Page 27 of Wish I Might
About the fantasy, anyway.
Satisfied with both her appearance and her strategy, she left the bathroom and headed back down the open stairs to the first floor.
She could smell the chicken, but when she stepped into the kitchen, it was empty.Frowning, she glanced around, then saw the front door was open.Crossing the living room, she stepped back out onto the porch.
“What’s this?”
Sitting cross-legged on the blanket she kept on the back of the couch, the bucket of chicken and a couple of beers in front of him, he looked up with a smile.“Porch picnic.”
Intrigued, she closed the door behind her—no need to air condition the neighborhood—and stepped bare feet onto the blanket.“Seriously?”
“It’s a nice night,” he reminded her and held out a beer.“We can move inside if this doesn’t suit you.”
“It’s fine.”Taking the beer, she lowered herself to sit across from him.She mimicked his cross-legged position without thinking, belatedly remembering she was wearing a dress when he suddenly found the porch ceiling very interesting.
“Sorry,” she said with a smirk, and tugged her dress down to cover her crotch.“You can look now.”
His eyes dropped to meet hers.“Did you do that on purpose?”
“What, wear a dress so I could flash you?”She sipped her beer, amused at his reaction.“No, I assumed we’d be eating at the table, sitting on chairs.”
She assumed he decided that was an inarguable point and picked up his own beer.He glugged half of it in one go, then said, “Speaking of your crotch.”
She snickered and reached for the bucket of chicken.“Nice segue.”
“I try to be smooth.”He passed her a roll of paper towels.“So, about your fantasy.”
She glanced around.The sun was shining—would until after nine this time of year—and the neighborhood was far from quiet.Shouts of playing children rang out, music echoed from more than one house or yard, and across the street, two of her neighbors, out walking their dog, waved at her.
She waved back.“We’re really going to talk about this out here?”
“No one can hear us.”He reached into the bucket and pulled out a breast, extra crispy.“Give me a paper towel.”
She tore one off and handed it over, then tore another off for herself and dipped into the bucket for a thigh.“Okay, but keep it down, will you?I have to live in this neighborhood.”
His mouth full of chicken, he grunted, then swallowed.“What’s the magic number?”
“Magic number for what?”she asked, and bit into the chicken.
“For the gang in your bang.”
She grinned as she chewed, appreciating him.“Four, I think.”
“Four total, or in addition to me?”
Pleased he’d included himself, she tore off a bit of breading and popped it into her mouth.“Total.”
He nodded.“Okay.Am I picking, or are you?”
“You,” she said with a frown.“That’s the deal.”
“That was the deal in college,” he agreed.“I’m just making sure that’s still what you want.”
“It is,” she said, and to distract from the sudden heat that had nothing to do with the weather, bit into her chicken again.
“Okay,” he said agreeably.“Any criteria you want me to look for?”
She swallowed.“Well, they should be hot.”
