Ten first dates, p.3
Ten First Dates, page 3
And Max Keller living there would only make those things less likely.
Still, he couldn't shake that image of her propped up in his bed in pink pajamas and a sweet, happy-to-see-him smile on her face.
And worse, he was sobering up, so he couldn’t even blame that image or his feelings entirely on the moonshine.
CHAPTER THREE
“I knew I shouldn’t have kissed you last night.”
Max propped her shoulder against the doorjamb of her townhouse and folded her arms.
“You had no complaints about the kissing,” Spencer replied from her front step the next evening. “During or after.”
Yes, he’d awakened that morning with the hangover from hell.
Yes, he’d immediately felt like a dumbass for the things he’d said to Max.
But no, he hadn’t been sorry about the kissing.
And no, he hadn’t gotten over the urge to see her again.
“I did not complain about the kissing,” she agreed. “But it’s like feeding a stray cat. You give in once, and it keeps showing up wanting more.” Her gaze roamed over him from head to toe. “And here you are.”
He felt his mouth kick up at one corner. Dammit, that mouth of hers was definitely part of why he could not get over her. The sassiness that came from it and the dirty dreams he’d had last night because of it.
And would he like another taste? For sure. But that wasn’t the main reason he was here tonight.
He was here to apologize.
Max was Caroline’s best friend. Caroline was Zander’s fiancée. Zander was Spencer’s cousin and one of his best friends. The chances of him and Max running into each other, repeatedly, in the future were very good. It would be great if she didn’t think he was an asshole. And it would be great if he didn’t want to get her naked every second they were together.
So tonight was about them trying to be friends.
“I’m here to say I’m sorry.”
Her eyes went wide. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“About what?”
“Being so drunk last night. Sounding like an idiot.” He winced. “Being pretty insulting and stupid in general.”
She seemed to consider all of that. “I forgive you.”
“You do?”
“Sure. We obviously don’t have much in common, which is no one’s fault.”
He frowned. They didn’t? Maybe not, but it seemed she was on the verge of saying “see ya’ later,” and he really wanted to stay. “We had some pretty great kissing in common.”
She smiled. “We did.”
That smile made him want more of that kissing.
Okay, just her standing there made him want more of that kissing.
“And we’ve got a few similar interests.” He lifted a thick manila folder.
“What’s that?”
“You don’t seem the flowers type of girl, and I have no idea what kind of food you like, only that it’s not enchiladas, so I brought something else as a peace offering.”
“I mostly feast on the pain and suffering of my enemies,” she told him. “And you should have a plentiful supply of those. If you’re any good at your job.”
An investigative journalist and an FBI agent definitely had some enemies in common. And yeah, he’d locked up a few of those. As she very well knew.
“Kind of what I was thinking.” He wiggled the folder.
She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth.
She was intrigued.
He grinned.
“What is it?” she finally asked.
“Cold case. Wanted to get some thoughts.”
Max was gorgeous, but she was also brilliant, very nerdy—she competed in crossword puzzle tournaments, for God’s sake—and incredibly good at her job. She mainly investigated and exposed white-collar crime, but there was a definite overlap between the people she kept on her radar and the darker underbelly of the criminal world. And she didn’t shy away from it.
If a story she was working on uncovered something more sinister, she exposed it. She’d helped take down some major criminals, in New Orleans and around the state of Louisiana, with her journalism. He’d also recently learned that she’d assisted the FBI in Texas multiple times and that her research skills and networking had been crucial in a multi-state operation last year.
She was definitely interested in the folder he was holding right now.
And he was, despite himself, still interested in her. Even when their lips weren’t glued together, and he didn’t have a quart of Leo’s moonshine coursing through his veins.
Max moved her gaze from the folder to his face. She narrowed her eyes. “You’re not here for a hook-up?”
“I didn’t say that.”
Would he say yes to more kissing and not pulling back because they were both too drunk to take it any further? Abso-fuckin-lutely.
He couldn’t get her out of his mind.
Despite the fact he didn’t go for dark and sarcastic.
He liked bubbly and sweet.
But looking at the feisty redhead in front of him right now, he couldn’t even remember the name of the perky, happy, blond pediatric nurse he’d dated a month ago.
The corner of Max’s mouth curled up.
