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That had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he was the best looking man I had ever talked to in person before. Nope. Nothing to do with that at all.
"And, what exactly, have you heard about me, baby?" He asked, the smooth voice of his going positively silky as he took a step closer to me.
"I'm not your baby," I snapped, holding up a hand as he kept advancing, "and, trust me, I know all about you."
"About how devilishly handsome I am?" he asked, smirking. "Or how clever or how..."
"Or how little respect you have for recovery," I cut in, eyes shooting daggers at him.
The smile fell from his lips and he took a step back, his brows lowering. "Say again?"
"What? Did you think it was a secret that you kept sending Ben cases of scotch every month? Do you have any idea how insensitive that is to do to someone who is trying to stay clean? Who does something like that?"
Like a weight suddenly landed there, his shoulders slumped as he took another step in retreat, leaning his back against the counter. "Pops was clean?"
"Two years," I said, nodding for emphasis. "No thanks to you."
His gaze went to his feet and, for a second, I thought he was feeling guilt or shame. But then his head came back up and his green eyes were dancing, a smile tugging at his lips. "What happened to all that scotch then? 'Cause none of it ever got sent back."
"I intercepted it," I said, lifting my chin a little. It always came right on schedule, the tenth of each month. I always made sure I got up early and grabbed it before Ben could see it. Two years was a long time to be clean, but even with that kind of time in, a huge case of scotch could have been too hard a temptation to fight.
"You intercepted it? What a little secret agent you are," he chuckled. "So who are you, Detective? You belong to my Pops?"
"Belong?"
"Yeah, honey. You and him... were you a thing?"
"What? No!" I almost shouted, my hands flying out and gesticulating like they always did when I got riled. "Just because you're a horndog doesn't mean your father was. And, just in case you haven't noticed, I'm a little bit young for him."
"A horndog?" he repeated, looking like he was trying to fight a smile.
"Yeah, horndog. Player. Ladies' man. Womanizer. Lothario. Slut."
He stopped fighting the smile and it stretched across his handsome face in an all too charming way. "Spend a lot of time reading your thesaurus, huh sugar?"
"Oh my gosh. What is with all the cutesy names? I have a real name you know."
"Yeah, honey, I'm sure you do... but you haven't told me it yet."
Oh. Right.
"I'm Amelia Alvarado. I live next door."
He kept the smile in place and extended his hand. And, well, I had no real choice but to take it. "Well, Amelia Alvarado from next door, I'm Shooter. It's a pleasure to meet you," he said, leaning down to kiss the back of my hand. I repeat: he kissed the back of my hand. I did not feel a shock of desire at the contact either. Nope. Not at all.
"The pleasure is all yours," I growled, snatching my hand from his.
Not offended, he just chuckled. "What happened to your hand, darlin'?"
I looked down at my hand, too frazzled to remember what he was talking about. The scratches were superficial, just a couple bright red marks that would probably fade by morning. "Your dad's cat," I said on a shrug.
"My dad's... cat?" he repeated like it was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard before.
"Yeah. Millie. She's evil and hates literally everyone. I was trying to get her from underneath the cabinet to bring back to my apartment until I figured out what to do with her."
He rubbed his brow and, for a second, he looked almost lost, unsure of himself. It was quickly brushed away and he clapped loudly, making me jump. "Alright. Let's get her out of there," he said, moving over toward where I had been kneeling a few moments before. His shoulder brushed mine in the close space of the small kitchen and I jerked away. His brow raised at my reaction, but he said nothing.
"Go ahead and try," I said, chin raising. "She'll probably claw that pretty face off."
"You think my face is pretty, huh?" he asked, smiling over his shoulder at me and I felt my cheeks start to heat. What the hell was wrong with me?
"No. But you obviously think pretty highly of yourself. Just figured I would warn you."
He winked at me and lowered himself down to the floor, reaching one of his arms under the cabinet. He made a weird tisk tisk tisk sound under his breath and not more than a few seconds later (a few seconds!) out slid Millie, Johnnie's arm wrapped around her back. I had been trying to get that cat out of there for like... twenty minutes. Millie was a fat, ugly as all sin white cat with big patches of brown and gray all over her coat. One of her eyes was blue, the other brown and I swear her mouth was perpetually set in a kitty-frown. She looked up at Johnnie for a minute, her head cocking to the side. "Who's a pretty kitty?" Johnnie asked, running his hand down her back and she purred. The she-devil spawn of satan actually purred at him.
"She's the ugliest cat I've ever seen," I said, shaking my head as I watched him bundle her up and cradle her to his chest and she just... let him.
"Maybe that's why she doesn't like you," Johnnie said, stroking her head as he smiled at me.
"So that's what you do? Compliment everyone, even the... unfortunate looking ones, and you get what you want?"
Johnnie shook his head, his smile turning more into a smirk. "Do you need to excuse yourself to the bathroom for a minute?"
