Free Slice of Pi 2 by Elia Winters Page B

since . . . since I don’t even know when.” The more she thought about it, the more enticing it became.
    â€œSo what about now?” Owen checked the clock. “I can head out if you want, but I’d love to stick around, maybe go to dinner later.”
    Iris didn’t often want guys to stick around after sex, but Owen was different. She felt comfortable around him. “No, don’t go yet. You should stay for dinner.” She swung her legs down off the bed. “I think I could use a shower. I’d invite you to join me, but I’m afraid that shower is too small for one person, let alone two.”
    â€œNah, I’ll hop in after.” He waved her off. “Go enjoy.”
    Iris padded off to the bathroom, putting a little extra swing into her hips as she walked. Sexual adventures, the likes of which she had never explored, with a really hot guy who wanted her to boss him around?
    She could get used to this.

5 
    After showering, Owen mentioned he was starving, and they returned to that little restaurant near the beach that Iris had pointed out earlier, where they ate delicious food and talked about current events and topics of vague substance without sharing anything else personal. Owen suspected they’d both had enough of the heavy stuff that had come earlier that afternoon, and he certainly didn’t feel the need to be serious again. Iris was kind enough not to make fun of him for thinking six o’clock was “eating late,” and he didn’t harass her about hating seafood even though she lived in Florida.
    Owen scraped up the last remnants of cherry pie from his plate and then set the fork down, feeling content and oddly more hopeful than he had been in a long time.
    â€œSo are you one of those bakers who can’t enjoy something if they didn’t make it?” Iris teased, twirling her fork in the air, which was still holding her last bite of peach pie, before popping it into her mouth.
    Owen laughed. “I’m more picky than other people, probably, but I’ll never turn down pie.” And this had been a pretty damn good one, if he was being honest. He pushed his plate away from him by an inch, as if that would make it go away. He hated the way an empty dessert dish looked after he’d finished it. Probably something about being a baker, or just something about hating dirty dishes. Dirty anything. He found he could never get anything done unless his workstation was immaculate, except for the flour that would of course cover everything all the time. Realizing he was staring blankly at his plate, he made eye contact with Iris again to find her smiling. He liked her smile, even if she always looked like she was up to no good. Actually, he liked that, too.
    He checked his watch. It was already after seven, and even though his drive home was only about forty-five minutes, he had to be waking up for work way too soon. He spotted the waiter and called him over for the check.
    â€œWe’re splitting this, of course,” Iris said when the check arrived. She snatched the bill right out of its case and looked at it, lips pursed, her glasses down on her nose in that “annoyed schoolmarm” look that he was going to get way too into if he wasn’t careful.
    He grabbed the paper out of her hand. “Let me get it. You’re on vacation here and I didn’t pay for the room or anything.” He held up a hand. “No arguments.”
    Iris narrowed her eyes, but she acquiesced. “All right, fine. But next time, it’s on me.”
    Next time. Owen turned those words over in his mind, very much liking the sound of them.
    The sun was setting when they left the restaurant, leaving a scarlet smudge on the horizon and faint pink rays fading into the darkening night sky, and Owen couldn’t help staring as they walked back to the hotel. He seldom watched the sun set over the water like this. He should make a point to