12

“Yes, I’m sure. Or, it’s nearly twenty. Nineteen, to be precise.”

“Nineteen.” I thought about that for a minute, growing more

comfortable with the idea by the moment. “That’s kind of hot, isn’t it?

That a woman that you’re interested in who is nineteen years your

junior is throwing herself at you? Begging you to teach her a thing or

two. Or seven.”

I’d closed in on him while I was talking, trapping him against the

armchair. He didn’t realize until he’d tripped and fell backward into

the seat, but he’d only caught the edge in his fall and immediately

slipped to the ground.

And I slipped right into his lap.

I spread my legs, straddling him the way I had the night before.

His breath came fast, but even, and his skin was hot to the touch as I

swept my finger across his forehead, brushing away the hair that had

fallen there. He locked his eyes on mine, the pupils darkening as

they lingered in his stare.

“I’m supposing you don’t need CPR,” I teased. I was terrible, but

he was too easy.

His