Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 141676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
“You make a good case.” He frowns slightly.
“Right. So…” I take another mouthful of chili before I say anything to embarrass myself more, like admitting how much I liked it when he clearly didn’t.
“Sorry I interrupted your evening.” He glances at the laptop on the floor. “You were trying to work, weren’t you?”
How is he able to read me so easy? Is it some weird superpower?
“It’s fine, Dex. Wrapping up orders and expenses feels like a stretch now. I don’t have a head for numbers past eight.” Or anytime, really, but Nana hinted at how bad I was at business over dinner. No need to make it worse. “Since you’re here, do you want a drink or anything?”
“A glass of wine wouldn’t hurt.”
“For sure. It’s not your fancy stuff,” I warn. “In fact, it’s kinda cheap. Nasty drunk-girl-after-bar-hopping stuff. You’ll probably prefer cough syrup.”
“I’m no wine snob, sweetheart. Until my late twenties, I got along just fine with cheap beer and booze and only came back to wine when I decided to behave like an adult.”
“I don’t believe it,” I mutter, pouring him a glass. “But here you go. And while you’re here, you might as well tell me what else sent you over. What’s wrong now?”
He accepts the glass and takes a sip, not even making a face at the ten-dollar wine I’ve just handed him. “Do I smell like disaster or what?”
“You could have apologized on the phone. And you said there was a ‘development.’ That has me a little freaked.”
“In my defense, you weren’t answering the phone,” he points out, and I shuffle back to my corner of the sofa. He’s got me there. “But as it happens, you’re right.”
My gut tightens.
What else could he possibly have in store?
More dates?
More kisses to feel bad about later?
More pretending?
Dexter sticks a hand in his pocket and toys with whatever’s inside, frowning at the wall like he can see the mouse village inside that Catness is too chicken to shut down.
I resist the urge to tell him to spit it out.
“There have been a couple developments since I last saw you,” he says.
“Dude. You need to stop using that word.” Looks like I needed that wine after all and I throw back half my glass in one gulp.
“For starters, you remember Forrest Haute?”
“You mean the entire reason we’re a fake couple? How could I forget?”
“I met with him this afternoon to go over the property. He mentioned how keen he is for his wife to meet you.”
“Oh.”
“Oh, indeed,” he says grimly, drinking his wine. Catness curls up on his lap and he strokes him absently, not seeming to notice the thick fur slowly fastening itself to his suit. “We need to get that dinner done. There’s no putting it off forever.”
I tap the edge of my glass with my nails, giving myself a minute to come to terms with everything.
Fine, whatever.
The last time we had dinner, we wound up spontaneously making out in front of my grandmother, but he clearly regrets it and so do I. I think.
But I’ve been sufficiently shamed now.
It won’t happen a second time.
And if I drink less and stay sobered up, I won’t want it to happen again, either.
I’d rather walk on nails than have this conversation again.
Never mind the fact that I’ve had a few sips tonight and he still looks way too delicious for his own good. No man should be blessed with that jawline, those cheekbones, and eyes like the Atlantic.
And now I know what those lips taste like—lips that I’ve seen go hard with contempt and strangely soft with surprising sweetness. Lips that kissed me until I was drunk with desire.
He frowns at me again and I force my mind back into the conversation.
“That’s fine,” I say. “We knew it was coming. If he likes my baking, then we’ve got something positive to work with. After Nana, it should be a cakewalk. Maybe literally. Oh, should I bring him a cake?”
“Cool it, Sweet Stuff,” Dexter says, his blue eyes glinting like knives. “Believe me, he might sound unthreatening, but he’s more dangerous than he looks.”
“Dangerous?” I echo.
“Never mind.” But Dexter just glances around the apartment again, keeping his mouth shut.
“What kind of dangerous? Like do I have to worry about him stalking me home?” I press. “When you say dangerous, do you mean he’s—”
“I just mean he’s clever. A bit of an egomaniac, like most guys with his money and his record. He stomps around for his own amusement. He doesn’t always care who he steps on,” he explains. “Fooling him won’t be as easy as you think. Thank God for the sweets, though. You’re right about them giving us a huge leg up.”
“Oh, if that’s all.” I roll my eyes. “We did fool Nana. If we did it once, we can certainly do it again.”