“First thing I would do,” I said, as I sat up a little straighter, “is make you dinner. Because I’m a gentleman.” She snorted. “Oh, the protective asshole act again?” “Noelle—” “Shush,” she admonished, “I like it. Keep going.” “Then I’d eat dessert.” “Dessert? But you don’t like sweets.” “Oh, I won’t be eating sweets, baby. I’d be eating you.”