“It’s a place I’m opening, and I have to go for the ribbon cutting.” He pushes the robe from my legs and puts his arm over them and rubs them. “So I am flying in on the fifteenth and coming back the next day.”

“Wow,” I say, smiling. “That’s amazing and sounds so formal. Ribbon cutting.” Leaning in, I kiss his lips. “I would love to.”

“I’m going to get us a jet early morning,” he tells me.

“Or we can go down on the Friday night and walk Bourbon Street,” I tell him. “I might even flash the boobs to get some beads.” I laugh when he glares at me. “I can do it privately.” Leaning in, I kiss his neck.

“If you really want to flash your boobs, we can eat naked.” He rubs my legs. “I can get some melted chocolate.”

I laugh now. “Cherie …” I swallow, wanting to kick myself for calling him that. “If you want to eat chocolate off me, all you have to do is ask.” He laughs, and the doorbell rings.

“Stay here,” he says, and I shake my head.

“I’m wearing my good robe,” I tell him. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen.” I smack his ass and walk to the kitchen and take a deep breath. I called him cherie. Fuck. I need to reel this shit in, I think to myself and then look at the end of the counter and there sits the fishbowl. “Well, hello there, Elsa,” I say, going over and tapping the fishbowl. “I told you I would find you a good home.”

“Hope you’re hungry,” he says, coming in the kitchen with two huge bags in a cardboard box. He puts it on the counter and starts taking things out.

“What did you order?” I laugh, grabbing the other bag.

“Pretty much anything he suggested,” he says, grabbing an egg roll and taking a bite, then holding it to my lips and offering me a bite.

“Thank you,” I say, opening the chopsticks that came in the bag and pulling them apart and taking a piece of beef.

“I guess we’re eating here,” he says, going to get plates and spoons. I open all the containers and place them together. “Almost like a buffet.”

“Bien sûr,” I say, grabbing a plate and filling it. “I’m starving.”

We sit at the table, and I tell him about the movies I watched with the girls, and he tells me about Matthew complaining about being kicked in the balls. He tells me stories that make me laugh until my stomach hurts. And when I finally look around, the sun is setting. “I should get going.” I pick up my plate and take it to the dishwasher.

“Why?” he asks me. “Let’s watch a movie.” He gets up, rinsing off his plate and putting it in the dishwasher. “You choose.”