Chapter 17
“Felicity’s not the missus. I’m looking for my own princess. Uh, Prince Charming. Uh, you know what I mean.”
Guy grinned with a look of surprise.
“You don’t say,” he muttered. “You want a honest-to-God Prince Charming?”
“Yes. Doesn’t everyone?”
He laughed. “Nope. Hardly anyone.”
“Well, I do. The white horse is optional.”
Felicity was shaking her head at us. She was still making the get-out-of-here motions.
“So where to?” I turned to Guy. “I’m starving.”
His smile became sly, but he answered, “Chicken-fried steak? Organic salad with local lamb? Piles of pasta? What sounds good?”
“You don’t have the evening planned out?” I asked in surprise. He shrugged.
“I was going to do the pasta thing, but a lot of guys don’t like it. So I thought I’d give you a choice.”
We were walking toward the parking lot at that point.
“Pasta’s fine,” I said.
He nodded. “Okay, the bike’s this way.”
* * * *
After pasta and playing around, we lay in bed, me draped over him.