"For future reference, I don't live in the big half of the house. I live over here. There's a separate entrance on the side. Use it from now on, yeah?"

"All right," I replied, my head swiveling to get a look around at his half.

It was much cozier and clean over here. It was decorated in an Old World feel.

We walked directly into a decent-sized space, and on the left stood the kitchen that looked very much like the one in the big half but scaled down. It had the same green granite countertops and island with mahogany cabinets and stainless steel appliances. The flooring was hard wood though, and I loved it. It was so welcoming. It was an open-plan deal with no dining area. To the left was a wide staircase with some sort of closet or maybe even a small bathroom built in beneath it.

"It's really nice over here," I told him.

On the walls were framed posters of Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, The Doors, and The Who along with some frames filled with pictures of his friends and family. I saw squishy-looking fat dark brown couches made of suede and dark wood furniture.

A massive shelf filled with CDs and records that my hands were just itching to paw through stood along the wall next to the back door. Against the wall separating the two sides, a huge flat screen television sat on a stand with several gaming consoles resting on the shelves beneath it.

"Thanks. My sister fixed it up for me."

"She's got great taste."

He shrugged. "Sure. I like it."

Silence closed around us, but it didn't feel uncomfortable. At least I wasn't even though he watched me as I looked around.

"Do you mind if I look at your music collection?" I asked.

"Yes," he replied.

Surprised, I turned my eyes on him. "Why?"

"Because I'd rather be kissin' you right now than lettin' you mess up my tunes."

"Oh."

He was leaning against the island counter, his eyes hooded and flashing.

"Come here."

His voice pooled straight into my groin, and before I realized it, my legs obeyed his command.

A few inches away from him, his large hands reached out and grasped my hips, pulling me into his body. He was looking down into my eyes, and I felt as though he could see straight into my thoughts, my soul. His hands were so warm, burning me through my clothes.

"Your tits look smaller," he said, his voice sweet and teasing.

"They've always been this small." I sighed sadly. "I was falsely advertising last night."

"I like them better like this."

"Really?"

"Mmhmm. They look...natural."

I smiled. "They are."

"You're even more beautiful in the daylight, Kenna." He sounded so silky smooth that I wished I could rub his voice all over me.

I swallowed thickly. "So are you."

His head dipped down, and his lips pressed softly to mine. Within seconds, we were devouring each other, grinding and straining almost desperately. He tasted so good, like every flavor I'd ever loved had combined into one awesome, amazing experience. It was addictive.

"Fuck food," he said. "Let's just stay here."

I opened my mouth to agree wholeheartedly when my stomach snarled viciously in protest.

How fucking embarrassing.

Laughing, he said, "On second thought, maybe we should go get some food. That sounds like a severely neglected beast."

Inside the garage sat a brand-new silver-and-black Dodge Charger, which was nice and sexy. It was a muscle car for a muscly dude. But my eyes landed on the 1950 black Ford pickup truck.

Pointing to it, I couldn't contain myself. "Oh! Let's take that!"

He looked at me in surprise. "You wanna take the truck?"

"Yes, please."

Fully restored, the paint job was meticulous, and the rims were shiny chrome. It was an absolute beauty. Peeking through the passenger window, I saw that it had an awesome sound system with fat speakers on each side of the dash. The interior was a warm caramel color trimmed in black cord.

He unlocked the door and opened it for me. Then, he walked around to the driver's side and hopped in with a slight grin on his face.

"What?" I asked.

He slid on a pair of aviator sunglasses and gave me a full-blown smile with dimples. "I think it's cool you like the truck more than the Charger."

I shrugged. "I like classic cars."

"Yeah, me, too." Looking over at me, he patted the seat beside him. "I want you ridin' bitch, next to me."

I cocked an eyebrow at him. "Oh, yeah?"

"Mmhmm. It's got a seat belt and everythin'."

He was so cute. How can I resist? I slid over, opening my legs to accommodate for the gearshift, and our thighs pressed against one another.

"Mmm...I like the sight of my stick between your legs, Baby Girl," he said, his mouth brushing against my ear, his voice all deep and husky.

Goose bumps erupted all over my body, and my nipples stiffened.

"Me, too," I said, smiling shyly.

He bit his fat bottom lip. "How long do I have to wait until I'm inside you?"

His words from last night flooded my mind.

"I've waited too long for you. I ain't up to playin' games."

