Chapter 32
Dexter
I think back to when she barged in on me at home, dramatically ending my evening workout.
“Fitness group? Or the gym? We could say it was a local hiking group, too. I’m partial to those every other year when I’m training for the marathon.”
“Eesh. Way too physical,” she says hastily, shaking her head. A lock of that red hair spills past her face and she tucks it behind her ear.
It’s so odd how she feels close even though she’s a good three feet away from me.
I idly wonder what her hair feels like.
How silky it must be tangled up in a fist, drawing her in, training that mouth of hers to show some respect.
Is the rest of her hair that red?
If I slid a hand between her legs and jerked down her panties, would I be greeted with fire–red curls inviting my tongue to the flesh below, begging to be teased and sucked and-
“Hold on. Maybe you met me when you came in to place an order,” she suggests. “You know–like you actually did.”
I shake my head, fighting to banish the hard–on I shouldn’t fucking have while I’m staring at her.
“Huh? No. I don’t need anyone else thinking I like that stuff.”
“Oh, yeah, they’ll revoke your health freak card for sure.” She rolls her eyes. “You know, you’re the only person in Kansas City who truly hates it.” “I don’t hate your sugar factory, Juniper. Let’s not make this personal,” I
grind out. “Besides, I’ve got a reputation to keep.”
She side–eyes me hard. “Aren’t you already ruining that by pretending to be engaged? If everyone thinks you’re such a monk, it must be out of character.”
“Trust me,” I say with a snort, “Forrest Haute thinks I’m the luckiest fuck in the known universe. Nothing you need to worry about there.”
“I wasn’t the one who was worried,” she mutters.
“Do you have any hobbies? Something outside of work that’s not food?” I ask, flogging this back on track before it becomes another fight. I don’t want to be stuck thinking about whether she’s going to negatively impact my reputation–or why she’s definitely going to negatively impact my discipline when she’s dressed like that.
She chews her lip as she thinks, biting hard enough to whiten the skin. I look away before that damnable hard–on resurrects itself.
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“I like art,” she says quietly. “I used to go to all the galleries with Nana when I was in high school, though we haven’t
done that for a while.”
“Art,” I echo, mulling over if it’s something I can work with. “Have you been to the Nelson–Atkins the past year?” I lean forward.
Anyone remotely interested in the arts scratches their itch at the local museum. I do it myself a few times a year, and not just for charity events.
“Oh, I love visiting when I have the time. The self–guided tours rock and I think I could spend all day in the European art section,” she says slowly. “I used to burn up whole evenings there when Nana ran the shop, before work got to be too much. Amazing events, too.”
“It’s perfect, then. We’ll say we met during the Lunar New Year festival.”
“Last winter? Isn’t that a little quick to be engaged?” I spread my hands, clenching my teeth.
“It’s believable. Look, we’re both busy people. It takes time to arrange dates, meet up, get to know each other so well that we’re exclusive. Say it took us two months to start officially dating–that puts us near a solid six months now.”
She folds her arms, but there’s a thoughtful gleam in her eyes. “Okay, maybe. If we both like art, that’s something…”
“Specifically, I like the way colors and shapes can convey meaning without needing to be spelled out in human dramas.”
“Oh, so you like modern art.” She makes a face and laughs. It takes me by surprise. I don’t think I’ve heard her laugh at me before. Not like this, a burst of genuine amusement. “Well, we’d definitely have met up to discuss it if you spouted off something like that. Because I think art has more meaning when it’s relatable. Something you can tell was made by a person and not a robot.”
“Hard realism limits the imagination,” I urge, wondering how the hell I fell into debating fucking art.
“But faces are a huge part of feeling. Just look at American Gothic or Nighthawks-” She holds up her hands and shakes her head, a small smile on her lips. “Let’s save this for another time. We’ve still got an entire relationship to make up.”
“Yeah, so we met at the art gallery, argued about modern shit over drinks, and then we fucked a few times.”
Her mouth falls open.
“Don’t tell me you don’t believe in premarital sex, sweetheart? That’s typically what people do before they decide to seriously date.”
“N–no, of course not, I-” She’s stumbling. Red–faced. Adorably flustered. “How many times would you say we hooked up before we decided to make it more?”
“You think anyone will ask?” I snort.“…for my own information.”
Is she trying to kill me today? The way she bites her lip almost makes me think she wishes this part was real.
Chapter 32
And it shouldn’t make my cock ache so much, especially when I remember how she’s a fellow workaholic and might just verge on celibacy like yours truly.
“Ten times,” I bite off.
“Ten? Isn’t that a bit much?”
“Woman, it wasn’t nearly enough if I liked fucking you. And it would’ve happened over two weeks before I decided I liked being inside you so much we decided to go exclusive.”
