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“You were going to.”
“Because you were giving me a hard time.”
“I was trying to keep you from doing something stupid.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” I held up my hand, stopping him from interjecting. “But that’s neither here nor there. Now, stop trying to pick an argument with me and tell me more about how you think I look hot in my short skirts.”
“Nothing to tell.” He shrugged. “You know how to turn heads.”
“With my short skirts?”
“And those shorts and tank tops you work out in. Hell, you could wear a fucking bathrobe and have dudes drooling over you.”
“I think that might be a stretch.”
“It’s not.” He took another drink of wine before adding, “It doesn’t matter what the fuck you wear as long as you feel good in it.”
“If you say so.”
I might not know what to do with a man, but I was beginning to understand something even more important. Ravage hadn’t just been watching me. He’d noticed what I was wearing and when I felt confident, and there had to be a reason for that.
I just wasn’t sure what.
“I’m telling ya, if you feel sexy and confident, it shows, and that does something to a man.” He held my gaze for a moment. “Don’t get me wrong. The low-cut tops and the high heels are hot as fuck, but they wouldn’t look nearly as hot if you didn’t feel good wearing ‘em. Same goes for those sexy outfits you work out in. You know you look good, and it shows.”
“And how does it show?”
“You’ve got this little strut you do… and you tilt that chin high and smile like all is right in the world.” He gave me a mischievous smirk. “Yeah, hot as fuck.”
The way he said it made me feel like he’d seen more than just the way I walked. He’d seen the parts of myself that I’d tried to keep hidden from others with jokes and a sassy attitude, and he admitted it like it was no big deal.
Trying to seem unfazed by his confession, I rolled my eyes and sassed, “I do not strut.”
“You do, and I repeat, it’s hot as fuck.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.”
“And this was the lesson for tonight?”
“It was a start.” His gaze held mine for a second too long, and the words felt a bit loaded. Before I could ask him what came next or whether he was brave enough to find out, there was a rattle in the corner of the room. Ravage pushed away from the counter as he announced, “I think we got him.”
I glanced over at the trap, and to my surprise, the tiny mouse was sitting inside, devouring the nuts and peanut butter, completely unaware that he’d just been caught. “You caught him!”
“Sure did.”
“I have to say, that’s pretty impressive.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I am.”
I laughed, and Ravage shook his head. “Ye of little faith.”
He picked up the trap and lifted it up high, giving him a better look at the mouse inside. When he gave it a little shake, I asked, “Are you going to let him go?”
“Will do it on the way home.”
