Flirting with Forever: A Hot Romantic Comedy(39)

The corners of his mouth lifted. “Sure. Why not.”

He followed me inside and I set my keys and purse down. “Would you like a drink?”

“That would be great,” he said. “Whatever you’re having is fine.”

As I got out a bottle of wine, I thought about staying in my work clothes. My fitted cashmere sweater hugged my curves nicely and did great things for my boobs, especially when I left the top two buttons undone. My slacks highlighted my assets and heels always make a woman look polished and sexy.

But I really wanted to change into loungewear. And why not? It was just Dex.

“Give me a few minutes.” I handed him a glass. “I’m going to run upstairs and change.”

“Take your time.”

I went upstairs to my bedroom and traded my office attire for a simple black tank top and a pair of flowy, wide-leg yoga pants in a pretty moss green. I went back to the kitchen feeling more relaxed already.

“Better.” I fished a hair elastic out of my purse, flipped my hair upside down, and tied it in a ponytail. “And better still.”

He pushed my glass of wine toward me. “This should help too. Rough day?”

I took a sip. “Kind of the usual for a Monday. Sometimes I wonder why my boss hired me if she’s just going to rewrite half of what I turn in. Then there was traffic, although that’s typical.”

“Traffic is the worst.”

“Do you have much of a commute or is your shop close?”

“It’s not far from here. What’s up with your boss? She doesn’t like your writing?”

I poked around in the fridge and started pulling out random ingredients. I didn’t exactly have a plan but that was typically how I operated in the kitchen. “She claims she does but the way she shreds my articles, you wouldn’t think so.”

“That must be frustrating.”

“Incredibly.” I got out a cutting board and a knife and pushed them toward Dex, then handed him a zucchini. “Cut that into quarters and then dice, if you don’t mind.”

He started slicing while I cut up an onion.

“It doesn’t help that she won’t let me write about anything other than sex,” I continued. “I used to cover all sorts of topics but apparently I’m now their dedicated sex columnist. It gets old.”

“Kind of like when the sorority girls all come in wanting matching butterflies on their ankles.”

I laughed. “How many butterflies do you think you’ve done?”

“More than I could count. Although I don’t mind them if the client is open to something original. It’s when I get a group who all want them to be identical that I get a little bored.”

He finished with the zucchini so I handed him the cheese grater and a block of mozzarella.

“Do you have any?” he asked.

I didn’t miss the touch of heat in his voice. It almost made me wish I had one in a naughty place just so I could offer to show him. “Tattoos? No.”

“Virgin skin.”

“There’s nothing virginal about me, Dex.”

He laughed. “Have you ever thought about getting one?”

“I don’t know.” I got out a pan and started browning some ground beef. “Once in a while I see someone with an amazing tattoo and it makes me think about it. But it’s so permanent. I guess I have commitment issues.”

We chatted more about tattoos while we cooked. Preparing a meal with another person was surprisingly pleasant. Everly, Hazel, and I had cooked together often when we’d lived in the same apartment building downtown. It had been a while since I’d needed to cook for anyone other than myself and sharing the kitchen with Dex was nice.

What started as a vague idea as I’d looked over the ingredients in my kitchen turned into a rich smelling skillet lasagna. Ground beef, onion, zucchini, mushrooms, marinara sauce, and a healthy topping of mozzarella. I finished it off, letting the cheese melt, then dished up two plates.

“This smells incredible,” Dex said as he took his plate to the table. “Were you going to make this for yourself?”

I brought my dinner and wine and sat across from him. “Who knows. I tend to buy random things and hope I can make a few meals out of them.”

“At the risk of sounding like a dick, I’m surprised you cook.”

“I’m full of surprises.”

He took a bite and closed his eyes, moaning with enjoyment. That growly sound in his throat made all the effort worth it. I had to recross my legs to smother the burst of heat.

“This is so good,” he said.

“Thank you. And yes, I can cook. My friends and I used to get together and make up recipes all the time. What about you? Can you cook or are you mostly a man of the grill?”

“Both, although I’d grill everything if I could. With Ry, I kind of had to learn. Single dad skills.”

My curiosity about Riley’s mother surged to the surface. I couldn’t stop myself from asking. “Can I ask about her mom?”

He poked at his food for a moment before answering. “Brooklyn and I were kind of dating but mostly just sleeping together. At the time, I thought that was great. All the sex, none of the commitment. Then she got pregnant. She didn’t want kids, so I said I’d take the baby. It was like, as soon as I knew Riley existed, I couldn’t imagine it any other way. She agreed and even said she wanted to be involved. Turned out what she really wanted was access to Riley when it was convenient for her but none of the responsibility of being a parent.”