“Yes,” I breathe, glad she understands.

“And is that turning you on a little bit, maybe?”

Okay, she understands a little bit too much. I swallow instead of answer.

She probably felt the way her question made my dick jump anyway. Jourdan sucks her plump bottom lip into her mouth.

I groan involuntarily and look away.

“Okay, no rush. We can talk about this later. Come on,” she says, walking toward the coffee shop, so many of her curves rubbing against me. “I need caffeine ASAP.”

I have to take a deep breath before I feel strong enough to follow her.

Nadia’s going to get a fucking kick out of this.

coffee date

“Am I your first?” Jourdan asks.

No, she doesn’t just ask, like a normal person. Jourdan lifts onto her toes and whispers the question directly into my ear. Her lips brush my earlobe. Her casual affection is mildly terrifying, not because it’s unwanted, but because it’s been years since I even noticed someone being interested in me besides Nadia.

Jourdan’s attention is overwhelming, especially physically. I’m battling my body’s reaction to her, trying desperately to keep my dick from announcing its interest before she’s even told me her favorite color.

“What?” I wheeze, finding it hard to focus with her next to me and the sounds of the coffee grinder and Boyz II Men playing a little too loud for eight in the morning.

Jourdan presses her body against me, and her laughter tickles my beard. “Am I your first date as a newly-minted man in the life? I’m gonna take that cute little vein throbbing in your neck as a yes.” The way she says ‘throbbing’ is pornographic, and I like it.

I like all of this — her sultry whisper, her soft breasts against my biceps, her vanilla perfume. My enjoyment is incredibly inconvenient. In fact, there’s only one thing I don’t like. “In the life?” I mutter with distaste. “Sounds like I’m in a gang.”

She looks me over. “Oh, you’re definitely too square for that. But I’m your first date, right, since you and your wife decided to open your marriage?”

She whispers that sentence as a courtesy, but even hearing those words terrifies me, and I look left and right to make sure no one’s close enough to overhear us.

She dissolves into the most adorable giggle and rests her forehead against my shoulder, shaking her head. “Definitely the first,” she huffs around her laughter.

“So, why’d you two choose me?”

We’re sitting outside with our drinks now. I got a small latte that’s too sweet, and she got a large iced coffee that looks to be mostly oat milk. She’s leaning forward, the plastic straw between her lips, her eyelashes fluttering at me.

“Why did you choose us?” I ask, hoping to deflect.