“Do I get to see your stuff”—her gaze flicked to the folder, then back to his—“before you see my stuff?”
He leaned in, propping his shoulder next to hers. Very much in her personal space. “Negotiable.”
She didn’t move back even a millimeter. “You’re not using that folder as a bargaining chip?”
“Do I need a bargaining chip?” He watched her eyes intently.
Max Keller was a lot of things. Fascinating was one of them. Delicious was another. An excellent liar was another.
He didn’t care that Max lied to her targets.
He did care that she might lie to him.
But when it came to their chemistry, there was no way she was faking that.
Hell, he might be the one that would like to pretend it was something less than it was. He might very well be tempted to lie about her effect on him.
“No,” she finally answered, meeting his gaze directly. “I don’t think you’ll need a bargaining chip.”
“Good.”
Spencer stretched away from the doorframe and crowded close to her. She backed up rather than get plowed over as he stepped into her house.
“So, have a seat and tell me about this case.” She gestured to the couch. “You want something to drink?”
He lifted a brow. “You wanna see mine first, huh?”
She gave him a smile over her shoulder on the way to the kitchen. “I think you already know I’m a woman with high standards. I’m very interested in seeing what you’ve got before I give you much of mine.”
He chuckled softly, and as Max left the room, Spencer studied her townhouse.
It was very typical of most of the architecture in New Orleans. Her walls were exposed brick, the floor was hardwood, and the ceiling was high with exposed beams and ducts. French doors opened onto a balcony, and he could see the legs of patio furniture just to one side of the doors. She didn’t have much on the walls inside, but she had a big TV mounted across from the couch and several framed black-and-white photos, mostly city skylines and landscapes.
Her furniture was nice, but nothing elaborate. There were no shelves, extra decorative tables, or curio cabinets full of knickknacks. She had a couch, another armchair with a throw draped over the back, a coffee table, and a couple of tall floor lamps. She did, however, have a tall bookcase, filled to the brim, that sat next to a very interesting desk.
The desk was clearly an antique, with a roll-top, several little cubbies, and an actual typewriter sitting next to her laptop. The desk was cluttered and stacked with papers and books, and Spencer wanted nothing more than to cross the room and rifle through everything on and in it. He just knew that of all the spaces in her home, that desk would tell him the most about Max.
He turned away from greedily taking in details of her home and greedily took in details of her as she returned from the kitchen and crossed the room. She was dressed all in black. Her pants were a silky material that hugged her waist and hips but flared at the bottom. With them, she wore a fitted tank under a black zippered hoodie that was open at the moment, showing off how perfectly her breasts pressed against the cotton of her top.
Without a bra.
He swallowed hard.
She had been relaxing—okay, maybe she’d been working—at home and hadn’t been expecting a guest, so she wasn’t dressed for company.
Still, his cock seemed to think it was nice of her to have not put a bra on.
He cleared his throat and shifted on the couch, trying to make more room behind his fly.
Her feet were bare, but her toenails were painted black, and as she came to settle on the opposite end of the couch, tucking one foot under her butt, Spencer noted that even the scrunchy holding her hair in a loose ponytail at the back of her head was black.
Head to toe black. He rolled his eyes.
“What's with the eyeroll?” she asked, setting two glasses of iced tea on the coffee table.
He needed to remember that she was observant for a living. “Just tea?” he asked, eyeing the glasses. “Nothing stronger?”
“Thought maybe we should stay sober tonight.”
He gave her a little smirk. “Just in case something happens later? You don't want to have to stop like we did last time?”
She picked up her glass and took a sip. “Something like that.”
Of course, he was left to wonder what she meant by that. Did she hope something more would happen and she wouldn't be too drunk to keep going? Or was she afraid if she drank, something more would happen?
He hated the way he constantly felt off-kilter around this woman.
She glanced around. “Have you seen my phone?”
“Nope, don't see it.” He pulled his from his pocket and held it out. “You can use mine.”
“Maybe I left it out in the kitchen.” She opened a browser screen on his phone and started typing.
“Anything I should be worried about you doing with my phone?”
She sent him a sly smile. “Now would be a good time for me to pull up some porn sites, wouldn't it?”
His body should not react to that. She was joking. For one thing. Also, he didn't want porn on his phone. “Honey, if you're in the mood for something like that, we don’t need to go online.”
