Dinner and Dinner

Andrea stood before the mirror, adjusting the white two-piece outfit that hugged her curves like a second skin. The top, a fitted bandeau with thin straps, accentuated her toned shoulders, while the high-slit skirt teased just enough leg to leave an impression. Her golden waves cascaded over one shoulder, brushing against the smooth fabric. The outfit was bold, confident—dangerous.

Taylor let out a dramatic gasp from the bed, clutching his chest. "Oh. My. God. Babe, this dress isn't just talking—it's shouting devour me!' Are you going to dinner, or are you the dinner?"

Andrea smirked, giving a playful twirl before placing a hand on her hip. "Good. That's exactly what I was going for."

Taylor propped himself up on his elbows, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Mark my words—Joe will be speechless. Tongue-tied. Absolutely feral." He dragged out the last word with a flourish. "You might have to scrape him off the floor."

Andrea rolled her eyes, though the thought sent a thrill through her. "Stop it, Taylor!"

He hummed, tilting his head. "Mm-mm, I know a man who's about to be *obsessed*."

She shot him a knowing glance in the mirror before grabbing her clutch. "Let's hope so."

---

Joe was already seated when Andrea walked into the restaurant, the soft clinking of glasses and murmured conversations forming a hazy backdrop. His gaze lifted casually at first—then sharpened, raking over her from head to toe. His grip on his drink tightened ever so slightly.

Andrea didn't need to check—she *felt* his reaction.

"Hey, Joe," she greeted, her voice smooth, confident.

Joe stood up, his lips curving into a slow smile. "Andrea." He pulled out her chair, his eyes lingering. "You look..." He exhaled, shaking his head. "Wow."

She bit back a victorious smirk. Hook, line and sinker.

"Thank you," she said, settling into her seat. "You clean up nicely yourself."

Joe chuckled, smoothing a hand over his shirt. "Well, you know… a guy's gotta do what a guy's gotta do."

His tone was light, teasing, but his gaze hadn't wavered. She could see the internal battle—the effort to keep things casual when his eyes betrayed something else entirely.

A waiter arrived to take their order, momentarily breaking the spell. Once he left, Andrea leaned in slightly, resting her chin on her hand. "So, Joe," she mused, "do you have a girlfriend?"

Joe, mid-sip, nearly choked on his drink. He cleared his throat, eyes flashing with amusement. "That's... a bold question."

She shrugged. "Well, I just figured—if you did, she probably wouldn't be thrilled about this."

He set his glass down, lips twitching. "Good thing I don't have a girlfriend then, huh?"

Andrea's heart gave a tiny flutter, though she kept her expression composed. "Mm. Interesting."

Joe leaned forward, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down her spine. "What about you?" His fingers tapped against the table. "Do you have a boyfriend?"

She met his gaze, tilting her head slightly. "No. I don't."

A slow grin spread across Joe's face. "I find that hard to believe."

Andrea arched a brow. "Oh?"

He traced the rim of his glass with a finger, watching her. "You're exactly the kind of girl every guy would want."

She felt warmth creep up her neck, but she masked it with a teasing smile. "Every guy?"

Joe leaned in just a fraction closer, his voice smooth as silk. "Every guy."

A charged silence stretched between them, the air electric.

Andrea's lips parted slightly. "Does that include you?"

Joe let the moment hang, his gaze dipping briefly to her lips before returning to her eyes. Then, with a slow, knowing smirk, he answered,

"What do you think?"

The warm glow of candlelight flickered across Andrea's face as she leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. The scent of vanilla and something rich—perhaps caramel—hung in the air, mingling with the faint hum of background jazz. Across from her, Joe studied her with an easy smile, but there was something in his eyes—something that sent a slow thrill creeping down her spine.

She toyed with the stem of her glass, feigning nonchalance. "Thanks again for helping me with those workouts," she said, tilting her head slightly. "I swear, my flexibility has never been better."

Joe chuckled, his gaze dipping briefly before meeting hers again. "Glad to hear it," he said, taking a sip of his drink. His jaw flexed, and Andrea didn't miss the way he exhaled through his nose—as if reigning in a thought he shouldn't be having.

Her lips curled into a slow smile. "Actually…" she began, swirling her drink, "there's another way you could help me."

Joe raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh? And what's that?"

She leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table, her voice dipping just enough to make his eyes darken with curiosity. "I have a dance presentation on Monday, and I was hoping you'd take a look at my routine. Maybe help me make some adjustments."

Joe watched her for a beat too long, his fingers drumming against the table. Then, he smiled, slow and knowing. "Of course," he said, voice smooth. "Anything I can do to help."

The moment stretched between them, thick with something unspoken. Andrea felt her pulse flutter against her throat.

As they finished their meal, she brushed a stray curl behind her ear, her smile laced with mischief. "Why don't we find somewhere private to practice?"

Joe's lips quirked, amusement dancing in his gaze. "Somewhere private, huh?"

"Well, obviously, I wouldn't want to put on a show for everyone here," she teased, pushing back her chair. She held his gaze for a second longer than necessary, watching his reaction.

Joe exhaled through his nose again, shaking his head slightly but standing nonetheless. "Alright then," he said, voice low.

They slipped into a private lounge attached to the restaurant, the dim lighting casting soft shadows along the walls. The air between them crackled as Andrea turned to face him, her eyes glinting with something playful—something dangerous.

"So," Joe murmured, hands in his pockets, "how can I help?"

Andrea stepped closer, just enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body. "Just follow my lead," she whispered, taking his hands in hers and guiding them where she wanted them.

His fingers curled instinctively around her waist, strong and warm. Her body pressed against his, her heartbeat drumming in her ears. The silk of her dress shifted as she swayed, the fabric whispering against his suit.

Joe swallowed, his grip tightening slightly. "Andrea…"

She tilted her head, her lips just a breath away from his ear. "Relax," she murmured. "It's just a dance."

But they both knew it wasn't just a dance.

His hands skimmed over her waist, hesitant at first, then firmer, more certain. Andrea felt a shiver crawl up her spine as his thumb ghosted over the fabric, a touch so subtle yet electric. Her chest brushed against his, and the tension coiled tighter, thick and tangible.

Joe's breath was warm against her skin, his voice lower now, almost husky. "Are you sure this is part of the routine?"

Andrea smirked, tilting her head back just slightly. "Would you like me to stop?"

His silence spoke volumes.

She moved again, her body molding to his as the music played faintly in the background. The rhythm wasn't just in the song—it was in their movements, their breathing, the way his fingers pressed just a little deeper into her hip, like he was grounding himself.

Andrea exhaled slowly, her lips dangerously close to his jaw. "How about we take this up a notch?" she suggested, voice like silk.

Joe's grip on her waist tightened, his control hanging by a thread.

And for the first time that night, he didn't resist.