Wild Fire (Chaos #6.5)(32)

He was in love with her cat, but he wanted to find Carlyle more.

Georgie impressed upon him he couldn’t run himself ragged or they’d never find Carlyle.

She then told him they had to let the folks they’d roped in to help have time to do something about it, adding something about a watched kettle never boiling.

She ended all this on what really did it.

That if Murtagh did not have time to get used to his house before she got there, no way she could spend the night with him, because if she brought Murtagh over, he would be disoriented in a new space and she wouldn’t be able to concentrate on Dutch.

Obviously, on that, he gave in.

It was when Dutch was hanging at her pad while she got ready for her date-not-date, already having taken all of Murtagh’s shit and Georgie’s overnight bag down to his truck, that things got iffy.

Because she came out looking shit-hot in a little black dress that was way off the shoulder, had long bell sleeves, the hem hit her just above the knees, it was skintight, and the capper was the pair of sexy black stiletto sandals on her feet.

He had, he thought, justifiably lost his mind and told her to go change.

She had, he thought, totally insanely lost hers and told him he couldn’t tell her to change her clothes or tell her to do, say, anything.

“You’re wearin’ that to get info from this guy? And you walk out to me wearin’ that dress and I know you’re wearin’ it and up to that? Are you serious with this shit?” he demanded to know.

“No, dummy,” she retorted. “I’m wearing it for you. I mean, who am I going home to at the end of the night?”

Well then.

“He’s still gonna see you in it,” he pointed out a lot less heatedly.

“Who cares? He’s the means to an end and that’s all. And seriously, Dutch, you gotta trust me, that’s all.”

“I know that’s all, but the way you describe this guy, I don’t got a good feeling about him.”

“He’s a lech, but he’s also a good source, and I can handle myself, and you have to trust that too.”

Shit.

He did.

And right then, that blew.

“Don’t call me a dummy,” he said.

“I will when you’re being ridiculously bossy and a dummy. I mean, gross. I’d never wear something sexy for Jackson. Or anyone for purposes such as that. I want justice for Carlyle, but there are certain lines a girl doesn’t cross. At least this girl doesn’t.”

“Good to know,” he muttered.

“And anyway, this is just a cute dress. It’s not sexy. You just like me.”

“Babe, when you grow a dick, you can say shit like that. Trust me, it’s sexy.”

“Really?” she asked, looking down at herself.

Fucking hell.

What was he going to do with this woman?

He knew.

“Get over here. I wanna kiss you stupid so you don’t forget who you’re comin’ home to at the end of the night.”

She shook her head and added rolling her eyes. “Like I’d forget, Dutch. You’re the hottest guy I’ve ever dated, and I’m saying that peremptorily, because we haven’t actually been on a date. And I’m not counting lunch with two cops as a date, no matter how good my burrito was.”

“Okay, now you gotta get over here so I can kiss you stupid because what you said was so sweet and you’re bein’ your usual hilarious.”

“You just want to kiss me because I’m in this dress.”

“I wanna kiss you all the time, but I need to kiss you now because you’re in that dress.”

“There you go, Dutch, the reason I’m in this dress.”

He was seeing he needed to have his head examined because he was a total dummy getting hooked up with a woman who was absolutely not.

In the end, he went to her to kiss her stupid.

He then crated her cat, grabbed her laptop case, she went off on her date-not-date and he came home with Murtagh.

The cat had something to say about his new environs, and he said that something continuously.

Until his food was down.

Then Murtagh couldn’t give that first shit where he was.

And now, the only thing that had happened that night was he’d avoided two calls from Jag, one from his mom, and got a text that read, Call your mother from Hound.

To which he’d replied Is everything okay?

And got the response, Don’t know, you tell us.

He wasn’t going to go there, and he wasn’t feeling great that they were wondering, but he’d thought he’d ended it (for now) with, Later. We’ll do a family dinner or something.

When Hound didn’t text back, he was left with counting down the hours until Georgie came to him, of which he was giving her two, and he was barely at the end of the first one.

“It’s gonna be a long night,” he told Murtagh.

Murtagh’s responding “murr” was interrupted by a banging on his front door.

The cat sunk his claws in, and Dutch had to hand it to the little bugger, he was Sundancing this shit, not leaving Dutch and looking at the door with an angry “Mwryow!”

“Open up!” Hound shouted.

Murtagh stood up, somehow gaining twenty pounds—in each foot—and shouted, “Mwrrryow!” back.