Back in his driveway, Simon listened to the low rumble of Lulu's engine idling in the quiet night and tried to figure out what to say. Leona hadn't even put the car into park.

"Thanks again for dinner," she said, her tone calmer than usual, even detached.

"Sure. I'll..." What? 'I'll call you'? He didn't have her number. After their conversation on the drive home, the thought of asking her for it left him completely flummoxed. He settled for a gruff: "I'll see you later."

She nodded, he got out of the car, and it was over, just like that.

Inside his apartment, he fixed himself a whiskey soda, figuring he could lay off drinking starting tomorrow, and turned on the television. With a sigh, he stretched out on the couch, still in his khakis and button-down shirt. All he could think about was Leona's expressive mouth, her long-lashed gray eyes, the low purr of her voice. He wished he had kissed her good night, even if it would've been like kissing a cactus. He wished he'd handled absolutely every aspect of their drive home differently.

Strange to think Leona might've liked seeing him a little rough around the edges. A little out of control, as she'd put it, when he'd been loitering by the lake. Then again, it was strange to think she might like him at all.

Restless, he sat up again and put his head in his hands. Is that code for fucking? she'd asked, with that sinful smile, and he'd said no, like an idiot. If he'd said yes, she might be up here with him right now, stripped down to a black bra, her skin glowing pink under his touch.

The thought made him instantly hard, even though he felt a little creepy for thinking about her like that. He didn't want to objectify her; she was more than a sexual fantasy. She was more than his sexual fantasy—the fantasy he'd had since they were fourteen, when he'd seen her in a black leather miniskirt at a kegger, doing shots and looking like trouble and sex. There had always been something about her: an energy, an appetite. One dinner with her and he felt like a rabbit caught in a snare.

He knew she would smile during sex, and he wanted to see it, wanted to feel that smile pressed against him. He wanted to know what she'd taste like, how she'd feel, tight around him, the way she'd cry out when she came. She had to be a screamer. She wouldn't care if anybody heard her.

His hand crept to the fly of his khakis before he remembered he was sitting right next to his living room window. He stumbled to his feet and into his bedroom, tugging his fly open and taking his cock in his hand before he could make it onto his bed. Bracing himself with one hand on the mattress, he imagined her underneath him, her pretty eyes squeezing shut as she panted his name. She'd tilt her face to one side, expose her elegant neck to him so he could run his

thumb up her throat and along the graceful line of her jaw. He'd slide his fingers into her black hair, and she'd gasp, like she wanted it as much as he did. That familiar mix of excitement and shame curled inside him, and he came hard and fast, his cock jerking against his hand. Afterward, as the tension left his muscles, he should've felt relieved. He only felt more ashamed.

#

He woke up the next morning hard for her again. A cold shower helped, but not enough. He needed to see her, figure out what they were doing, if anything. There was a right way to do everything. There had to be a right way to ask Leona out again, properly this time, without scaring her off. Since he still had a few hours before his shift started, he dressed in street clothes and walked over to Leona's shop before he could second-guess himself.

She was alone in the store, standing on the top step of a rickety stepladder with her back to the door. "Shouldn't someone be spotting you?" Simon asked, with a wary look at the ladder.

Glancing over her shoulder, she raised a single eyebrow. "Where's the fun in that? I love heights. Paul had to take away the bigger ladder."

Surprising himself, Simon smiled. "You're an odd duck, Leona Chaisty."

"Me? You're the one who showed up here ten minutes after we opened. You must really want to look at one of our brand new Sea Dream Sea Salt Shakers. Which is a great idea, because they are very reasonably priced and are hand-made by a local—"

"Actually," he interrupted, steeling himself, "I'd like to look at your handbags."

She cast him the biggest, most delighted smile he'd ever seen.

"Not for me, just so we're clear," he said. "For my mom. For Christmas."

"Ah, yes, the perfect Christmas gift for a discerning female relative!" Leona hopped down from her stepladder. She was holding a gigantic purple feather duster that formed a startling contrast to her slim-fitting black pants and drapey black top. Even from a few feet away, he imagined he could smell her ginger perfume, and it made him want to be closer to her, to kiss her hello, as if they were a couple, instead of...whatever they were. Nothing.

"So, I really like these." Leona crossed the store to a display on the far wall and pointed at a couple of bags with her feather duster, as if it were a fairy wand. "But they are maybe too...hippie-ish? What kind of stuff does your mother like?"

"Uh..." Simon looked at the bags on the wall. They were blue and had lots of things hanging off them. He thought about his mother, who was small and plump and perennially cheerful. "She might like those. She likes..." He racked his brain for things his mom liked: his dad, gardening, potted plants... "Sunflowers."

"Oh!" Leona clapped her hands together. "That is actually helpful!"

He laughed. "No need to sound so surprised."

She rummaged through a drawer underneath the display. "I haven't put many of these out yet, because I've been saving them for spring. But...here, hang on..."

He liked watching Leona work, and not just because he liked trying to sneak a peek down the back of her pants when she was bending over. She really did seem happy here.
With a flourish, she pulled out a bag made of big blocks of blue and green, contrasting with yellow sunflowers. "Hey, yeah, that looks right," he said. "Wow."

"Can you imagine her wearing it?" She slid the bag over one shoulder and struck a pose, pouting her lips and sticking out her ass.

"Not like that," he said, flushing. "Thank God. But otherwise, yes."
Leona tilted her face up toward his, her eyes curious. "You're actually here to buy your mom a handbag, aren't you?"

"As opposed to...?"

"I have no idea. Trying to be smooth, I suppose."

"I don't need to try to be smooth."

This got another one of those laughing fits that Simon secretly treasured, even if it was at his expense. She'd been famous, or maybe infamous, in high school for that laugh—first made fun of for it, then feared because of it.

He cleared his throat. "We never did pick a time for another date, though."

Wiping her eyes on her sleeve, she smiled warily at him. "That's true."

What was with this girl? She'd been with all these guys, but asking her out was like pulling teeth. It didn't make any sense.

Maybe she hadn't been with as many guys as she'd implied, or...something. He didn't know.

"What did you have in mind?" Her wary smile curled upward. Her eyes glinted with a leisurely, predatory interest. That look sent tendrils of fire winding through his entire body.

She had asked him a question, he reminded himself, about what he wanted to do on their second date. Besides getting her naked and wet in his bed.

"Dinner?" he suggested, struggling to compose himself. "Tonight or tomorrow?"

"All right." Still holding the sunflower bag, Leona gestured with her feather duster for him to follow her to the cash register. She set the bag down on the counter and rang it up.

"There's a new Thai place I've been dying to try," she said, as she wrapped the handbag in tissue paper, her movements neat and efficient, and slipped the package into an extremely girly handled shopping bag. "We could have a drink at my place first. Get some Thai. See how it goes. That sounds like a date, right?"

He raised his eyebrows, puzzled by the question. "Sounds like one to me."

"Good. Tonight at seven?"

He nodded, said a flustered goodbye, and left the shop more ensnared than ever.

********

Poor Simon! He's got it bad.

As always, let me know what you think, and thank you so much for reading!

xoxo
London