Size Matters (Handcuffs and Happily Ever Afters) by Robyn Peterman Page A
Authors: Robyn Peterman
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making it worse. Why in the hell would I go out with gross panties and hairy legs?”
“If you really don’t want to sleep with him, do as I say. Nasty panties and stubbly legs will be an extra incentive to keep your pants on.”
“Oh my God, you’re brilliant,” I gasped. That had never occurred to me before.
“I know.” She grinned. “I’m taking the day off from work because all my clients are away on book tours. So I say we are going for manicures, pedicures, and therapy shopping. You need a sexy new top for tonight and some rugged yet revealing pieces for your stint as the host of the Bigfoot bonanza.”
“Don’t remind me,” I said, and snatched my purse off the table. “I’m ready. Are you?”
“Kristy, Kristy, Kristy,” Rena chuckled. “I was born ready.”
I rolled my eyes and giggled. I had the greatest best friend in the whole fucking world.
Chapter 11
I n the dimly lit back room of the most charming Chinese restaurant in Minneapolis, I sat across from the most beautiful man in the world. Of course, Asian Wind, the name of the restaurant, brought to mind unpleasant gastric explosions, but the food was delicious. It was owned by the Wang family, who swore they were first-generation Americans. Their insanely heavy Minnesota accents belied their claim, but no one in their right mind would call them on it. Mr. Wang was a very sensitive culinary genius and Mrs. Wang was a ball-buster. Mr. Wang was the chef and Mrs. Wang, the hostess. Frighteningly, Mrs. Wang fancied herself a chef too. Her Peking duck slathered in cream of mushroom soup and Ritz Crackers was a hit only amongst the most hard-core casserole-loving Minnesotans.
“You look beautiful,” Mitch said across the table.
My insides tightened at his compliment. I did feel pretty. Rena had insisted I buy a flirty, sexy, off-the-shoulder top that was way out of my price range and now I was glad I did. With my good-butt jeans, sexy top, and shocking pink toenails, Rena declared me hot to trot. My strapless push-up bra gave my not-fake tatas that extra oomph. Mitch was having a difficult time peeling his eyes away from my oomph. Hell, since he had picked me up forty-eight minutes ago, it was everything I could do to keep my hands to myself. He had on his own good-butt jeans and a lightweight, long-sleeved blue shirt that hugged his muscles and made my mouth water.
“Thank you,” I said, feeling the heat crawl up my neck. “You do too. I mean, you look handsome, not pretty . . . or, um, beautiful.” God, this was probably going to end up being a first and last date. When in doubt, ask a man about himself . . . and I was in doubt.
“So, have you ever been married?” Appalled at the first thing that flew out, I shoved a spring roll into my mouth before I could ask him if I could touch his butt, if he had commitment issues, or if he wanted to marry me.
“Married?” He grinned. “Nope. You?”
He observed me closely, probably hoping I wouldn’t choke on the huge wad of spring roll I’d consumed. “No,” I said with my hand over my very full mouth.
“Kristy,” he said in a low voice that twisted my panties into a wad.
“Yes?” I said as I force swallowed the spring roll.
“You need to relax. I wanted to be with you in public because it’s too hard to keep my hands off you in private.”
Oh. My. God. I nodded in agreement, unable to speak.
“This might sound crazy, but I haven’t been this attracted to anyone in a long time.”
A green frisson of jealousy ripped through me as I wondered how long ago and who he’d been attracted to. I quickly snatched another spring roll off my plate to cork my mouth before I said something mortifying.
“So”—he grinned and I felt my nipples tighten—“have I scared you to death?”
I looked at the intense and sexy man sitting across from me. My body was on fire and my mind was a jumbled mess. Did he scare me? Hell yes. He scared me in the best way possible. My brain was
“If you really don’t want to sleep with him, do as I say. Nasty panties and stubbly legs will be an extra incentive to keep your pants on.”
“Oh my God, you’re brilliant,” I gasped. That had never occurred to me before.
“I know.” She grinned. “I’m taking the day off from work because all my clients are away on book tours. So I say we are going for manicures, pedicures, and therapy shopping. You need a sexy new top for tonight and some rugged yet revealing pieces for your stint as the host of the Bigfoot bonanza.”
“Don’t remind me,” I said, and snatched my purse off the table. “I’m ready. Are you?”
“Kristy, Kristy, Kristy,” Rena chuckled. “I was born ready.”
I rolled my eyes and giggled. I had the greatest best friend in the whole fucking world.
Chapter 11
I n the dimly lit back room of the most charming Chinese restaurant in Minneapolis, I sat across from the most beautiful man in the world. Of course, Asian Wind, the name of the restaurant, brought to mind unpleasant gastric explosions, but the food was delicious. It was owned by the Wang family, who swore they were first-generation Americans. Their insanely heavy Minnesota accents belied their claim, but no one in their right mind would call them on it. Mr. Wang was a very sensitive culinary genius and Mrs. Wang was a ball-buster. Mr. Wang was the chef and Mrs. Wang, the hostess. Frighteningly, Mrs. Wang fancied herself a chef too. Her Peking duck slathered in cream of mushroom soup and Ritz Crackers was a hit only amongst the most hard-core casserole-loving Minnesotans.
“You look beautiful,” Mitch said across the table.
My insides tightened at his compliment. I did feel pretty. Rena had insisted I buy a flirty, sexy, off-the-shoulder top that was way out of my price range and now I was glad I did. With my good-butt jeans, sexy top, and shocking pink toenails, Rena declared me hot to trot. My strapless push-up bra gave my not-fake tatas that extra oomph. Mitch was having a difficult time peeling his eyes away from my oomph. Hell, since he had picked me up forty-eight minutes ago, it was everything I could do to keep my hands to myself. He had on his own good-butt jeans and a lightweight, long-sleeved blue shirt that hugged his muscles and made my mouth water.
“Thank you,” I said, feeling the heat crawl up my neck. “You do too. I mean, you look handsome, not pretty . . . or, um, beautiful.” God, this was probably going to end up being a first and last date. When in doubt, ask a man about himself . . . and I was in doubt.
“So, have you ever been married?” Appalled at the first thing that flew out, I shoved a spring roll into my mouth before I could ask him if I could touch his butt, if he had commitment issues, or if he wanted to marry me.
“Married?” He grinned. “Nope. You?”
He observed me closely, probably hoping I wouldn’t choke on the huge wad of spring roll I’d consumed. “No,” I said with my hand over my very full mouth.
“Kristy,” he said in a low voice that twisted my panties into a wad.
“Yes?” I said as I force swallowed the spring roll.
“You need to relax. I wanted to be with you in public because it’s too hard to keep my hands off you in private.”
Oh. My. God. I nodded in agreement, unable to speak.
“This might sound crazy, but I haven’t been this attracted to anyone in a long time.”
A green frisson of jealousy ripped through me as I wondered how long ago and who he’d been attracted to. I quickly snatched another spring roll off my plate to cork my mouth before I said something mortifying.
“So”—he grinned and I felt my nipples tighten—“have I scared you to death?”
I looked at the intense and sexy man sitting across from me. My body was on fire and my mind was a jumbled mess. Did he scare me? Hell yes. He scared me in the best way possible. My brain was
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