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“What suggestion?”
Dane takes the wine and drinks a long, slow swallow. He’s smiling slightly and seems pleased, like all is going to plan. “I told it to your other mind.”
I snatch the wine back. “You’re insane.”
He shrugs. “You should have researched your doctor better. I have terrible Yelp reviews.”
“You’re not my doctor.”
“Oh, definitely not—or what we did earlier is a lot more illegal.”
“Which part?”
“The hand-in-the-pants part. And maybe the rest of it, too—I’m a doctor, not a lawyer.”
I squint up at him. “You’re funny when you’re drunk.”
“I’m funny when I’m tipsy—I’m maudlin when I’m drunk.”
“So, you’re only tipsy?”
“You’ll know I’m drunk when I start talking about the death of the universe.”
“The whole universe?” I must be tipsy because I’m giggling. “That is maudlin.”
Dane shrugs. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
I’m probably being rude, talking only to Dane when Emma invited me here. It’s hard to include her in the conversation, though, when she’s staring daggers at Dane.
“Sorry about, uh—“
“Her?” Dane doesn’t have to turn his head; he knows exactly where Emma’s sitting. “That’s normal around here.” He pauses then says, “There’s rumors about me in town.”
“Yeah. I might have heard some.”
“You did?” He glances at me, taking the wine. “I wondered.”
That’s all he says. He doesn’t ask if I believe the rumors, and I don’t have the guts to say anything at all.
Part of me is desperate for information, but the rest of me has to admire how stone-cold he is, like the looks and whispers can’t touch him.
Did you kill your wife?
If he didn’t, that’s super fucking offensive.
If he did, he’s not going to admit it.
Nothing can be greater proof of how fucked up I’ve become than my willingness to roll the dice.
Dating with Jude in tow was like being a teen mom. I never had a rebel motorcycle boyfriend phase—I had to stick with the safe choice.
Everything about Dane is a waving red flag, with flashing lights and sirens on top.
But it also feels bright and burning and wildly arousing, the opposite of my usual instincts.
Gideon seemed safe—and look how that ended.
A manic little laugh sneaks out of me. Am I rebounding from a fake nice guy all the way to a possible murderer?
