Page 31 of Personal Foul

Laughing, he holds up his hands to fend me off. “I won’t, I won’t, I swear.”

I drop my fist and shake my head, glaring at him the whole time.

“Sheesh. I knew you were feisty, but I had no idea you had such a strong violent streak. Or was it all that time spent throwing axes? Is that what has you trying to beat me up now?”

Laughing, I shake my head again. “Maybe? Or maybe it’s just you. I’ve been holding back before now, but I guess I’ve lost my fear of you.”

“Uh-oh. That sounds like it could turn out badly for me.” He doesn’t sound too worried, though, and I’m actually enjoying joking with him. Which seems weird. I shouldn’t be enjoying spending time with Dylan at all. And yet …

I laugh again. “I’m not sure about that. Probably I’m the one who’ll end up getting screwed in the end.”

His eyes light up with mischief. “I did offer that, after all. I’m still not opposed, even if you claim you’re not a virgin.”

We reach Dylan’s floor, and the elevator doors slide open. “I’m not a virgin,” I reiterate.

“Alright,” he says like he’s humoring me, striding to his door and sliding the key in the lock. It shouldn’t be sexual, but somehow with his repeated offers of sex—even if he is joking—and the current topic of conversation, it sure seems dirty. “Who was it?”

“Huh? Oh. Right. A guy I dated a couple years ago.”

“Uh-huh. Nice and vague, there. Sure, sure. A guy you dated.” He leads the way to his living room, and after hesitating a beat, I follow. Taking off his jacket, he pauses at the hall closet and hangs it up before turning to me and holding out his hand.

I look at it confused.

He snorts. “I’m going to hang up your jacket. Unless you want to keep it on? But I thought we agreed you’d be staying awhile. I thought you didn’t really like lying to your friend?”

Sighing, I take off my jacket and hand it to him. He’s right. I hate lying to Iz. And some part of me wouldn’t mind settling into that comfy looking couch …

With sure, efficient movements, he hangs it up then heads to the couch, turning to face me before he sits down. “You thirsty? Do you want anything? Snacks? Water? Beer?”

I make a face. “I’m not much of a beer drinker. Water’s fine. I’m still full from dinner.”

With a knowing nod, he heads for the kitchen. “Right. Gotta let everything digest before we … stuff you even more.”

My mouth drops open, not that he sees it. Oh my god. This guy and his dirty double entendres. “You are not going to let that go, are you?”

When he returns—a glass of water he holds out to me in one hand, a bottle of beer in the other—he shakes his head, grinning. “Why would I?” He loves to push, but something about this feels different than his usual needling. This is a shared joke, and we’re supposed to be laughing together.

It’s a little hard to resist joining in, if I’m honest. And I almost—almost—don’t want to resist anymore. What would be the harm in enjoying myself? At least for a little while?

He sits in his customary spot and pats the spot next to him. “You’re off the clock, Charity. Have a seat. Make yourself comfortable.”

“You sure?” I quip, deciding to lean into the banter. If that’s what it takes to make all of this more bearable, that’s what I’ll do. “You don’t want me to put on my ‘uniform’ and scrub your toilets?”

It’s a dig, but I can’t help it. Somehow I could compartmentalize him being nice to me while we were on our date. Having him be nice to me here feels like I’m living in an alternate universe.

It pays off, though.

He’s mid sip, and he nearly does a spit take, covering his mouth with his hand as his shoulders shake with laughter, his cheeks bulging as he tries not to spray beer everywhere. When he gets ahold of himself and swallows, he shoots me a glare. “Careful. If you make me spray beer everywhere, Iwillmake you clean it up.”

“How new and different for us. Will I at least get to keep on my own clothes?”

His mouth pulled to one side, he gives me an appraising look. “I dunno. Watching you clean in your uniform is pretty entertaining. Plus, it might make for good roleplay leading up to the main event.”

Now I splutter out a laugh, though at least I haven’t sipped my water. “And what event is that?”

Grinning, he waggles his eyebrows. “What we’ve been talking about the whole time, Charity.” He leans closer and lowers his voice, though it’s not like anyone else is in his apartment to overhear. “Me popping your cherry.”

“Oh my god.” I flail my free arm and roll my eyes. “Youcan’tpop my cherry. We’ve been over this.”

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