Free Just Lunch by Addisyn Jacobs Page B

your underwear,” he said, winking at me. “Or I can see if my girlfriend has one at my place.”
    There was no way in hell I was wearing another woman’s bikini. “I’ll go in my underwear,” I laughed. So he did have a girlfriend. Maybe he wouldn’t be trying to sleep with me tonight. “How’d you meet your girlfriend?” I could only hope they hadn’t been together very long.
    “A friend set us up on a blind date a few weeks after I moved here,” he said, my mind acknowledging the immediate stab of disappointment. “What about you, are you seeing anyone?”
    “Yeah, for a couple months now.”
    Our waiter swooped in with our food and we dug in. “Oh my God, you were not kidding,” I breathed after I swallowed my first bite. “My mind is officially blown.”

    A FTER HE PAID the bill, we stood on the sidewalk as I typed my number into his cell. “So I’ll see you around seven thirty?”
    “Yeah, I’ll text you when I’m pulling into the hotel.” He wrapped me up in a hug, pressing his palms across my lower back as I just about melted into his arms. “See you tonight.”
    The rest of the day flew by in a blur. It was hard to concentrate on anything except imagining what might happen that night. Several different fantasies ran through my mind, all of them ending with him fucking me senseless. As I wrapped up with dinner, my phone buzzed. Pulling in now, but no rush. See you soon. Ten minutes later, I walked through the lobby door and saw Austin leaning on a tiny black sports car, typing away on his cell. He looked much less buttoned up compared to that afternoon, suit jacket off, tie loose and shirt unbuttoned at his neck. My breath caught in my throat and my heartbeat pounded in my ears. He had looked sexy before, but this more casual appearance made him look like he’d just stepped out of a Calvin Klein ad. He glanced up as I approached, slipping his phone into his pocket and reaching out to hug me. “How was your dinner?” he asked.
    “Long and boring,” I responded, “so glad to be out of there.” He opened my car door and waited for me to settle into the bucket seat before closing my door and heading around to his side. Watching a man drive a stick shift always gets me hot, and this was no exception. He skillfully steered us toward the highway and within minutes we were cruising west on I-5. Some men drove sports cars like assholes, but not Austin. He drove fast, but I still felt safe. When we pulled into the town of Mission Beach, he slowed down, pointing out the bars and restaurants he liked.
    “You ready to meet the beast?” he asked. It took me a few seconds to realize he was talking about Rocco, and not his cock. My mind was clearly in the gutter.
    “I can’t wait,” I replied, thinking I couldn’t wait to meet his cock, either. I wondered if we were both thinking of the same double entendre.
    “This place has been here for almost a hundred years, but the inside was just remodeled,” he told me, pulling into the driveway of a charming cottage. The white shutters stood out against the cerulean siding like clouds dotting a bright summer sky. The picket fence bordering the modest patch of grass matched the shutters, and I imagined Rocco frolicking in the yard and napping in the sun.
    As soon as I opened the car door, salty sea air filled my nostrils, and the distant roar of the waves reminded me that even though I couldn’t see the beach, we were only yards away from the shore. Grabbing my bag, I followed Austin into the lush, tropical alcove that led to his door, thinking about how lucky he was to live right on the ocean. Inside, Rocco jumped on Austin, so happy to finally have his dad home. “I have someone who comes and walks him twice a day so he doesn’t have to be cooped up alone,” he told me as he scratched his pup behind the ears. Rocco was an adorable dog, his white splotches set against tan fur, giving him a Jack Russell terrier look, only bigger. After he loved on