Scored(27)

Her blue eyes light up. “Violets?”

“I had some insider knowledge.”

She takes the flowers from me and buries her nose in the middle. A second later, she starts laughing… my girl is nervous or excited. I’m hoping she’s leaning more toward the latter.

“And wine?”

“You don’t have to drink any tonight. Figured you could share this with Layton. I’m not looking to take advantage of you unless you’re sober.” I wink at her, earning a blush.

“Thank you.” She reaches up and brushes my cheek with her soft lips. Her scent washes over me, a mash-up of flowers and vanilla with a hint of pot roast. Hey, what can I say? I’m a man who loves food.

“If that’s the response I get for flowers and wine, I can’t wait to buy you something really nice,” I say, half-joking. Shit, I shouldn’t have gone there. One, I don’t want to set up the expectation. Two, I don’t want to suddenly find greed shining in her bright eyes.

She gives me a look, but it’s not mixed with greed at all. In fact, she looks a little sad and a whole lot uncomfortable. “I don’t know you well enough for really nice gifts, and I’d feel weird if you did get me something expensive because I wouldn’t be able to return the favor.”

Is she thinking of the asshole who wanted sexual favors in exchange for dinner? “Guess I’ll have to return the unicorn I was saving for our third date.”

“Wait. Now I have to take that back. There’s no way I can pass up the gift of a unicorn,” she says, another nervous giggle leaving her mouth. “But I have to confess that I bought you a ticket to the now-found city of Atlantis. They only serve beer, hot dogs with coney sauce, and S’mores… and play football for days on end.”

“I’ll pass.”

Her pretty eyes widen. “Why?”

“Because if I were to go on a trip to a special place like that, then I’d want a special woman at my side…” I know what’s she thinking now—it’s written all over her face and her body language. She’s ready to throw a flag and text her best friend to come save her. “So it would be really rude of me to ask you to toss in a second ticket so I could take my mom.”

She stares at me for a moment and then… her entire face turns into a smile, then a laugh, and she’s shaking her head, inviting me inside and shutting the door behind us.

“Hope you like pot roast,” she says, glancing at me over her shoulder before she sets the flowers on a small table in the hallway.

With the way she’s swinging her hips and flashing those baby blues my way, I don’t care what the hell she’s serving. I’ll eat every bite.

“It’s one of my favorite meals.”





CHAPTER 11




Paige


My second date with Dallas is nothing like the first. Okay, so he’s still the same outrageously sexy, charming guy with enough lines for a rom-com and funny stories about his family. He’s also still hot as anything and keeps catching me staring at him like a teenager with her first crush.

I’m not that interested. I swear I’m not… except I’m completely drawn to him.

Ridiculous, I know… but I like the feelings he invokes. I like it when our hands accidentally touch or when our legs brush under the table. Tingles run up my arms and down my sides, straight to where I’m getting hotter.

And wetter.

“You cooked, so I’ll clear the table,” he says and starts taking dishes to the sink. Then, he goes a step further to making me melt into the floor by rinsing them off and putting them in the dishwasher. “And because that’s the best home-cooked meal I’ve had in a long time, I’ll also wash.”

“What am I supposed to do while you take care of everything?”

He gives me one of his signature winks. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

I open the fridge, looking inside. “Can I get you another beer?” Before she’d left after breakfast, Layton suggested I buy Dallas’ favorite beer. I took her suggestion… along with cooking his favorite meal and making sure I had rocky road ice cream in the fridge for dessert if he wanted it.

Seven-percent body fat goals or not.

Google and the Dallas Drake fan page on Facebook were a lot of help. No, I’m not entering stalker mode, but I do like being prepared. Since he went to so much trouble to get back in my good graces, I felt like I needed to return the favor.

“You trying to take advantage of me, Ms. Owens?” he asks, a rakish smile on his lips as he slightly turns my way.

“I might have read online that pot roast is your kryptonite.”

He arches a brow, then dries his hands and walks to me, moving like a predator. Closing the fridge, I settle against it and wait for him to cross the small distance between us.

Dallas doesn’t disappoint, and his bulky frame takes up all the available space in front of me. He places one hand beside my head and uses his other to cup my chin, tip it up…

“What’s your kryptonite, bright eyes?” He leans down, like he’s trying to catch every word I’ll say with his lips. “Has to be something else besides poetry and movie adaptations of your favorite book.”

“Muscular forearms. Big hands that have a soft touch and… men who clean up after dinner,” I say, feeling especially flirty.