Page 18 of One Killer Night
“Okay then,” I breathe out, peeking up at him. “Redo. Impress and awe me. But be forewarned: I’m a tough judge, much like Princess Peach.”
He chortles. It’s cute.
“Oh man. Okay, no pressure. Let’s see ...” I can feel his eyes on my profile before he says, “I can juggle fire.”
My face whips to his. “Shut up. Do it right now.”
“I thought you’d at least fake apathy. You were supposed to make me work for it. Damn, Princess would be so disappointed.”
I spin my body toward him with faux incredulity on my face. “Cats usually are though, right? You know what, forget the razzle-dazzle. We’re rapid-firing. Getting all the bullshit first-date talk out of the way.”
“Are we on a date?” he tosses back sarcastically.
I narrow my eyes and ignore him because he’s already nodding his agreement to my rapid fire.
I point to myself. “Thirty. And a Scorpio.”
“Thirty-one, and I don’t have a clue, but my birthday’s July first.”
Ooo, he’s a Cancer. It’s criminal how compatible that makes us.
He tilts his head, his fingers absentmindedly sliding up and down in between mine. “My turn? I don’t have any social media.”
“Stop love bombing me.”
He laughs, and it mesmerizes me for the millionth time.
“Favorite color?” I shoot out.
“Red . . .”
He lifts our joined hands to the end of my hair as he adds, “And yours?”
“Sapphire.”
He blinks, then takes over. “Favorite flower?”
“Baby’s breath . . . you?”
“Chives.”
I smile as his eyes drop to my lips, lingering and making me stall for a second.
“Favorite food,” I say, slower this time, as he locks his eyes back to mine.
He grins before answering. “A Belle Isle lobster roll.”
“Same,” I whisper.
Whoo. Whatever’s happening is making the world feel like it’s shrinking around us, locking us in a bubble. People surround us, but they’re oblivious to the spin we’ve seemingly found ourselves in. The round and round of two people with the kind of chemistry that leads to one-night stands where you break things as you make your way into the house because the kiss can’t stop.
Except I’m not sleeping with him, so we’re just going to have to stay trapped right here. Which, honestly, isn’t too bad.
We stand deliriously locked on each other until I forget if there’s a question on deck, so I throw out another for good measure.
“Favorite time of day?”
“Twilight ...” I say first, but he just stares into my eyes.
