What He Craves Read Online Free PDF Page B

slurping my first mouthful
when a knock at the door signaled Jill’s arrival. I let her in, and she went
right to the coffeepot, chattering on and on about how great Drake looked and
how happy he seemed to be when they talked about me.
    Sitting at the kitchen table, I made a zipping motion across
my lips. “I don’t want to talk about Drake anymore.”
    “What would it hurt to have coffee?” Jill asked as she
grabbed a cup with one hand, the pot with the other.
    “What would be the point?” I countered.
    She filled her cup and set down the pot. “Catching up with
an old friend?”
    Standing next to her, my butt leaned against the counter, I
asked over the rim of my cup, “Again, what would be the point? I’m...seeing
someone.”
    “But haven’t you been asking yourself what if?”
    “Not recently, no.”
    “Ah, so Mr. Whips and Chains has made you forget all about
him.” Jill sighed and rolled her eyes. “Come on, Bristol. You and I both know
this thing with Shane isn’t forever. You’re having your fun. He’s having his.
Sooner or later you’ll get tired of being tied up and spanked, and he’ll move
on to the next sexy bimbo with great latex.”
    I felt my nose wrinkling. “You’re so calloused.”
    “I’m being realistic.”
    “I believe there’s more between Shane and me than whips and
safewords. And I want to give whatever that is a fair chance. I can’t do that
if I’m seeing other men.”
    “I think you’re making a mistake.”
    “It’s my life. My mistake.”
    “Fair enough.”
    “Now, can we move on? I’d like to get my shopping done
early. Then, maybe we can do something fun. We haven’t gone biking in a while.
It’s free. I’m broke.”
    Jill grimaced. “No leads on a job yet?”
    “Nothing.”
    “Wow. I wish I could help.”
    “No worries. I’ll find something.”
    I was a damn good liar. Damn good.
    * * * * *
    That night, Jill and I hobbled into the new restaurant on Ford Avenue, Delo’s. Thanks to our afternoon activities, which included a three hour bike
excursion, our legs were as limp as overcooked pasta. As we entered, we found
out Delo’s was a nice restaurant, the kind of place people like Shane would
dine at. Not an underpaid secretary on a counting-every-penny tight budget.
    “I’m thinking we should go somewhere else,” I whispered as
the hostess, dressed in a black skirt and jacket and white shirt, eyeballed us.
    “No, we’re staying.”
    “But—“
    “My treat.”
    “But—“
    “No arguments,” Jill snapped.
    “But—“
    “Shhh!” She shushed me, grinning. “How many times have you
bought me dinner?”
    “A few,” I answered. That was a lie. We both knew it. But I
didn’t like to rub things in people’s faces, especially Jill’s. She was my best
friend, and I was hers. She’d hit a rough patch a while back when she was in
law school. I was glad to be able to help her through it. If the tables had
been turned (hopefully that wouldn’t be happening now) I knew she would’ve done
the same for me.
    “It’s my turn to pay you back,” Jill whispered as she gave
me a don’t-argue-with-me squint.
    The hostess stepped up, and, walking a little shakily, we
followed her. My gaze meandered through the restaurant’s chic interior. The
tables were widely spaced apart, covered with crisp white tablecloths. The
chairs, also white, had very high backs that provided a small measure of
privacy for diners. But as we moved through the space to our table, I could
still see many men, all decked in full business dress, including ties, and
women in dresses.
    The hostess stopped at a table near the back of the open
space. “Is this okay?” she asked.
    “It’s fine,” Jill said as she grabbed the back of one of the
chairs. “Thank you.”
    “Your server will be with you shortly.” The hostess scurried
back to her station while Jill and I took our seats.
    I scanned the area. “No menus.”
    “The server will probably bring them. Or he might have