Free Reparation by Sawyer Bennett Page A

nod my head, even
though he has my hair tightly fisted.
    “Good,”
he says roughly against my ear and then pulls away, releasing his
hold on me. My knees are shaking slightly, and I guarantee you I have
an utterly stupid look on my face. Yes, with just a few whispered
words and light kisses, Matt has rendered me the village idiot.
    “I’ll
pick you up at eight. The restaurant I’m taking you to is
dressy,” he says as he opens my office door to leave. “Oh,
and Mac?”
    “Huh?”
    Yup… still
the village idiot.
    “Do me a
favor… wear those white, lace boy shorts tonight under your
dress. You know… the ones that drive me crazy?”
    I just nod at him,
the power of speech gone… obliterated… destroyed.
    I almost collapse
when he shoots me a radiant smile, which causes his dimples to pucker
deep. He gives me a quick wink, and then he’s gone.
    He told me Sunday to
have patience with him… that he wasn’t sure that he was
very good at this dating thing.
    Who is he kidding?
    He’s fucking
fantastic at it so far!

Our first date could
not have gone off any better if a Hollywood screenwriter had
choreographed it.
    When Matt picked me
up at my apartment, he didn’t bring me flowers. Instead, he had
a full carton of Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Peppermint Crunch,
because I had made some obscure reference to it one night after we
had sex. He walked into my kitchen and put it in my freezer, telling
me that it was for dessert later.
    He then took me to a
lovely restaurant that was quietly intimate. I’m not sure if he
arranged it ahead of time, but we got seated in the back in a tiny
corner that sort of cut us off from the rest of the patrons. The wine
was spectacular, the waiter unobtrusive, and the conversation flowed
with such ease that I felt like I’d known Matt for years.
    I was worried about
it honestly. Whether or not we could have normal conversation that
didn’t revolve around phrases such as, “That feels so
good” and, “Harder, please.”
    Turns out, we
converse quite well. We laughed, we joked, and most special of all,
Matt told me about his son, Gabe. He spoke with such pride, such
love… such unconditional emotion, that I almost had tears in
my eyes. Matt the Cold-Hearted—which would have been his Viking
name if, well if he were a Viking—had the squishiest, warmest
soft spot for a little seven-year-old boy.
    He didn’t say
much about his ex-wife, Marissa, other than she had primary custody
of Gabe, but he had liberal visitation. In fact, he reminds me of the
day I had asked him if he had plans one weekend, after we had
returned from Chicago. He reminds me with a soft laugh that I looked
green with jealousy when he had told me that he did, in fact, have
plans all weekend. He assured me tonight that said plans were with a
little, brown-haired boy, and that was the only thing that would have
kept him away from me.
    My skin went all
warm when he told me that, and my heartbeat hummed out in
appreciation.
    Now dinner is done,
and we are back at my apartment. I unlock the door and open it,
stepping into the foyer. Matt grabs ahold of my wrist and stops me.
    “This is where
I give you a kiss and say goodnight,” he says as he pulls me
close to his body, wrapping his arms around my waist.
    My hands dig into
his chest muscles slightly with surprise. “What?”
    “You heard me.
Kiss me good night, and then I’m heading home.”
    “Oh, hell no,”
I say with sass and gumption. “You had me specifically wear
lace panties for you, and I’ve been thinking about you peeling
them off me all night. There’s no way you’re going home,
buddy.”
    Matt leans in to
give me a quick kiss, smiling with amusement when he pulls back. “You
are adorable, but I’m being a gentleman tonight. I’m
showing you that you are more than just sex to me.”
    “You’ve
shown me that already,” I whine like a big baby. “I want
sex… tonight!”
    Chuckling, Matt
says, “Are you pouting?”
    I stick my lower