Scored(33)

Her tongue licks my bottom lip and my mouth parts, eager to take it inside. The moment I slide my tongue against hers, she hums a little in her throat.

That fucking sound. Gets me every time.

I slide my fingers into her hair, palming the back of her skull to hold her in place. My kisses aren’t sweet. They’re demanding, and I take everything she gives.

She pulls away slightly. “I had my doubts that we’d be like this a second time.”

“Not me. I knew it from the start.”

“You sound so sure of yourself.”

“Occupational hazard.”

“Please. You were born this way.” Paige’s stomach rumbles, and she presses her hands against it. “That’s the sound I want to make while we’re flirting and making out.”

“Sounds like you need to eat.” I need to eat, but I’d rather make out with her… and flirt some more.

“I can wait a minute or two.” She searches for my mouth. I let her have it until she’s more than a little breathless… and I’m ready to carry her sweet ass to my bed. “Time’s up, or I’m going to eat your face.”

“Not really into that sort of kink.”

“Walking Dead sex not appealing to you?”

I shake my head and propel her into the kitchen. “Not a fan of rotting parts.”

“This is such great pre-dinner game talk.”

“You’re the one who brought it up. I don’t eat faces. I eat—” She presses her fingers against my mouth, but I jerk back and gently nip at the tips. With a little yelp, she snatches them away. “Food.”

Her mouth twists as she fists one hand on her hip. “Was that your first choice?”

“I wasn’t aware that you’d given me a choice between food and…” I rub my jaw and pretend to be confused by her meaning. “What other choice could there be, Paige?”

Her cheeks flush. “Asian or Italian. American. French. The list goes on.”

“French sounds good.”

Her flush gets even redder. “You would pick French. You probably are French.”

Although she doesn’t mean it as a compliment, I’m going to take it as one… and set her straight. “I’m Scandinavian and Irish, bright eyes. Proud of it.”

“Is Dallas a name that’s been handed down in your family?” she asks teasingly.

“Actually, Dallas is a nickname that I got when I was eight years old. It stuck.”

She sits down on a barstool, plops her purse on the counter, and opens the first covered plate. “Do tell because none of the fan pages I visited said anything about your real name or how you got a nickname to stick.”

I join her at the island. “I was slightly obsessed with the movie The Fifth Element and one of the main characters—Korben Dallas. I was already a die-hard, pun intended, fan of the Cowboys, so when Bruce Willis appeared on screen—shit-talking and taking names while he helped save the world and got the girl, I started making everyone call me Dallas.

“My brother thought it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard, so even after I outgrew that phase, he still called me Dallas to mess with me. Eventually, no one called me Patrick Thomas anymore.”

“You don’t look like a Patrick to me,” she says. “But I’d never tell your momma that.”

“I don’t know. Patrick and Paige have a certain ring to it. We could be P-squared if word got around about us.”

Her face pales. “I don’t want word to get around about us.”

I clench my jaw, but then relax. Who gives a fuck if she wants to be quiet about what we’re doing? I shouldn’t give a fuck. I should be thanking God because there have been plenty of women who hadn’t bothered to do me a solid of waiting until the next morning to post on social media that they’d bagged a player.

Hell, I had one woman take my picture while I slept and brag about us on Instagram so much that it went viral. It wasn’t awkward at all when my mom got tagged in the original post by some well-meaning friends.

By well-meaning, I mean dicks.

“We don’t have to make an official announcement if that’s what concerns you.”

“I don’t mean to be difficult, but…”

“You don’t want your sister to find out.”

She sighs. “I sound ridiculous. I’m a grown woman, and we’ve only been on three dates.”

“How about this? I propose that we take each date as it comes and do what feels right for us.”

“You sure are confident for a fourth date.” She grabs one of the two pairs of chopsticks and breaks them apart, rubbing them together to take care of any lingering splinters.

“You’ve already agreed to a fourth date,” I remind her.

“Wow. You’re pretty sneaky.” She sets the chopsticks down and rummages through her purse, pulling out an iPad a few seconds later. “I brought Layton’s iPad with me. She has everything on here we could possibly need to help your event run smoothly.”

“You do know I have an assistant who actually takes care of all this, don’t you?”

She frowns. “Why did you come to the library yourself, then?”

I dive into the chicken-and-garlic stir fry. “I do like to be somewhat involved, but during the season, I barely have time for a social life, much less plan something like Night to Play. I want it to be a success. I know I don’t have the skills for what goes on behind the scenes, which is why I call in a special team to handle it for me.”