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I could talk to him forever. Though, one of us would lose our voice, and then the other would, and the conversation would be reduced to heavy breathing... Heat raced over my skin at the idea of the ways I could touch myself, to breathe heavily for him. “Says the man who ordered me to send him pussy pictures.”
“An order you argued with, despite planning on doing it anyway.”
“Busted.” I laughed.
“I should let you get some sleep.”
Oh. Such a simple, thoughtful statement, but it hurt. The pain was a good reminder that I shouldn’t be flirting with him, given the business nature of our relationship. “Probably a good idea.”
“One more thing, though.”
Thiswas where he’d make his pitch. Because why not end the conversation on a down note? “All right?”
“I’ll be in New Orleans in a few nights, if you’d like a remote tour.”
My heart body-checked my brain and slammed it out of the ring. “I’d love that.”
“It’s a da—eal. Sweet dreams.”
“’Night.” I set my phone on the nightstand.
My brain had recovered. Was this part of the pitch? Kingston told me flat out that their goal was to convince me they’d be good business partners.
The ache behind my ribs desperately wanted that call to be what it looked like on the surface—friendly and flirty. But I couldn’t believe nothing hid underneath.
Chapter Thirteen
Thursday night, Kingstonslipped through the café front door as I was locking up. His hair was damp, and hints of the next wave of storm dotted his shirt. He fixed me with a smile that he must think was irresistible.
He was right.
“We’re not open, sir.” I rarely closed shop, but that was how the schedules fell today.
He didn’t look deterred. “Perfect. Then you’re free to hang out. I’m taking you to dinner.”
I raised my eyebrows at the assumption. “Since when?”
