Page 39 of Betting on the Bad Boy
“I’m always nice.” He drew back and smiled at her, giving her a kiss on the cheek.
I felt like an intruder, watching the intimate moment between him and his grandmother. This glimpse at his softer side was both intriguing and a little disconcerting. So what if he’s nice to little old ladies? He still wasn’t part of the plan. No distractions.
Meemaw walked down the hall and disappeared through a doorway, closing the door behind her.
“Dante, I?—”
“Look, Faith, I know you’re not used to catering to the whims of a bossy old woman, but she will absolutely skin me alive if she wakes up in the morning and you’re not here.” He dunked the dirty dessert plates in soapy water and scrubbed what little remained of the pecan pie away.
I looked around. “I can’t stay here.”
Dante rinsed and stacked the clean plates in the drying rack. “If she thinks I let you drive home in this, I’ll never hear the end of it. I’m not taking you back to your car. You’ll have to wait till morning. Give the plows a chance to get out on the roads. I’ll follow you home tomorrow.”
I stifled a yawn. Meemaw’s place looked so warm and cozy. The thought of braving the treacherous highways wasn’t appealing. Even I could see it was smarter to stay put for the night. “Okay, fine. But where am I going to sleep?”
We walked into the TV room, and I looked over the choices. A single recliner faced the ancient television set, and a crocheted blanket draped over the back of a small, overstuffed couch.
“You take my bed. I’ll sleep out here,” Dante said.
The thought of sleeping in Dante’s bed sent a wave of heat through me. No, not here. I couldn’t justify succumbing to more “research” at his Meemaw’s house.
I looked him up and down, all six foot plus of him. “You won’t fit on the couch.”
“I’ll be fine. It won’t be the first time I’ve passed out with my feet over the edge. Are you tired? Do you want to watch TV for a while?”
“Sure.” I sat down in one corner of the couch. Dante turned off the overhead light and flopped down on the other side, leaving the middle cushion empty between us. He put his feet up on the coffee table and grabbed the remote.
How did it come to this? If it was some other regular guy sitting next to me, it might almost feel normal. But being in Dante’s grandmother’s house? With the one man who’d managed to get under my skin not even two feet away? It was too surreal.Just act normal. You only have to survive until morning.
“What are you in the mood for?” he asked, flipping through the channels.
Mmm, your fingers deep inside me.Holy crap. Where did that come from? I cleared my throat.Normal starts now.
“Doesn’t matter.” I stretched my arms out and tucked my legs up underneath me. A little bit of tension eased from my body.
“We can always pick up where we left off last week.” He reached over and ran a finger down the outside of my thigh. “Come on, didn’t hanging out at the Senior Center all day,talking about stuffing turkeys and mashing potatoes get you in the mood?”
I rolled my eyes. “No. And don’t you dare start in on the stuffing jokes.”
“Stuffing jokes?” A smug grin spread across his face. “What? Like, I’ve been wanting to stuff you all day?”
I groaned.
“Or how about, baby, I’ve got your stuffing right here?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s awful.”
“Bad, huh?”
“Really bad.”
He crossed the couch and straddled my lap, pinning me to the cushion with one muscular leg on either side of mine. My body immediately revved into hot and bothered mode.
“Enough with the stuffing jokes.” His lips brushed my ear. “I bet there’s some of that homemade whipped cream in the fridge.”
My heart thundered. Dante and whipped cream. I licked my lips, imagining how it would taste if I smeared it all over his amazing body. His tongue rimmed the shell of my ear, making me struggle to remember why this was such a bad idea.
I slid my hands into the back pockets of his jeans, urging him closer.
