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“That is terrifying,” he said. “But I’d never be stupid enough to keep trophies.”
Her full lips twitched as if she was fighting a smile. “Trophies, huh? What kind of movies do you watch?”
“I don’t watch a lot, but sometimes when I’m kicking back on my day off, I’ll watch a Criminal Minds marathon.”
“Ah, you got a thing for Shemar Moore?”
Dean tucked her hair behind her ear, shaking his head. “Nah, not my type. Yours?”
“Actually, I’ve always had a thing for Reed,” she said.
Dean’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “The skinny kid?”
“What? He’s like a lost puppy. You just want to snuggle him,” she said, teasing.
“If he’s a puppy, what does that make me?” he asked.
“A kitten.”
Dean laughed again, the sound rough. It didn’t happen very often, so he was out of practice. “You think I’m a kitten?”
“Mm-hm, is that a problem?”
“Usually kittens are small and fluffy.”
“But you can cuddle kittens, too.”
“Are you saying you want to cuddle me?” he asked, surprised.
The small, sexy smile that played across her lips was flirtatious and teasing, sending a beacon of lust straight to his cock.
“Let’s eat first and see where things go,” she said.
Sounds good to me.
Chapter Six
BEING WITH DEAN in a crowded park was one thing, but alone in his home, sitting adjacent to him at the kitchen table . . . he seemed bigger. Not that she was worried about him, not when his massive black and white hell hound was in the room.
Dean had finished his first taco and let Dilbert back in when he’d scratched at the door, assuring Violet that he’d give her a wide berth. Violet chewed the last bite of her burrito, watching Dilbert as he sat next to Dean’s leg. The dog never took his eyes off his master’s second taco, and if she hadn’t been waiting for the dog to lunge for the food—and his hands by extension—she might have been amused. As it was, she was like a big bucket of nerves exposed to an electric prod: jumpy and jittery as hell. Not because she was scared, at least not of Dean, but because she was waiting for what happened next.
Being that this was her first casual encounter, she could only imagine how things were supposed to progress. Did she sneak off to use his mouthwash or chew some gum after dinner? What if he didn’t and he had onion breath?
Oh, God, what if she went through with this and he was horrible in bed? What if he was so small that she had to lay there and fake it? The few lovers she’d had were okay, nothing mind-blowing, but she’d been satisfied.
If he screws the way he kisses, everything will be fine. Relax. Maybe you need another drink.
Violet wasn’t going to ask for that, though. She didn’t want him to think she was an alcoholic; he’d already looked at her funny about the Breathalyzer.
She just needed to catch a break. After all the bad shit she’d been dealt, she just wanted one night of forget-about-everything-else-except-this-guy’s-body-on-hers sex. Was that too much to ask?
She wiped her hands on one of the napkins and swallowed. “Where is your bathroom? I want to wash my hands.”
“First door on the left.” He set his taco down and stood.
“What, are you going to follow me in there?”
“No, I just wanted to make sure there was a towel for you to dry your hands on.”
