Big nearly choked on his drink as the laugh rumbled up in his chest. "Razor sharp wit you've got there, Alisha."
She shrugged. "Just being honest. Her stomach growled, and she was tired of waiting to eat. Picking up the sandwich, she took a mammoth bite. Her eyes fell closed and she nearly moaned from the deliciousness igniting her taste buds.
The surprises where Alisha Larrington was concerned just kept coming. He would've bet any amount of money that she ate rabbit food and picked at her meals like a bird. But there she was across from him, digging into that gigantic sandwich and having what bordered on a religious experience with it. There was something very sexy about a woman who wasn't afraid to eat. "Good?" he asked knowingly.
"God, yes! I was dreaming of this while my trainer tortured me with squats and lunges this morning."
Images of Alisha sweating in a gym with some tight yoga pants wrapped over her hot ass and legs flashed in his mind. So, sue him, he was a dude. The comment on the tip of his tongue would probably get him slapped, so he unwrapped his own sandwich and took a big bite.
They shared a few minutes of companionable silence while they ate, minus a few grunts and groans of appreciation for their food. Alisha polished off her sandwich and tore open the bag of salt and vinegar chips, quickly inhaling a few. She licked the salt from her fingers one at a time and found Big staring oddly at her. It was annoying. "What?" she asked with raised brows.
Big's lips twitched and he merely took another drink from his cup, saying nothing.
"You clearly have something to say—just spit it out." She huffed out an irritated breath and reached for her diet coke.
"I like watching you eat." When her lip curled in disgust he grinned. "It's refreshing to see a woman put away food like that instead of ordering a piece of lettuce, eating half and claiming she's stuffed. You annihilated that sandwich."
Alisha pursed her lips, unsure whether to be flattered or insulted—maybe a little of both, she finally decided. She smiled crookedly and took another sip from her straw. "How's your mother?" she deflected, dimples winking.
Big let out a derisive snort. "You know, you don't look mean, but you are. We watched Schindler's List once and she cried and told me I was no better than the Nazis because I didn't date Jewish girls. And that was when I was in high school."
Her jaw dropped, and she laughed. "No, she did not!"
"Oh, yes she did," he told her, laughing at the memory. "So, you can imagine how insane she gets over any female Jew in a ten-mile radius of me now that I'm pushing thirty."
"Well, it's New York—plenty of Jews to choose from," Alisha replied glibly.
"And what about you? Can I add you to my list?" he asked, leering at her.
Ugh, he was smarmy. "Sure," she said tartly, standing up. "I'll be number one with a bullet on your 'never gonna happen' list." She grabbed her book off the table and shoved it into her bag.
He blew out a low whistle. "Boy, someone did a number on you."
Someone had. And screw Jake Biggerman for zeroing in on that old wound with such accurate precision and making it ache dully. Her eyes went dark and narrow. "Don't presume that you know the first thing about my life."
Big got to his feet and glared back at her. "Same goes."
She snorted as she shrugged into her red fleece jacket. "You're not as tough to figure out as you think," she said and turned on her heel, heading for the door.
"What the fuck does that mean?" he asked testily as they stepped out onto the sidewalk, the cool autumn breeze blowing around them.
Alisha paused and reluctantly turned back to him, no longer wishing to be a participant in this conversation. "If I'm being succinct, I believe the term man whore is applicable."
Big stepped closer, invading her personal space. He noted a flicker of something else in those Bambi eyes of hers (what exactly, he wasn't sure, but it was there) before they went stormy again. "Nothing wrong with liking sex, sweetheart. Maybe you should consider getting some soon—might dislodge that giant stick up your ass." Her mouth fell open in shock and he grinned smugly. "See ya around, Larrington," he said and walked away, leaving her alone on the sidewalk in his wake.
Maggie was hunkered down at the dining room table surrounded by sketches and fabric samples when Alisha came slamming into the apartment. The scowl on her face accompanied by the insane number of shopping bags in her hands was a dead giveaway that she was in a shitty mood. She watched her storm towards the guest room, heard the packages drop against the hardwood.
She knocked on the door and heard a harried "What?" and poked her head inside. "Hey," she said softly.
"Hi," Alisha snapped, not bothering to glance up as she upended the shopping bags on the bed.
Maggie walked over to the bed and looked at her purchases, grabbing curiously at the shoebox. "Hot boots," she commented, running a finger over the buttery soft black leather. She sat down on the bed and looked at Alisha. "What's wrong?" Alisha took a deep breath and launched into a long (and loud) diatribe, leaving Maggie only able to discern every few word or so.
"Stupid fireman…deli…table…insufferable ass…egomaniacal douche...singular expression…smirks…man whore…insulting…stick up my ass…like to beat him with a giant stick upside his stupid face!"
Maggie blinked owlishly, trying to process. "Wait—are you talking about Big?"
"Yes!" she screeched. "Weren't you listening?"
"I was trying, motor mouth. Dial it down a notch!" Maggie snapped.
Alisha huffed out a breath and sat down next to Maggie. "I'm sorry, Fabs."
"Oh, please…that was nothing," she assured her friend, patting her knee. "You should go out with him."
"W-wh-what?" she sputtered. "Did you not hear a word I just said?"
Maggie ignored her question. "I think he likes you—you
