2. Willow
Present Day
Ring! Ring! Ring!
The doorbell sounded at the same time as the oven timer went off, and we shared a glance.
“Expecting a girlfriend?” I asked, both of us seated at the breakfast island of his penthouse’s fancy kitchen. “I refuse to have a conversation about pineapples and… ummm… that in front of anyone else.”
He chuckled.
“Let’s ignore the door,” he said, brushing a strand of my hair away from my face. “We’re having an important conversation about a man going down on you.”
I swatted his hand away. “God, can’t you give me a break and just tell me if pineapples are good or not?”
“Has this man gone down on you before?”
“That’s none of your business.” My cheeks reddened.
“So that’s a no.” He handed me a shot glass.
I let out an exasperated breath. “There’s no man. This is purely hypothetical. I want to know for the future.”
“Are you telling me none of your boyfriends have gone down on you?”
I downed the alcohol. “Again, I’m not discussing it with you. I just want to know, from a man’s perspective, if the pineapple myth is true.”
His lips curved into a smirk.
“Yes,” he answered, finally taking pity on me.
Just as I was about to ask another question, the doorbell rang again, and we both groaned. I was looking forward to a quiet night.
“I’ll get rid of whoever it is, and you get the tray out of the oven before our food burns.”
I padded barefoot on the cool marble into Royce’s elegant kitchen and pulled a tray from the oven. The scent of lasagna drifted through the air and my stomach promptly growled.
The muffled voice traveled over the penthouse. I stilled, eavesdropping, but it was too hard to distinguish the words.
Worried that Royce needed a rescue from a female stalker, I placed the tray on top of the stove, then followed the hushed voices toward the entryway. I peeped around the corner and found Royce standing in the foyer with a guy who had the most perfect set of pearly whites.
My eyes dropped to Royce’s ass, forgetting for a moment that we were just friends. Even dressed down in a white T-shirt and jeans, he looked like he’d stepped out of a magazine. The ink covering his arms gave him a touch of bad-boy energy, while his manners remained impeccable. It was what I loved the most about him.
As if he sensed my eyes on him, Royce turned his head and his dark gaze met mine. I stepped around the corner and flicked a glance at his visitor, finding him watching me with a smile.
“Well, hello,” he greeted me, stepping farther into Royce’s penthouse and extending his hand. “I’m Stuart, Royce’s buddy from back in our service days.”
My brows shot up. Royce rarely talked about his days in the Special Forces. I accepted his warm handshake and smiled.
“Willow.” I tilted my head toward Royce. “His buddy from my high school days.”
Technically, we became best friends my first year of college, but I didn’t feel like explaining the specifics.
“Willow and I are about to have dinner. Now is not a good time, Stuart,” Royce said, a hint of annoyance in his voice.
“Shame.” Stuart smiled and squeezed my hand when I tried to tug it back. “Because I brought dessert.”
He lifted his other hand, and sure as shit, he held a pastry box with a clear plastic lid. And inside… sat the fanciest-looking pineapple upside-down cake I’d ever seen. My mouth dropped open and my eyes flitted to Royce, who was studying the pineapple rounds scattered along the iced sponge cake, his grin reaching up his amused face. One heartbeat, two, and we burst into laughter.
We took it as a sign and invited Stuart in to stay for dinner.