14. Kate
KATE
My mouth watered as I read the menu.
Shishito peppers. Mushroom buns. Sautéed brussels sprouts. Kampachi.
I straightened my spine, humming happily, as I pointed to the menu. “I’ll take one of everything.”
Jake laughed. “That’s almost always a good idea.”
I arched a brow, determined to keep things fun and light tonight. “And with role-play too. Tonight, I’ll order the teacher and student. Tomorrow, I’ll have the handyman and housewife.”
His eyes darkened a touch. “I’d like your menu, please.”
I pointed to the brussels sprouts. “What’s the deal with brussels sprouts?”
“You sound like a comedian about to slide into a riff,” he remarked.
“Seriously though. Do you remember when brussels sprouts were the punchline of a joke? Or the horrid thing served only at school cafeterias?”
He smiled his deliciously crooked grin. Jake fit in perfectly with the restaurant’s modern styling and trendy decor—put together, handsome, but not pretentious.
Not showy. Simply easy on the eyes. He wore a button-down with a lightly checkered pattern and charcoal slacks.
The lawyer after-hours. He looked delectable, all the more so with his unshaven jaw.
Which was all the more reason to focus on brussels sprouts.
“A punishment food,” he mused. “That’s what they were for a long time.” He adopted a deep, patriarchal tone, shaking his finger. “Eat your brussels sprouts, Timmy, or you won’t get any dessert.”
I smiled. “Exactly. And now it’s like they’re the belle of the cooking ball. It’s a competition at different restaurants to make brussels sprouts the tastiest dish in all creation.”
“That is true. You can’t go anywhere without brussels sprouts trying to tempt your taste buds.”
“They’re the vixens of vegetables. The sirens of salads.”
He leaned closer. “They offer themselves up in all sorts of tantalizing forms. Sautéed, fried, roasted. How is a man or woman to resist?”
“Resistance is futile. No one can deny the power of the sprout.”
Just then, despite all my lectures to myself, all that mattered was this .
This conversation. This night. This surfeit of fun we were having.
Jake was the antidote to the past several months of my life.
He was the opposite of work. He was exactly how I wanted to spend my nights, and I didn’t want my nights to end.
This night, of course.
We had an expiration date, since we were only spending a weekend together. And really, wasn’t that all I needed? And all he wanted?
“Then don’t deny it, Williams,” he said, reaching across the table and gripping my hand like he was making an impassioned plea. “Don’t deny the sprout.”
“I won’t. I can’t. I shall devour them tonight.” I placed my hand over my heart. “I, Kate Williams, hereby profess that I am obsessed with finding the best brussels sprouts ever.”
He squeezed my hand tighter, then let go, a glint in his eyes. “I feel a bet coming on.”
“Ooh. Don’t get me excited.” I set down the menu, eager for a wager.
He shot me a cocky smirk. “ Don’t get you excited? Are you sure about that, Williams?”
I took the bait, loving the flirting. Flirting was fine. Flirting wouldn’t feed the emotions I was trying to starve out. “Fine. Get me excited. If you must,” I said playfully.
Under the table, he slid a hand up the denim of my thigh. “If you insist,” he said, his fingers traveling along my leg. He let a rumble cross his lips, then lowered his voice and murmured, “I’ll bet these brussels sprouts are orgasmic.”
I blinked. “That’s your bet?”
He squeezed my thigh. “Yep. Nice and simple.”
“And if they are?”
A smile curved his lips—no, it was more like a knowing grin. He took his time, licked his lips, then answered, “Then we do this again tomorrow.”
I was quiet, saying nothing at first, letting his wager sink in.
It was almost as if Jake already knew I didn’t want the weekend to end.