Page 106 of Single Dad Dilemma
I cleared my throat.
“And now he’s forcing a movie night,” I drawled. “Who says I’m not going to lock myself in the guest bedroom after this?”
“You scared, Townsend?”
For a second, his words didn’t register. He said it so lightly. So easily. Somehow the power dynamic had shifted during the course of my knowing this man, and I didn’t like it one little bit.
“Of answering some questions? Hardly.”
God, how easily I could lie when the situation demanded it. If I were strapped to one of those lie detector machines, that baby would bescreaming.
“To watch a movie,” he said slowly, and my face heated at the implication that I’d just given myself away.
“Oh.”
He glanced knowingly down at my fingers, where they still touched my wrist. My hand dropped instantly, and I slicked my tongue over my teeth, a crawling sensation wiggling under my skin. I knew what it was too.
Damn him, he was right. And if I tried to say it out loud, I just might choke on the words.
Barrett checked the bottom side of the sandwiches, sliding them easily onto the two plates he’d set out. From the fridge, he grabbed a bottle of ketchup.
I stared at it when he handed it to me first.
“What’sthatfor?” I asked.
His brows furrowed. “You dip the sandwich in it.”
“Since when? Where’s the tomato soup?”
Barrett flipped open the bottle, squirted a small pile of it next to my sandwich, and pushed it back toward me. I eyed the ketchup warily but figured I couldn’t bitch since the man had just made me dinner, and that hadn’t happened in years.
“You’re very pushy today,” I told him. “I’m not sure how I feel about it.”
His eyes warmed, but he didn’t say anything right away.
“No tomato soup,” he answered. “Some of us chose not to clear out the grocery store today. My parents always served it this way when we were growing up in Michigan.” He lifted his chin. “Try it.” My nosewrinkled. “Oh, come on,” he coaxed gently. “I thought you were the adventurous one.”
“That’s emotional manipulation, sir.”
He watched me quietly for a moment, studying my face in a way that made my hairline sweat a little bit. “Is it working?”
I scoffed but dipped the corner of my sandwich into the ketchup. Barrett gave himself some, watching me from across the island as I moaned through the first bite. After I finished chewing, I licked the corner of my mouth. “’S good.”
He took a wolfish bite, damn near half the sandwich, and my eyes lingered on the movement of his jaw while he chewed. Watchinganyonechew should not be a moment for sexual tension, but what the hell did I know?
Barrett set down his sandwich and gave me an inscrutable look.
“What?”
He took a drink of water, then handed me a napkin when he realized he’d forgotten. “That can’t be it.”
I took another bite, begrudgingly swiping the sandwich through the ketchup again. It was pretty tasty. When I swallowed, I met his gaze. “Maybe all I ever wanted to know from you was your favorite movie, and now all my Barrett-related questions are satisfied.”
Barrett hummed, and it was such a low, pleasing sound that I almost shivered.
“Come on. Don’t be a chicken shit,” he said, ignoring the dangerous glare I leveled in his direction. “Hit me. And make it a good one.”
“Fine.” I wiped my fingers on the napkin and pursed my lips. He wanted to play? Not a problem. “Tell me about your wife. Why’d you get divorced?”
