Page 16 of The Deadbeat DILF
“Yep,” I said. “It’s invalid because it was signed under duress.”
“So, do you have to go to court and prove it to a judge?”
“I don’t do that—our firm has litigators who go to court. But I work in a team to build the case.”
“That sounds really interesting.” He walked over with two plates in hand.
“Well, in reality, it’s a lot of reading and paperwork. But it’s always a good feeling when we win a case. Thank you,” I said as he placed a plate of steaming lasagna in front of me. “This looks incredible.”
“I hope you like it,” Robert said. “I’ve also got some salad—I’ll bring it out now.”
He brought out a glass bowl of garden salad and sat across from me. The smell of the food made my mouth water, and I eagerly cut into the corner of my slice. Cheesy, tomatoey flavor exploded on my taste buds.
“Oh, wow…”
Robert looked worried. “Too salty?”
I shook my head and scooped another bite into my mouth, needing to sate my hunger. “This is the best lasagna I’ve ever had.”
Robert’s shoulders visibly relaxed. “That’s a relief. This arrangement wouldn’t work all that well if I wasn’t at least a decent cook.”
“You’re not just decent—you’re amazing. What else are you secretly good at?”
He chuckled as he pierced a piece of lettuce with his fork. “Well, I’m good with my hands.”
My eyes fell to his hands. They were so large, they made the knife and fork he held look like toys.
I swallowed, imagining how those big, strong hands would feel. “How are you, uh, good with your hands?”
“Building requires me to use them a lot, so I’m pretty dexterous.”
Right. Of course, that’s what he meant. I hoped he couldn’t tell that the first thing I thought of was those hands on my hips. On my thighs—
“I see,” I said, hoping my cheeks weren’t burning. “I don’t use my hands much for work, unless you count typing.”
“Typing counts,” Robert said.
I laughed. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those old people who can’t type on a computer.”
He grinned. “I’m not that old. But I will say, I’m nowhere near as fast as Mike when he’s texting on his phone.”
My smile froze. I should’ve laughed, but I was reminded that Robert had a son I’d dated. Robert was older than me. Almost twenty years older.
For a second, I’d forgotten that. It had felt like I was having dinner with a friend.
I forced a smile. “Did you even have phones when you were a kid?”
“No. Back in my day, we sent messages by carrier pigeon.”
That made me laugh. We enjoyed the rest of our meal—the salad was delicious too—and talked about our days. Robert’s work was the same as usual, and now that he was living here, it was less of a drive to get there, which was good.
“Are you settling in okay?” I asked after finishing the last bite of my lasagna.
Robert nodded. “It’s homey here. Definitely more spacious than my old place. Much better kitchen.”
“You have everything you need?” I replied, wanting him to be comfortable. “If there’s any appliances or furniture…”
“No, there’s nothing. It’s perfect. Really.”
