Down and Dirty (Hot Jocks #5)(11)

“I can’t believe you’re drinking again after last night,” I murmur as he successfully frees the cork from the bottle.

“Hair of the dog, right?” He laughs, pouring himself a glass.

I shake my head. Maybe that used to work for me back in college, but those days are long gone. When he slides back into bed next to me, I give his shoulder a gentle pat. “Talk to me again when you’re thirty.”

Annoyed, he grunts. “You’re not that much older than me.”

“Uh, yeah I am. Seven years,” I remind him. “That’s over a fourth of your entire lifetime so far.”

He lifts a shoulder, unrolls a white cloth napkin containing a set of silverware, and hands it to me. “That didn’t stop me from putting a ring on it, though.”

I huff, accepting the napkin. “So much for not talking about it tonight.”

“I said we weren’t making any decisions,” he says, correcting me as he uses a steak knife to cut into a piece of filet mignon. “I was just stating a fact. Our drunk selves could set our age difference aside. So, why can’t we do the same while we’re not drinking?”

“But you are drinking.” I nod toward the glass of wine on his end table.

“A beer and a few sips of wine over the course of an hour? I’m not a lightweight. The point is, drunk or sober, the age difference doesn’t bother me if it doesn’t bother you.”

I blink at him, struggling for one of my usual snappy comebacks, but I draw a complete blank. The only thought that keeps crossing my mind is how freaking gorgeous this man is. The last time I saw Landon in my bed, he was wearing nothing but the sheet. And trust me, I wouldn’t mind having that view again.

But even in his fitted tee and athletic shorts, Landon looks totally gorgeous. Age aside, everything else about him is exactly what I’m attracted to in a man. From his boldly masculine physique to the five o’clock shadow dusting his chiseled jawline to his dark eyebrows and his large hands.

No. Stop looking at his hands.

I drag my gaze back to his to find him smirking. It’s the first time tonight that I’ve been at a loss for words, and he’s clearly counting it as a victory. Ugh. I can’t decide if I want to kiss or slap that smug look right off his face. It’s all very confusing.

“I’m too hungry to have this discussion,” I blurt, twirling a fettuccine noodle around my fork. When I look back up at him, though, he’s grinning, unconvinced.

“Sure, Bree. Whatever you say.”

The rest of the meal is spent in relative silence, apart from the sound of the ghost-hunter documentary on TV. We’re both starving, and small talk would be a waste of time when we could be chewing.

Landon polishes off his entire steak in record time and has to help me with my filet mignon. These portions are insane, and I don’t even finish half of my lobster fettuccine. By the time we reach dessert, the two pieces of cake staring at us feel more like a challenge than a reward. We opt to split the lava cake and save the cheesecake for later. Because there’s always room for chocolate. Duh.

Reaching for a clean spoon, I do the honors of breaking into the perfect dome-shaped cake, sending the molten chocolate lava spilling out to mix with the half-melted caramel ice cream. One bite of that warm, chocolaty goodness makes my eyes flutter closed, and a low hum of satisfaction buzzes on my lips. I’m in heaven. Or at least I am until Landon pulls me back to earth, smirking into his fist.

My face falls, unamused, and my eyes shoot open. “What?”

“Nothing.” He chuckles, his blue eyes twinkling with a devilish thought. “I just . . . remember that sound.”

“What sound?”

“That sexy little hum. You made that sound for me a lot last night,” he says, his voice low.

“I did not!”

I swat his thigh—which is, whoa, rock hard—then quickly turn my attention back to the cake. If I look in those sultry blue eyes another second, I’m going to blush. I just know it. And I don’t want my pink cheeks giving me away.

“Sure, you can keep telling yourself that, but that won’t make it true.” He takes a hefty scoop of cake, smiling around his spoon. “Just like you can tell me you weren’t checking my ass out earlier. But I’ll still know that’s a lie.”

I nearly choke on my dessert in surprise. “What are you talking about?” I manage to say through a cough.

“You were sizing me up like a piece of meat at a butcher shop,” he mutters, shaking his head, even though his expression is amused. “But it’s all right. I like knowing you think I’m worth staring at.”

“Shut your face,” I say with an eye roll.

His smile only deepens, bringing out the dimple on the left side of his full mouth. “I have to ask. How’d I do?”

With a bored sigh, I huff out, “You passed, okay? Happy?”

“Extremely.” He grins. “Now, finish off that last bite of cake before we get chocolate all over these fancy sheets.”

I frown at the small remainder of cake up for grabs. “Um, no, that’s yours. I had the first bite, so you should get the last.”

He shakes his head. “No way. You’re willingly spending our last night in Vegas with me in this ridiculous honeymoon suite. The least I can do is give you the last bite of cake.”