“I can’t say I know what he looks like,” Preston said. “So I don’t know if your mormoris right.”
“Hang on.” I fished out my phone from my pocket. A quick Google search later, and I showed Preston the man in all his seventies glory, wearing a white jumpsuit over a lavender shirt with long, puffy sleeves.
“Hmm.” Preston tapped his finger to his lip. “Your mormormight be onto something there.”
“Hey!”
“Just kidding.” He gave me a quick peck on the cheek. “You’re much more handsome. Now, say something in Swedish.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Anything.”
“Um…hej?”
“Even I can figure out what that means. Say something else. How do you say ‘kiss me’?”
“Kyss mig.”
“All right.” He brushed his lips against mine. Slow. Sensual. Breathtaking.
“Silly man.” I smiled.
“You asked for it.”
“I guess I did.”
“Now say something dirty.”
I raised an eyebrow with a chuckle.
“I know. Very mature. Do as you’re told.” He shot me a wide, goofy grin.