Page 105 of Nutmeg + Mistletoe
Like fold and finally say I’ll wait for him.
We reach the dog park, and he crouches to unclip Rocky’s leash. The dog bolts forward, tail wagging like he hasn’t seen his friends in months.
“He’s been socialized pretty well for a dog who grew up with a SEAL team,” I say.
We both watch Rocky blend into a tangle of dogs, running and sniffing and playing like he’s never known anything else.
“Yeah,” he says, brushing his hands off as he stands. “He gets along great with the others at doggy daycare. And he seems really happy.”
There’s a beat of quiet before he speaks again.
“I’m sorry.” His voice is soft and careful. “I don’t have the right to ask about your dating life. And definitely not to weigh in onwhoyou date.”
I glance at him, then away. “It’s fine. I nearly drowned on my own saliva when Marlow told me she was fixing you up with people,” I confess, with a dry laugh I don’t really mean.
He smirks, eyes on the dogs. “Coach Jones has definitely made me want to file for some internal personnel changes.”
“Good thing we’re professional and know how to exercise restraint, right?”
“Barely,” he mutters, under his breath.
“But I think this friendship thing we’ve been trying has been working out okay, don’t you?”
He turns to look at me, eyes sharp with meaning. “Only because I haven’t had you over for dinner again, yet.”
His voice is intentional and laced witheverythingthat sentence could possibly mean.
I clear my throat, suddenly hyper-aware of the coffee in my hand. I take a sip, desperate for the distraction—anything to mask the fire that just shot down my spine.
Because now my brain is busy imagining that dinner. And not the kind with candles and silverware. The kind that ends with him eating me on his dining table. Or his kitchen island. Or whatever damn surface is closest.
I’m not picky.
“Sometimes I just want to let my intrusive thoughts win,” I say, watching the happy dogs run wild around the park, owners clueless and content.
Grant clears his throat. “What kind of intrusive thoughts are we talking about here? Because if it involves us finding the nearest hotel room, I promise—I won’t judge you.”
I laugh. “Not that. I mean, sometimes I just want to bethatperson. Yell the ‘T’ word in a place like this and let chaos unfold.”
He leans in, lowering his voice. “You mean...‘treat’?”
“Yes!” I say, trying not to burst into laughter. “One loud ‘treat!’ and it’s total mayhem.”
“That’s pure villain behavior,” he says, grinning now.
“Oh, come on. You’re telling me you’ve never wanted to pick the asshole option?”
He snorts. “Please. I’ve made a career out of picking the asshole option. I dismantle companies and sell them for parts.”
“So you’re not just an asshole—you’re the king of assholes.”
“Guess that makes me royalty,” he says, snatching my coffee and taking a sip like he owns it.
“Hey! That’s mine!”
“And it’s terrible,” he says, grimacing.
“You stole it. How are you complaining about something youstole?”
