Page 34 of Don’t Go Breaking My Heart

It hit me like a freight train. My eyebrows shot up and then I burst out in loud barking laughter.

Her face turned bright red, her eyes wide with a mix of embarrassment and indignation. “I never wanted to tell you that, you nosy jerk!”

I was laughing so hard I had to wipe a hand down my face to catch my breath. “Oh, Merritt,” I said, grinning at her. “You just made my day.”

“Ugh,” she groaned, pulling the gloves off and tossing them on the floor. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you. You’re too immature. You’re never going to let me live this down.”

“For the record,” I said, dropping to my knees in front of her. “I appreciate the honesty. I thought I had done something wrong. But it sounds like I did something right.”

“Shut up.”

“Just so I’m clear, was I good?”

She glared at me. “Go home, Kannon.”

“Oh, come on.” I smirked, leaning forward and poking her thigh. “I’m just curious. If it was a dream, I need to know if I lived up to expectations. I have a reputation to uphold.”

She rolled her eyes, scrambled to her feet. “I regret everything. Now that I think about it, it was a nightmare, not a dream.”

“Regret implies it wasn’t worth it,” I shot back, enjoying how flustered she was. I got up and stood in front of the door.

“Kannon,” she warned.

“What?” I asked innocently.

“Move. I will not hesitate to spray you with Windex.”

The tiny bathroom felt even smaller. It was just me and her. She dreamed about me. A sex dream. There was no way I was just going to forget about that. I wanted to know all the dirty details. Did her erotic dreams match mine?

“Just tell me one thing,” I said, dropping my voice to a low rumble.

“No.” Her voice was sharp, but there was a spark in her eyes.

“Yes.” I grinned like the devil himself, loving having her at my mercy. “It wasn’t missionary, right? I’m not a basic fuck. If I had you⁠—”

“Kannon!” Her voice was a high-pitched mix of shock and outrage. She swatted at my shoulder, her face so red she looked like she might combust.

I laughed and stepped out of the way. She planted her hands on her hips. “You’re inappropriate, infuriating, and⁠—”

“And you’re adorable when you’re mad,” I interrupted stepping into her space a second time. She looked up at me, her glare unwavering, but I saw the corner of her mouth twitch. She might be embarrassed but she had the dream.

And then she told me about it.

“Go. Home,” she said, poking a finger into my chest.

“Fine,” I said, raising my hands in surrender. “But only because I’ve got a dinner reservation to make.”

“What?” she asked, confused.

I walked out to the living room with her following behind me. I grabbed my jacket and put it on, stretching my arms out to get just the right fit. “We’re going out tomorrow night. Consider it a celebration.”

Her brows furrowed. “A celebration of what?”

I grinned over my shoulder, my hand on the doorknob. “You having a sex dream about me, of course. We need to commemorate the occasion.”

She groaned. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Yes, you are. Don’t bother doing your hair. The helmet will just mess it up. I like helmet hair. That’s what I dream about.”