Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
One of the benefits of being a trainer instead of a fighter.
I was halfway through my pizza when my phone buzzed on the couch beside me. A text from Vanessa.
How about dinner tomorrow night? On me.
I tried not to be too eager, but my fingers flew over the screen before either of us changed our minds. Sounds good. Am I picking you up?
Nope. You’re eating at Casa Vanessa. Reservations at seven.
Dinner with Vanessa, cooked by Vanessa, was exactly what I needed after my fucked up night.
Can’t wait. I typed back, suddenly feeling a lot less pissed about the drive to the Lucky Lopez, and my frozen pizza dinner.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Vanessa
What in the hell was I thinking, inviting Emmett over for a home-cooked dinner? I was a proficient cook, but the idea of cooking for someone other than Lance and his buddies filled my stomach with anxiety. And why, oh why, had I decided to impress him with my take on Asian fusion food, I had no fucking clue.
Except you do, my conscience prodded, and I did. I invited Emmett over because I thought it would feel less like a date and more like two friends sharing a meal.
Our diner meal had been great, but it felt like a first date. Like two people getting to know each other and learning new things, flirting shyly. Hell, even that baby kiss on his cheek felt very much like a first date peck with the promise of more to come.
Because dinner at Casa Vanessa absolutely was not a date. I dressed casually in a denim skirt and a white blouse, opting for fluffy slippers instead of heels or bare feet. My hair and makeup were on point, because a girl needed to find her courage somewhere, and I would need it to get through the night with Emmett’s overwhelming masculine presence filling up my dining room.
When the doorbell rang one minute before seven, I couldn’t help but smile. The man liked to be punctual, which I appreciated, but it still amused me just how much you could take the man out of the military, but never, ever take the military out of the man.
I wiped damp hands on the sides of my skirt as I made my way to answer the bell, giving my thick waves one final fluff before pulling the door open.
I put on a bright smile, and said, “Welcome to Casa Vanessa. Reservation name, please?”
While his eyes took me in, I succumbed to the moment and did the same. He wore jeans and a gray button up shirt with a blue blazer, looking handsome and dressed up. Just for me.
Emmett’s lips twitched at my question and then his tongue peeked out and slicked across his bottom lip, undeniable heat shooting sparks.
“Emmett Manning but it could be under Vanessa.”
“Good answer,” I told him and took a step back. “Come on in.”
“Nice shoes,” he said with a genuine smile as he kicked off his own brown leather shoes and hung up the blazer.
“You look beautiful, as always. And damn, it smells incredible in here.”
I laughed and looked back at him. “Thanks, and I’ll try not to be offended that the food got a bigger rise out of you than I did.”
Holy shit, that was full on blatant flirting, wasn’t it? It was. But it was also too soon for that, wasn’t it?
“The rise you’d get might be considered inappropriate,” he practically growled at me.
I shivered but chose not to respond to those words, because how in the hell could I respond to such blatant desire? Instead I gave him a quick tour of the house that ended in the kitchen.
“We’re eating in the dining room tonight because I might have gone a little overboard trying to impress you.”
“Me? Why?”
“I don’t know.” I said shyly. “I like hanging out with you Emmett, and I wanted to cook something that would show you I’m more than a grieving widow.”
“I already know that Vanessa.” He dropped down onto one of the kitchen chairs, his gaze dark. Intense.
“You do?”
He nodded but it didn’t make sense. “How?”
“Because I know I’m more than a solider with PTSD, more than a former boxer, and more than a man who can’t forget the friends he’s lost.”
“Yes, you are, Emmett.”
He didn’t look like he believed me so I went to the bottle of sake and poured two ceramic cups.
“Drink up and tell me what’s bothering you?”
He sighed, sniffed the sake and then shrugged before taking a sip.
“Not bad. You sure you want to hear it?”
I nodded. “It’ll be nice to listen to someone else’s problems for a change.”
“It’s my mother. I don’t know why I always expect things to be different when they’ve been exactly the same for two decades. Why do I keeping wanting to rescue a woman who doesn’t want to be rescued?” He finished off the sake and reached for the bottle. “Sorry.”