“A waitress, huh? Did you wear one of those cute little uniforms? Blue? Green? Mustard yellow?” He reaches down to…adjust himself. “Please tell me you served hot, delicious pie.” My face screws up in distaste, even though my cheeks heat. “Shut up.” After a beat, I wryly add, “Like you’d ever lower yourself to eat something as trashy as diner pie.” “Not in a million years,” he says, dragging a hand up my bare thigh. “But if I did, it’d be a nice, hot slice of cherry.”
