. “Hold on, sweet cheeks,” he rumbles.
“Dylan,” I squawk. “You can’t carry me.”
He smirks. “Yeah, I can.” He flexes his arms around me and walks to the end of the block. We wait at a crosswalk for the light to change.
“People are staring at us,” I whisper in his ear.
“Yeah, sweet cheeks. The men are jealous as hell of me, and all of the women wish they were you.” He strolls across the street like this isn’t the first time he carried a woman down the street.
“That is not what they are thinking,” I hiss. Well, I’m sure the women are jealous of me, but I’m sure the men are wondering how the hell Dylan is able to carry me. “I’m too heavy. You’re going to drop me.”
Dylan looks down at me. “I bench press more than what you weigh every morning.”
“You work out?” There was one thing we did not have in common.
“Yeah.”
“I don’t think I’ve stepped foot in a gym more than ten times. Every year, I make the stupid resolution to lose weight, but after one time of going to the gym, doughnuts win,” I babble.
“You don’t need the gym.”
I can’t roll my eyes hard enough. “Mmkay.” Says the man with the bangin’ body and tight ass. I’m the Stay Puft marshmallow man next to him. “So where are we going?”
Dylan crosses another street and manages to hold onto me while he digs in his pocket for his keys. “Brown Bottle.”
“You seem to really be into that place.”
He chuckles and gingerly sets me on the ground. “I should be. I own it.” He beeps the locks on his SUV and opens the door for me. “You’ll love it.”
“Oh, do I seem like The Brown Bottle type?”
He reaches out and grabs my hand. “You’re my type, sweet cheeks, so that means you’ll fit right it at The Brown Bottle.”
I brace my other hand on his chest and gaze up at him. “I’m curious to know what exactly your type is.”
“I’m looking at it.” His hand slides around my waist and tugs me flush against his body.
“Is this normally how your dates go?” I gasp.
He shakes his head. “No, not at all.”
“Then what are we doing?” I whisper.
“Something completely different that’s going to last.”
My jaw drops at his words. His hand glides up my side, delves into my hair, and his lips brush against mine.
A moan escapes my lips at his touch, and I lean into him. I don’t know what the hell is going on, but I know I don’t want it to end. “This is so not how I expected this night to go,” I reply dumbly. I mentally take stock of Dylan’s hand in my hair, his other hand resting on my ass, and his lips a breath away from mine. He had just earned every single penny Lexi paid him.
“Me neither. I expected to feed you, spin you around the dance floor a couple of times, and make it back to the restaurant before last call.” He tugs on my hair, tilting my head back further.
“You didn’t really have high expectations,” I whisper.
“As soon as I saw you, Ginger, my expectations soared.” His eyes heat with desire, and he squeezes my ass. “Now, I plan on feeding you, and then having you for dessert.”
My breath whooshes out of my lips. “Whoa.” If Lexi paid extra for this, I’m going to owe her the rest of my life. “I’m pretty sure I’m dreaming.”
He brushes my lips with a gentle kiss and then rests his forehead against mine. “It’s all real, sweet cheeks. Get used to it.”
In one swift move, he spins us around, and deposits me in the passenger seat. As soon as I lift my feet, he swings the door shut and jogs around the front of the truck.
I smooth my skirt, tugging it down as far as I can. Even sitting down, I’m showing a lot of thigh. Damn, Lexi. Although it doesn’t seem like Dylan is complaining. “So where is The Brown Bottle?”
Dylan starts the SUV and pulls away from the curb. “Fifteen minutes from here.”
I clear my throat. “So, do you cook there? Or are you just the head guy?” Small talk is not my forte.
He glances over at me and smirks. “Both, but I’m the head guy. This past year, I was able to escape the kitchen and hire a head chef.”
“So, things are good?” Jesus, could I sound lamer?
“Yeah, they’re good.” He reaches over and threads his fingers through mine. “Relax. Why don’t you tell me more about you?”
The word boring pops up in my mind. There really isn’t much to say. “Um, well, I’m twenty-six.”
“That it?”
Lame. Totally lame. “There’s not much to say.”
“Where do you work? What do you do?”
Oh, duh. “I work for a law firm.”
“Lawyer?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No, I’m just a secretary. You know, answer phones, file, and go on coffee runs.” Lord, now I made my job sound boring, too.
“You like what you do?”
“It’s a paycheck.”
He gently rubs my thumb. “I’m going to assume that’s a no.”
“Does anyone really have a job they like? I mean, it’s a job.”
“I love my job.”
I scoff and laugh. “I think that’s pretty damn rare.”
“How about this, if you could quit your job today and get any job you want, what would it be?”
I lean my head back against the headrest. “So, we’re playing make-believe now?”
“Just answer the question,” he replies.
My eyes roll so hard, I’m afraid they’ll get stuck up in my eyelids. “When I was six, I wanted to be a ballerina. When I was eleven, I wanted to be a singer. Fourteen, a nurse. Eighteen, I just wanted to grow up, and now at twenty-six, I just want to work my forty hours a week and collect a paycheck.”
Dylan nods and stops at a red light. “So, what do you do when you aren’t collecting a paycheck?”
“You’re really trying to find out how boring I am, aren’t you?”
“I doubt you’re boring, sweet cheeks.”
I smirk and shake my head. “Sweet cheeks. I have to say, I’ve never been called that in my life before.”
“It’s me assuming.”
I quirk an eyebrow and tilt my head. “Assuming what?”
“That your ass is as sweet as it is lush.” He releases my hand and rubs my thigh. His fingers push up my skirt and brush my bare skin.
I catch my lip between my teeth, and a shiver runs through my body. “Are we still going to The Brown Bottle?”
Dylan tugs down my skirt and rests his hand on the steering wheel. “Yes, but as soon as we’re done eating, I get to find out if it’s true.”
I clasp my hands together in my lap and close my eyes.
If this is a dream, I never want to wake up, and if it isn’t, I’m about to enjoy the hell out of this man until he kicks me out of his bed.
First, he needs to feed me.