"We'll just have to find that out together," I replied softly.

Nodding, he turned the key in the ignition. The Black Beauty-I'd named it already-purred to life, and the speakers started pumping out- "Whitesnake?" I laughed.

David Coverdale crooned the '80s hit "Is This Love" with cheesy romanticism. And Phil was blushing. He reached for the skip button, but I smacked his hand away.

"Don't you dare, lover boy!"

I proceeded to croon along with Coverdale, and Phil's lips twitched. Saying nothing, he put the Black Beauty in reverse, and we were off for our first ever lunch date.

When the song faded out, I turned down the volume. "Where are we going?"

Phil brightened. "I've been dyin' for some fried alligator. My favorite is from this out-of-the-way place where my dad used to take me and my sister when we were kids. I haven't been there since...shit, like seven or eight years. I hope it's still there."

There was only one place that had fried alligator that was that good and could be considered out of the way, and that was Otis's Crab Shack.

"It's still there," I told him.

He looked at me and smiled. "You know where I'm talkin' about?"

"Ramshackle place, looks like it's going to sink into the river? Best seafood ever? And mango-"

"Iced tea," he finished, his face splitting into The Lady Killer.

Yeah, he might not be waiting long at all to be inside me.

"Barracuda" by Heart came out of the sound system, and I cranked the volume, badly singing along with Ann Wilson. I couldn't care less though. I was so stupidly happy right at that very minute, and some horrible singing wasn't going to bring me down. Besides, the music itself was loud enough to drown out my caterwauling.

He placed his hot hand on my thigh, his fingertips brushing awfully close to my crotch, and the skin-to-skin contact had me melting like hot butter between my legs.

I had the feeling that he was just as happy as I was right at this moment. Naturally confident and sure of himself, I found it incredibly sexy. Everything about him was sexy.

After a twenty-minute ride, we pulled into the nearly empty dirt parking lot.

Otis's Crab Shack had been here forever. Otis had been running this place since my mom was a kid, and his father had run it before that. Otis had to be somewhere between sixty and one hundred years old, black Creole, with an accent so hardcore that it was pretty much its own language. He would tone it down for us whities because I'd heard him speak with other Creoles, and it wasn't how he spoke to me. They would know what he was saying, and they'd respond in kind.

"Kenna, is dat you?" Otis called out, his bald hazelnut head popping out of the kitchen window. "It is you!"

"Hi, Otis!" I called back and waved. "Are you busy?"

The place was empty, except for a few old fishermen occupying a table in a corner overlooking the river.

"Not evah too busy fo' you! It been too long, girl!" He pulled his head back in and disappeared, only to emerge from the door beside the stairs. His face was all smiles and wrinkles.

Phil took my hand, lacing our fingers.

"An' you!" Otis's eyes got all big, and he pointed at Phil. "I remember you, boy! Whoowee! You got e'en biggah!"

Phil smiled sweetly. "Hey, Otis."

"I tol' you, it's all the gatah you be eatin'. Turned you intuh uh giant, it did!"

"It sure did, sir."

"She what eats thuh gatah, too," he said, winking at me. "You two t'gethuh, den?"

Phil looked at me and smiled. "Yes, sir."

"Whoowee! You's a sucka fo' 'er!"

"Yes, sir, I am."

"Follow me. Table up top?"

"That'd be great," I replied.

We sat next to the railing overlooking the Mississippi River. Mangrove trees grew in wild profusion along the edge of the river, providing a truly primitive aspect to the place. It felt like we'd really left civilization behind for a while.

"Mango teas?" Otis asked. "An' fried gatah?"

"Yeah, thanks," said Phil, smiling until his dimples popped.

Otis pointed to me. "Raw oystahs?"

"Yes, please. Thank you."

"Make it a double on the oysters," Phil said.

Otis cackled, "Is like dat den? Comin' righ' uhp!"

For an older dude, Otis spritely hopped down the stairs.

Phil cocked his eyebrow at me. "What was that all about?"

Blushing hard, I cleared my throat. "Oysters are a natural, um...aphrodisiac."

Both eyebrows rose. "Oh. Maybe we should quadruple it then."

I cracked up, and he smiled, his eyes sparkling with warmth.

"I love your laugh, Kenna. I think it's the best sound I've ever heard."

"Really?"

He nodded. "It totally enchanted me that night."