Touch of Red (Tracers #12)(29)

She almost told him to choose what he wanted, but caught herself. “Mushroom and extra pepperoni. Thick crust.”

Sean placed the order and took a plastic number, and Brooke didn’t fight him when he got out his wallet. She insisted on paying for their beers, though.

Several cozy booths were available, but Brooke led him to a tall table in a lively corner of the restaurant beside a pair of dartboards.

“You play?” Sean set down their bottles.

“Yes, but I’d hate to embarrass you.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Trash talk, huh? I’ll be right back.”

She watched him as he walked over to the bar. Being near him again brought their kiss back in vivid detail. The way his mouth had fit over hers, his taste, the snug press of his body . . . Every cell inside her had been screaming, This. Finally. It had felt so completely right, like every kiss before it had been a weak imitation of what a kiss should be.

Brooke sipped her beer as Sean returned to the table with a handful of darts.

“You want to play a game or just throw until the food comes?” he asked.

“How about first to one hundred?”

He leaned his elbow on the table and watched her, and she tried not to get distracted by how good he looked with his sleeves rolled up and a day’s worth of stubble darkening his jaw. Other women were noticing him, but his gaze stayed fixed on her—so firmly she felt butterflies in her stomach as she tried to concentrate on the dartboard.

She hit an eighteen.

“Not bad.”

She shot him a look. Her next throw hit a twenty. The third dart bounced, so she stopped for a beer break.

“So, how many nephews do you have?” she asked.

“Eight.”

“Get out. Eight nephews?”

“And three nieces.” The pride in his voice told her he was totally serious.

“How many siblings are in your family?” She plucked her darts from the board and handed them over.

“Four sisters and a brother. I’m the youngest of six.”

“Aha. No wonder you’re a charmer. I bet you got away with all kinds of stuff growing up.”

“Guilty.”

Brooke tried to imagine being in a family that large. She couldn’t picture it. “What do they all do?”

He narrowed his gaze for a moment, focusing on the board. He hit a fifteen and turned to look at her. “Let’s see, we’ve got a nurse, a cop, two teachers, and a firefighter.” He swigged his beer.

“Jeez. You sound like a Richard Scarry book. Your sister’s a cop, too?”

“That’s my brother. My sister’s the firefighter.”

“Really? That’s so cool.”

“You’d like her. She’s an ass-kicker like you.”

“Right.”

“You don’t think you’re an ass-kicker?”

“Um, no.”

“I’ve seen you at crime scenes bossing around cops twice your size. You scare the hell out of people.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You do. Everyone’s terrified to touch anything.”

“They should be. We can’t have people tromping around destroying evidence.”

He smiled, and she felt a warm pull. The attraction was right there, simmering between them every time she got near him. It wasn’t just his looks. As good as he looked, that was only a small part of it. It was the way he moved, the way he talked, and—most important—the way he looked at her. He seemed interested, maybe even intrigued, as though he wanted to hear what she had to say.

He was looking at her that way now, so of course her mind went blank.

Brooke wrapped her hand around the cold beer bottle. “So. How’d your sister decide to become a firefighter?”

“I don’t know.” Sean threw a nineteen. “She’s always kind of marched to her own drum.”

“Good for her.”

He threw a bull’s-eye as if it were no big deal and jotted their scores on the nearby chalkboard.

“What about your family?” He handed over the darts.

“We’re pretty small. Just my mom, my dad, and my brother. He’s six years older, so we weren’t exactly close growing up.”

“And now?”

“Not really. I mean, they are, I guess. Everyone’s a doctor but me.”

“The medical kind?”

“PhDs. Chemistry, physics, and electrical engineering.”

“Wow.” Sean folded his arms over his chest and somehow managed to look even sexier. “You’re all scientists.”

“I’m not like them, though. I’m not in academia.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve seen your business card. You’ve got some pretty impressive letters after your name.”

She hadn’t realized he knew about her master’s in forensic science. But she should have known. He paid attention to details. Including details about her, apparently.

She turned her attention to the board and threw a ten, which didn’t count.

“What’s wrong with not being in academia?”

“Nothing, really. But I don’t discuss my work with my family.”

“How come?”

“I deal with rape kits and shell casings and blood spatter all day. It’s too . . . I don’t know . . . raw, I guess you’d say.”