Her legs actually quiver, shifting apart. “Excuse me. Dry throat.”
That’s my cue to spin around, grab a water, and pour half the bottle down my throat before I become a human fire hazard.
Fuck you and your big mouth. Stop talking about sex.
This is not how it’s supposed to go.
“Anyway, after that, we decided to get serious. We made a real effort to fit each other into our busy schedules,” I say, finally facing her again with my inner beast back on its leash.
“Hmmm. Two things about that.” She holds up her fingers. “First, we stick to the details, and we act our hearts out. We don’t tell Nana one word about the business part of the deal. Call her old–fashioned, but she wouldn’t understand. She’d probably hunt you down and scramble your balls into a frittata or something.”
“Got it. I do like keeping my balls.” Though her grandmother may sense something’s up soon enough when Juniper starts remodeling with mystery money. “What’s number two?”
“You have to be…” She makes a face. “Serious about me.” “I can handle that.”
“No, you don’t understand. Nana, she’s been wanting me to find Romeo for a while. And with work and everything else, that hasn’t been in the cards. Meeting you was a godsend. She was delighted–who knows why.”
Yeah, I could tell.
Five minutes with the old gal and her enthusiasm for me–or rather, what I could be for her granddaughter–was unmistakable.
“That’s fine. I’ll keep her in the Dexter Rory fan club.”
“She won’t make it easy for you–or for us. She’s sharp as a whip. Fooling her for an hour or more will be a lot harder than a few minutes in the Sugar Bowl.”
I hate how pale she looks, still sucking at her lip.
Does this chick stress about everything family related? And where are her parents? She never mentions them.
“Juniper, relax. We’ll be fine.” I watch the way she’s curled herself neatly into the corner of the sofa as far away from me as she can get. “You’ll have to get used to acting like a couple, and so will I. That’s all there is to it.”
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Chapter 32
Easier fucking said than done.
More red blazes appear in her cheeks, bringing out the lush green in her eyes. She’s hotter than ever and I hate it.
I hate everything about this self–inflicted stupidity I’ve thrown myself into.
“You can’t keep doing that,” I tell her. “What?”
“Looking like a middle–schooler being thrown into her first dance with a boy.”
“I just-” She breaks off and buries her face in her hands. “Look, I’m not used to this, okay? This isn’t exactly in my comfort zone, either.”
Oh, hell.
Grabbing my phone, I put on some smooth jazz to break the tension. It blares from the speakers and Juniper looks up, the blush still written on her cheeks, her mouth slightly open.
Damn her for looking like every dude’s wet fever dream. “Come on,” I say, standing and holding out my hand.
She blinks at me. “Um, what are you doing?”
“Helping you get over your cooties for the middle school dance. If we can’t reach a junior prom level of comfort, we’re boned.”
“Oh.” She swallows thickly as she takes my hand, her skin surprisingly cool against mine. “Got it.”
haul her up and pull her into my arms. Closely.
So closely I can smell the floral scent clinging to her hair, something breezy and island–like, plus the nervous weight of her body against me.
Eventually we settle, and she rests her hand on my shoulder as we sway to the slow music.
Still awkwardly, but less so than before.
Goddamn, the things I do for money.
“Did you ever go to prom?” I ask, trying to ignore the fact that even though she’s still too stilted, I can feel her firm tits against my chest. She’s soft and delectable and very distracting. “You’re supposed to enjoy this, you know,”
“Prom was never really my thing,” she whispers back. “I was more of a giant dork into baking and books. Oh, and painting! When Nana had Sundays off, sometimes we’d spend the whole day parked in front of her easel watching Bob Ross.”
Figures.
“Move your feet, art dork,” I instruct her. “One between mine, the other on the outside. Okay, good. Now, see the way your hips move?” I drop my hands down to her waist to demonstrate where her body should be. “See how easy we can get closer without this feeling too awkward?”
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Her face heats like a flaming cherry, but she’s actually smiling now. That must count for something.
“Don’t tell me, you were a dancer in high school?” she teases, but there’s a breathy note in her tone that says she’s impressed.
“I have a wide range of talents,” I tell her. “And yes, I danced–one of the few things my mother insisted on. According to her, it’s a rite of passage for every young man to learn ballroom dance. She’s old–fashioned like that, I suppose. All part of being a Rory. Your heart belongs to the last century.”
“How’s this?” Laughing, she looks up at me with a small frown in her eyes and locks her arms around my neck.
“Better. More importantly, you’re moving with me like I’m not made of toxic waste. Progress.” I flatten my hand against the small of her back, drawing her in closer.
Chapter 33
