Hosed (Happy Cat #1)(40)

I lift a hand, cupping her cheek. “It’s hideous. You’re beautiful. And you’ve got no reason to be intimidated by a bunch of stupid sex toys.” I nod toward the pile of scrap next to my creation. “That’s why you’re going to make one too.”

“One what?”

“A giant metal dildo,” I say. “I’ll help with the welding, but you can put the pieces together any way you like.”

She arches a brow, her pretty mouth curving on one side. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Can I give it a face, too? A clown face with a big red nose?”

“Sure. I’ve got red paint. But that sounds like it might skew scary, doesn’t it?”

Cassie steps closer, mischief creeping into her expression. “Why, Mr. O’Dell, are you afraid of clowns?”

“Afraid isn’t the word I would use,” I say, slipping an arm around her waist.

“Then what word would you use?”

“I’m respectful of their space. They don’t get too close to me, I don’t get too close to them, and no one ends up locked in an abandoned lion cage at the back of the carnival while a serial killer in floppy shoes sharpens his collection of polka dot-handled hunting knives.”

She laughs, that rich, carefree laugh that is quickly becoming one of my favorite sounds in the world. “That’s a very detailed fantasy.”

“Nightmare,” I correct. “Recurring. I read too much Stephen King as a kid. But don’t tell anyone. I’m trying to maintain my rep as an adult who can be trusted to rush bravely into burning buildings.”

Cassie’s gaze softens. “I won’t tell anyone. And I think you’re very brave.” She lifts a hand, running her fingers gently over the scar on my cheek. “Jojo stopped by for a lube refill for his girlfriend today. He told me about the fire at the welding shop. How you went in to save your friend and they almost weren’t in time to get you out.”

I shrug uncomfortably. “Jojo talks too much.”

She frowns. “I’m sorry. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“No, it’s not that, it’s just…” I hug her closer. “It was a long time ago. And it was scary, yeah, but it also changed my life for the better. That night is what inspired me to become a firefighter. And fighting fires is my soul work, you know? Something I know makes a difference in people’s lives every single day.”

She nods. “Yeah. It does. You’re a hero.”

I scoff, rolling my eyes. “I don’t know about that.”

“I do,” she says, without a trace of doubt. “You’re my hero anyway. I touched twenty-seven dildos today and only blushed fire engine red once. Never could have happened without you.”

I smile. “And now we’re going to finish the job of getting you dildo comfy. Ready to get your art on?” I’d much rather carry her inside and kiss every sexy inch of her, but crazy as this is, I think it’s going to help her.

Cassie nods, propping her hands on her hips as she surveys the pile of scrap. “Ready. Where do I start?”

“I’ll get you gloves to protect your hands and then you can sort through the pieces. I like to lay my sculptures out on the grass first, in a kind of flattened 3D style, then assemble from the base up, tweaking as I go. But not everyone’s brain works that way. Blake likes to make heads first, then bodies, and attach the arms and legs last.” I jab a thumb toward the fence at the back of my two acres. “Those are his. The metal scarecrows. The rest of the redneck sculpture garden is my stuff.”

I wave in the general area beneath the ancient apple trees, where my initial Wizard of Oz tribute from a few years back—Dorothy and her friends populate the center of the space—eventually turned into a full-fledged fictional characters-made-of-scrap party. I’ve got all our favorites from when my brothers and I were growing up as well as a special request from the kids down the street, who insisted no sculpture garden would be complete without a Pikachu.

“Wow. You’re both so talented.” Cassie bites her lip. “Just to warn you, I’m consistently awful at artistic things. I’d hate to ugly things up around here.”

“It’s okay,” I assure her. “Art is about the fun, not the end result. And I’ll have to hide both of these in the shed after we’re done, anyway. The kids from the neighborhood like to hang out here, and I’m not ready to explain dildos to them. Or to their parents.”

Cassie points a finger at my chest. “Good call. That would be an excellent way to get even more people waving pitchforks and trying to run Sunshine out of town.”

“Which we’re not going to think about tonight,” I gently remind her. “Tonight is for happy things.”

Her eyes meet mine, a look in those rich chocolate depths I can’t decipher.

“What?” I finally ask. “Do I have paint on my nose?”

She shakes her head. “No. You have handsome on your nose. And I was just thinking that…” She shrugs. “Well, I was thinking that I’m pretty much always happy when I’m with you.”

That does it. I can’t resist going in for a kiss.

I thread my fingers through her silky hair and slant my lips over hers, kissing her with the late afternoon sun warming our faces. But it isn’t the summer heat that makes my blood run hot. It’s this woman, who I’m finding it harder and harder to imagine letting go of.