Page 59 of Off Limits: The Firsts

“Yep,” he says with a nod.

“I’m a ‘list girl’ so you’re talking to my heart right now.”

He shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “You want a list?”

“Only if you want.”

“She wants a list,” he teases as he reaches out and squeezes my knee like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The casualness of it causes a welcome discord. “Let’s see. The first thing is how you definitely like more than California rolls, but I have to lie and tell you it’s shrimp in order to get you to try it.”

“Oh, God. What did I eat?” His smile is contagious, and even though I’m suddenly alarmed that I ate something off-the-charts odd, I can’t help but smile with him.

“Just a little of this and a little of that.”

“I’m not liking the sound of this.”

“Sometimes the less you know the better,” he muses, and I try not to read into the comment too much. “What else? Hmm. I wondered what you used to be like as a catcher. If you were the quiet but commanding type or the smack talker who annoyed the hell out of the batters.”

“A little of both.” I blush but allow a smirk to play on my lips.

“Ah, so you were a smack talker. That’s good to know. I’m taking notes here on my list.”

“You should. I can be troublesome if you get on my bad side.” His laugh is rich and calls to every part of me. “What else was on that intriguing mind of yours?”

“You’re a damn good runner. I was winded today trying to keep up with you.”

“Oh, please. You could probably run circles around me.”

“Perhaps . . . but if I did that I’d miss the spectacular view of your ass from behind you.”

I swat at his arm while my insides melt a little . . . and my insides don’t melt. Ever.

“Nice. You get to run in front next time so I can watch your ass, then.” I laugh.

“Mine?”

“In baseball pants. That’s a requirement,” I murmur, knowing damn well how fine his ass looks in his pants because I was more than checking him out when he was behind the plate today.

“Oh really? Making demands, now, are we?”

“I can be very demanding. I mean, you said you want to get to know me better. So now you know.” I purse my lips and lift my eyebrows at him. “And I’m stubborn . . . also a stickler for rules. I can’t cook at all. And I have a slight obsession with wintergreen Life Savers, biceps, and romance novels. Oh, and I’ve been known to snore. Horribly.”

“I love that you have no shame.” He throws his head back and laughs before narrowing his eyes as he takes in my smirk. “But why do I get the sense that you’re trying to make me not like you?”

He shifts on the couch and leans toward me, framing my thighs by putting his hands on each side of them. And holy biceps. Right there is exactly why I like them. Firm, sculpted, and so damn hot.

“Who, me?” I feign. “I’d never do something like that.”

“Let’s add manipulative, too.” He quirks an eyebrow and doesn’t relent with his stare, despite his smile disarming me in every way imaginable.

“Only the good kind of manipulative.”

“The good kind? There’s such a thing? Well, I think it’s time we get a few things straight,” he murmurs, his lips so damn close I can smell the wine on his breath and see the flecks of green in his eyes. “I like demanding and stubborn. It means you don’t stop until you get what you want how you want it. You’re a rules girl, huh? I’m good with that. Rules are fun because I like to break them, so keep telling me things I shouldn’t be doing, Kitty . . . like wanting to date you . . . and I’ll keep doing them. And cooking? I’m a bachelor, so I’ve got every damn take-out menu in town in the top right-hand drawer in the kitchen, and I can make a mean grilled cheese, if need be, so nice try with that one. Wintergreen Life Savers? I prefer the taste of cherry, but as long as I can put it in my mouth and work my tongue into its center, then I’m pretty sure I can compromise.” His lips quirk and his eyes bore into mine as every single drop of blood in my body ignites from his insinuation.

My breath hitches as he reaches up and takes my hand that’s still holding the fortune and brings it up to the bicep of his other arm. “And biceps. Is this what you’re talking about, Scout? Is this what you like?”

He wraps my fingers around as he flexes so I can feel every muscle beneath twist with the movement. I force a swallow and make myself meet his eyes again. “And what is it about you and romance novels? Is it the happily ever after? Is it the man who’s too good to be true? Because I assure you, we all have our flaws, even the fictional ones. But the happily ever after depends on what you put into it. The hard work, the listening instead of talking, the laughing instead of crying, the sticking it out instead of running away, the knowing that sometimes silence is best but having her wrapped in your arms can still solve a lot of problems. So, you can have your romance novels while I have my King and Follett and Patterson because I don’t want to read about having that kind of love someday. I’d rather be over here trying to take a chance at it in real life.”

I open my mouth to argue, but nothing comes out because I don’t know what to say. He effectively just stole a little piece of my heart when it was still under padlock and steel.