The apartment was quiet after the door shut.
Lexi still had her forehead on the marble. The sheer yoga pants were a crime against dignity. The tartare plate sat between them like nothing unusual had happened.
Rick rinsed the spoon, dried his hands, and checked the Patek.
"I have somewhere to be," he said.
Lexi lifted her head. Her eyes were still hazy from the food. Her voice was not.
"You cannot leave me like this. My parents think we are getting married. I am wearing see-through pants. You still owe me an explanation for the drawer."
"I owe you nineteen and twenty," Rick said. "The drawer explained itself."
He stepped into her space. Not rough. Just close enough that she had to look up. One hand settled on her hip, thumb brushing the damp waistband.
"You did well," he said. "Even with the audience."
"That is not funny."
"It's a little funny."
