Page 23 of Ghost

“You were sitting across from me. You did that thing with your hair, and then you pointed to the seat beside me.” I pointed to the empty booth space beside her. “So, what were you thinking? When you pointed?”

One side of her mouth curled up. “I thought you were handsome.”

I wasn’t a bad looking guy, but I was far from handsome. I cocked an eyebrow. “Handsome?”

Clearly embarrassed, her gaze fell to the table. “Uh huh.”

She did the hair thing again, and then scratched her nose with her finger.

“What’s on your mind, Abby?” I asked, citing the question she said George asked, word for word.

She looked up. A guilty grin was plastered on her face. “Nothing.”

“You were doing that hair thing,” I said. “So, you were thinking about something.”

“Are we being truthful?” she asked mockingly.

I shrugged. “Let’s try it for a while.”

Her mouth twisted into a smirk. “I was thinking about what you said earlier.”

I raised my brows in interest. “Which part?”

“About the pie,” she deadpanned. “I think I’m ready to give it a try.”

It wasn’t what I was hoping for. Seeing her devour a pie would be entertaining. Watching her writhe in sexual bliss while I shoved her full of cock would be better. I reached for my wallet, hoping the blood would drain from my stiff dick before I stood.

“Fine,” I whined. “Pie it is.”

She gave a coy smile and turned to the side. “I was thinking about the sex, silly.”

Now, instead of me torturing her, she was tormenting me. “What about it?” I asked, shoving the heel of my palm against my stiff dick.

“It’s been a long time for me,” she admitted. “Thinking about it is nice.”

Thinking about it was nice. Doing it would be better. Much better. I wondered if she was as deep in thought as I was.

“Is your pussy wet?” I asked.

Her face blushed instantly. She choked on her attempt to respond. After taking a drink of water, she recovered enough to speak.

“What?” she asked.

“You heard me.” I gestured to her lap with a nod of my head. “Your pussy. Is. It. Wet?”

She swallowed heavily. Her head nodded ever so slightly.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” I slid to the edge of the booth, so she could see my lap. With my eyes locked on her, I nodded toward my stiff dick. “I could hammer nails with this thing.”

Without argument or hesitation, she took a lingering look.

“So, I’ll ask again,” I said. “What’s it going to be? Pie or this?”

“That is tempting.” She shifted her eyes from my cock to my face. “But I’m going to have to stick with the pie. At least for now.”

I couldn’t believe it. I was trying to coerce a died-in-the-wool prick tease to give me some pussy. “We’re both adults,” I fumed. “You’ve got a wet pussy, and I’m rocking some serious wood. Explain to me why you want to eat fucking pie.”

“I just want to get to know you a little more before we take it to the next level,” she said. “So, for now, it’s going to have to be pie.”

“Fine,” I huffed. I pulled out my wallet and flipped through the bills. “You want to follow me to my place?”

“Do you have a pecan pie?”

Being turned down for sex would normally be my signal to pay the bill and leave. With Abby, however, I had no intention of walking away. My cock wanted to fuck her, but my brain wasn’t opposed to getting to know her better. I decided to merge the two and agree to watch her eat a pie, but only after she rode on the back of my bike. Nothing stimulated sexual desire more than a ride on a Harley.

“No, but you’re going to ride on the back of my bike to get the pie. You’ve got your rules, and I’ve got mine. You can leave your car at my place.”

“You can follow me to my place,” she said. “I’ll gladly park my car and get on that bike again.”

Her tone let me know I was headed in the right direction. I tossed a hundred-dollar bill on the table and stood, hoping her pie-eating efforts fell within the getting to know me slot.

If not, the agony associated with my brain tumor wasn’t going to be limited to headaches.