Series: Kristen Proby Crossover Collection
Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 69686 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69686 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
I don’t go out on many first dates.
Hell, I don’t go out on many dates at all.
I’m focused on work and my family, and I haven’t had a lot of time to pursue a woman for anything other than a mutually enjoyable bounce on the bed.
Fallon opens the door, and I feel my jaw drop.
“Wow.”
She grins, her green eyes happy as she steps back to let me in. “Wow yourself,” she says, not shy at all about looking me up and down, and by the expression on her face, she likes what she sees.
Which is completely mutual.
Her dress is short with orange and purple swirls on the material. It looks soft.
“I’m trying to decide on shoes,” she informs me as she closes the door and leads me into the living room. The house is small but furnished nicely. There’s no clutter to speak of, and I don’t think that’s because I came over.
Something tells me that Fallon doesn’t keep clutter around.
“What are the choices?” I ask.
“These.” She lifts a pair of sexy-as-fuck heels in one hand. “Or these.”
The other pair is black flip-flops.
“I know they’re not as fancy, but they’re comfortable. So my question is, where are we going?”
“I was thinking dinner at Ciao,” I reply, imagining her legs propped on my shoulders with those heels on her feet.
Stop it.
It’s the first date.
She walks over and stands next to me, craning her neck to look up at me.
“You’re what, six-three?”
“Six-four,” I reply with a grin.
“I’d better wear the heels.” She slips them onto her feet and then looks up again. “Oh, yeah, that’s better.”
“They do incredible things to your legs,” I reply as she walks across the room to gather her purse. Her muscles are toned, and her legs are long, especially for someone so short.
“Thanks.” She glances around. “Okay, I think I’m ready.”
I escort her to my truck, which I’ve never had issues getting in and out of, but Fallon stares at it dubiously.
“This isn’t a short-girl truck.”
“No.” I laugh. “Short-girl trucks aren’t good for actual work. Here.”
I boost her up into the seat, shut her door, and then round the truck to climb in next to her.
“I’ll remember to use the SUV next time.”
She looks over at me with a raised eyebrow, her lips tipped up at the corners. “Already planning on a next time?”
“Hell yes, I am,” I reply as I pull away from the curb and drive us into town. I made reservations, so when we arrive, we’re escorted right to our table.
“I’m Rebecca,” the waitress says, writing her name on the white paper that covers the table. “I’ll be your server. Can I start you out with drinks?”
I glance at Fallon, completely at a loss for what she might like. I don’t even know if she drinks alcohol.
“I’d love a glass of the pinot gris,” Fallon says and smiles.
“I’m happy with a Pepsi,” I reply and smile at my date as the waitress walks away. “So, how long have you lived in Cunningham Falls?”
“About two years,” she says, reading her menu. “How about you?”
“Since the day I was born,” I reply with a smile. “So, if you have questions about anything, or if you need to know who’s who, I’m your best bet for information.”
“I’ll remember that,” she says and sets her menu aside. Rebecca returns with our drinks and takes our order, then leaves us alone. The restaurant is busy and loud, but we’re at a corner table, away from the hustle and bustle. “What do you like best about living here?”
“Good question.” I sip my drink, thinking it over. “Well, my family is here, and it’s a big unit. So I like being here in case any of them needs me. I ski, so being so close to the resort is awesome. Do you ski?”
“No. How many brothers and sisters do you have?”
“Just one brother. Gray. He does construction and teaches ski lessons in the winter. But I have plenty of cousins. Our roots are deep here. What about your family?”
Fallon sips her wine, and I watch the way her lips pucker. I’d love to get that mouth on mine.
“I don’t really have any family to speak of,” she says calmly. But before I can ask for more information, she says, “Did you like living in Colorado?”
“It was fine,” I reply. “But it wasn’t home.”
She just nods.
“How long have you taught yoga?”
“Only for about five years,” she says with a smile. “I used to be an accountant.”
She frowns as if she didn’t mean to give me so much information, and I have to admit, her short answers are frustrating. For the first time in my life, I’ve met a woman who doesn’t want to talk about herself, yet I want to know all there is to know about her.
“That’s very different from yoga.”
“Yes, I suppose it is,” she says. “Do your parents live around here?”