Page 65 of Connectio

“Cool is an understatement. It’s spectacular.” I sit and clasp my hands in my lap. “Thank you so much for thinking to bring me here.”

He winks then sits opposite me, and before we can say a word to one another, a waiter is by our tableside, ready to order us drinks.

“Pot of Carlton Draught,” Will says.

“Ooh. Make that two.”

His eyebrows arch high. “You drink beer?”

“Of course.” I remove my coat and drape it over the back of my chair, the night air cooling my bare shoulders. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

“Because I pegged you for one of those rosé types.”

“And I pegged you for one of those I-take-my-dates-to-McDonald’s types.”

Will leans back in his chair, a laugh rumbling from his chest. “Touché.”

I lean back too. “And he speaks French!”

“Oui.”

My mouth falls open, a smile forming on my face. “Do you really?”

He nods once. “Oui.”

“Je suis tellement surpris. Comment connais-tu le français?” I ask, eagerly asking how he knows the language.

His eyes crinkle just slightly, and I’m excited for his answer, when he casually says, “Oui.”

Thinking he may have misunderstood my question, I ask him when he learned to speak French instead. “Quand avez-vous appris?”

He steeples his hands together and rests his elbows on the table. “Oui.”

I narrow my eyes, suspecting he has no idea what I’m saying. “Oui?” I ask.

He nods again. “Oui.”

Biting the inside of my cheek, I decide to have a little fun with him and ask if his penis is small, knowing his answer will, of course, be oui.

“Votre pénis est-il petit?”

“Oui.”

I crack up laughing. “You have no idea what you just said yes to, do you?”

He chokes out another “Oui.”

Giggling, I cover my face with my hand and peek through my spread fingers. “Well, for what it’s worth, I highly doubt it.”

“Doubt what?”

I lift my napkin from underneath my cutlery, flick it loose, lay it over my lap, then lean forward and lower my voice so only Will can hear me. “That your manhood is undesirably small.”

He blinks. “My manhood… undesirably small?”

“I shrug. Well, that is what you said.”

“Well, shit. I can’t have you thinking that, sweetheart.” He pushes his chair back and stands up, his hands on his belt buckle.