The Panty Dropper (Valentine's Love in the City Short) Read Free Page B

with a black fitted shirt. His sleeves are rolled up to the elbows. But the killer for me is that he has on a burgundy apron. Nothing says sexy like a man cooking me dinner while donning an apron.
    I sense trouble and think I just heard a nail in the coffin of “I don’t sleep with someone on the first date” get pounded into the wood. He’s smiling and I smile back.
    “Hey. Come on in.” He shuffles to the side to make room for my entrance while his eyes move over me. Stopping at the shoes. “Wow, you look great.”
    Monica was right. Damn her and these wicked pumps.
    “Thanks. So do you. I love the apron.” I lightly brush my fingers across the part of the apron covering his chest as I pass by. He stiffens like the last time when I touched his finger. Seems like he’s sensitive to my touch. In a good way too. I pause after walking past him, waiting for him to lead me into his apartment.
    Something about his smile has taken away the butterflies in my stomach. I’ve never felt this at ease on a first date. Amazing since he’s The Panty Dropper. I think it’s the fact that I feel welcome here. Being invited into his home is different than meeting at a busy, noisy restaurant or club. There isn’t anything formal about tonight at all. Just two people having dinner, getting to know one another. How well is to be determined.
    “Dinner is close to being finished,” he says turning toward me after shutting the door. “I have to confess that I’ve never cooked for anyone before.”
    “Really?” I respond. “Should I be scared?”
    “Probably, but if the sauce stinks then we can blame Ragu.” He laughs and I really like the sound when he does.
    “Ragu has never let me down,” I confess.
    As he comes to stand next to me, I feel his hand on the small of my back and it’s my turn to stiffen at a touch. He gently pushes against me as he walks out of the entry area. I purposely follow him slowly, this way his hand stays pressed against me. It feels heavenly. I believe I’m in all kinds of sweet trouble tonight.
    We arrive in his open kitchen and living room area. The space is big and bright. There’s crown molding, high-end granite and shiny, stainless steel appliances. His place looks nothing like my rental just two floors below. Everything seems customized. I look at him confused.
    “Your place is unreal. I don’t feel like I’m in my own building. How did you talk them into letting you do all of this?” I wave my hand across the whole room because everywhere I turn there’s something that seems out of the ordinary.
    “Well, actually I own this apartment,” he answers me sheepishly.
    “I didn’t realize that you could own an apartment here. I figured they were all rentals. How did you pull that off?”
    “When I said I own this apartment, I really should say I own the building too.” Now he’s appearing even more embarrassed.
    “So you’re my landlord then?” I say teasingly.
    “I’m afraid so. And a very rude one too. I haven’t gotten you a drink yet. How does some red wine sound?” Oh he’s good, real good.
    “You don’t want to talk about being the EM Properties, LLC, that I write my rental check to, do you?” I want to know more about him now as I’m totally intrigued.
    “Have a seat at the bar. I’ll get you some wine and explain.”
    “It’s just unexpected.” I follow orders and take a seat on the bar stool, hoping the jeans have stretched a little to make bending at the middle easier. And they have, thank God.
    He sits a half-full wine glass in front of me. “You’re the only person in this building that knows my secret. Are you good at keeping them?”
    “I’ve been told I’m like a vault, so I think you’re safe.”
    “A vault? Meaning impenetrable?” I snort and he blushes. God, he’s getting more and more irresistible.
    “Well, I wouldn’t say that.” I wink for fun. Turnaround is fair play after all. He smiles back so I know we’re good. “Does the onsite