After I left here on Saturday, I decided never to see you again.”He was sliding the frittata under the broiler, so she could only see his profile, but damn if he didn’t appear to be smirking.“I know that, darling. It wounds my pride you won’t go out with me, but I can console myself with the knowledge that when you do see me, you can’t keep your knickers on for ten minutes running.”She threw her cookie at him, feigning indignation. “You bastard! Are you calling me easy?”“I like you easy. Besides, you’re not to blame. Who’d want to wear wet knickers?
Ruthie Knox, About Last Night
contemporary-romance