Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
I stared at him while picking up a strip of steak, bringing it close to my lips. “Are you a germaphobe? It’s cool if you are.”
“Are you married? It’s cool if you are,” he said, sliding his hands into his back jeans pockets.
I grinned before taking a swig of wine. Then I moved the band from my left hand to my right. “Better? And who says a diamond band has to be a wedding band?”
Murphy’s gaze remained on the ring, so I removed it and opened the cabinet, taking a wine glass out and setting the ring in the empty spot. After wiping my germs from the bottle, I filled his glass halfway. He stared at it, then shifted his focus to the cabinet where I left the ring.
“It’s sweet that you care,” I said, handing him the glass.
He accepted it and brought it to his lips. “What do you mean?”
I took another bite of steak and shrugged a shoulder while chewing. “You’re not the guy who has sex with another man’s wife.”
He choked, setting the glass on the counter while holding a fist to his mouth as he coughed. “W-Who said,” he coughed again, “anything about sex?”
“I know … I know.” I rubbed my forehead. “It’s risky with you so high on that pedestal. But despite your pitiful performance at cornhole, I think you have to be good in bed.”
His cheeks filled with a blush. “How much wine have you had?”
I made a pitiful attempt at hiding my grin, which should have been the answer to his question. “Tonight? Today? Or like ever?”
Murphy blinked with no discernible change in his expression, so I handed him the plate of steak and spun in the opposite direction, padding my way toward his collection of records.
“Are your hands clean?” he asked.
I smirked, wiping them on the front of my frayed denim shorts. “They are now.” I swapped out Ella for The Mamas and Papas, “Dream A Little Dream Of Me.”
Murphy plucked a strip of steak from the plate before setting it on the dining room table and descending the two steps into the living room.
“Do you happen to have an open slot on your dance card tonight?” I asked.
He shook his head, licking his buttery fingers. “Gentlemen don’t have dance cards. Women wear them around their wrists or attached to their formal gowns. So it is I who should ask you if your dance card is full.”
I flipped my wrist, looking at my imaginary dance card. “Nope. It’s empty because I step on toes. No one wants to dance with me.”
Murphy tried to suppress his grin while studying me. I didn’t want to be figured out, I just wanted him to dance with me.
He bent one arm behind his back while bowing and offering me his other hand. “May I have this dance?”
With my thumbs tucked into the front pockets of my shorts, I twisted my lips to the side for a few seconds. “I suppose.” I rested my hand in his, and he jerked me into his body, making me gasp as one hand rested confidently on my lower back while his other clasped with mine a few inches from my face.
He led. I followed. Well, I tried.
“You are truly an awful dancer, Alice Yates.”
My two left feet didn’t keep him from swinging me around the living room, dodging the coffee table and sofa. As the song ended, I risked a quick glance up at him. His hazel eyes ensnared me.
The wine.
The music.
The embrace of a stranger with great hair and a killer smile.
It was the best escape.
The next song on the track brought us out of the moment, and whatever was or wasn’t about to happen, because the song was just flat-out weird.
I released his hand and covered my mouth to muffle my laughter. “What is this?”
He chuckled, stepping past me to turn off the music and slide the record back into its sleeve. “Who taught you to cook?”
“YouTube,” I said.
He looked over his shoulder. “Seriously?”
I nodded.
“Well, thanks for sharing your dinner with me.”
I shook my head. “I told you. It’s not my dinner.”
“You just what? Get a hankering for a steak at nine o’clock at night?”
“Something like that. You should take the rest with you. Crack some eggs in the morning. Put a little cream in your coffee.” I grabbed the plate and handed it to him. “Just return the plate or I’ll get fined.”
“I like my coffee black.”
I hesitated before returning a slow nod. “Okay. I’ll remember that.”
He scraped his teeth along his bottom lip. “I uh … thought we were going to have sex.”
My eyes widened. “Oh. Well, I mean—”
A shit-eating grin engulfed his face as he brushed past me toward the back door. “Good night, Alice.”
Chapter Ten
Murphy
If we are what we eat, make every plate beautiful, every bite vibrant with flavor and color.