Dammit, see, he shouldn't be saying things like that.
But she just gave a soft laugh. “I'm hungry. For food.” Her thumbs flew over the keys. “You want a burger or something? Monte makes the best burgers and fries. He's only a few blocks away, so it should be quick.”
“You’re not going to make me dinner, huh?” Yeah, they’d been over this. Why had he said that?
She laughed. “Seriously, Spencer, you don’t want me to make you dinner.”
Yeah, well, he kind of did. But he was smart enough not to say that out loud.
“You really don't cook at all?”
“Very rarely. And when I do, it's super simple, boring stuff.”
“So, what do you eat?”
“Grilled cheese and scrambled eggs and sandwiches.” She tossed his phone back to him. “And takeout.”
He wanted a really typical home life. His job showed him a lot of not normal, so he needed balance. He’d seen his dad’s struggles and how much coming home to their family each night meant to him. Spencer understood how important that regular reminder of happiness was when his work was dark.
“Spencer, I think I need to reiterate something we talked about last night, but that I need to be sure you remember.”
He met her gaze. “Okay.”
“I am never going to bake you brownies.”
Yeah, he definitely needed to stop seeing her.
“You actually said you were never going to make me enchiladas.”
She nodded.
“Actually,” he said, shifting to face her more fully. “You said that you had no intention of making enchiladas at any point in the future. It wasn’t specifically about not making them for me.”
“But I meant it specifically about you.”
That almost made him smile. He nodded. “Thank you for being upfront about that.”
“And yet, you still showed up here tonight.”
He nodded again. “Weird, right?”
“Almost as weird as you caring that much about enchiladas.”
“A lot of people like to cook. I was just making conversation.”
She studied him for several seconds. “Okay, sure. And some people like to hack other people up into little pieces.” Her gaze flicked to the folder on the coffee table. “We could make conversation about them.”
God, he needed to date a woman who would be horrified to be talking about people hacking other people up.
The sunny pediatric nurse would have been.
He really wished he could remember her name right now.
“What makes you think somebody hacked someone up?” he asked.
“You said it's an old cold case.”
“That automatically means hacking?”
“Most cold cases are violent crimes. There are occasionally disappearances. That’d be cool too. But if I had money on it, I'd guess murder.”
“An unsolved disappearance would be cool?”
She gave him a little smile. “You know what I mean.”
He did. She meant that she would find talking about an unsolved case fascinating. And the more violent and disturbing it was, the more excited she would be.
Yeah, this girl was not the sunshiny, happy brownie baker he was looking for.
“Fine. It's an unsolved murder.”
“Yay!” She clapped her hands together quickly and bounced a little on her seat. Then she scooted closer to him. “Okay, fill me in.”
“When you were a kid, did you ever want a pet?”
She looked at him, eyebrows arched. “Do not tell me this case involves hacked-up animals.”
“That would be a line too far?”
“Well…” She looked back at the file again. “I just need to prepare myself for stuff like that.”
Spencer huffed out a laugh. “Humans are fine? You don't need any prep for that? But animals, you need to brace yourself for?”
She looked at him and frowned. “Look, humans are complicated. I'm not saying innocent people don't get killed. Of course they do. I'm just saying, the animals are always innocent.”
She was so… strange. “No animals in this case,” he told her.
Max took a deep breath, a hand on her chest as if relieved. “Then why did you ask me that?”
Because he was stupidly interested in her. “Last night you said you never had pets growing up. I was just wondering if that was a you decision or your parents’. If you maybe wanted a pet, but they said no.”
“Oh.” She blinked at him. “You remember a lot from last night. I thought you were really drunk.”
He remembered too fucking much. Like how silky her skin was along her neck just below her ear. And that damned moan she made when he kissed her collarbone. And the way her nipple felt against his tongue. He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Guess so.”
“Okay, well, I guess it was… just never a subject we even talked about,” she said. “We lived in an apartment and… pets just weren’t an option I ever thought about.”
He frowned. Didn’t all kids want a puppy or kitten at some point?
He studied her. She’d paused right before “pets”. He frowned.
She chewed on her bottom lip.
He wanted to kiss her so badly he almost leaned in, but he made himself focus.
“Did you have something that wasn’t a real pet?” he asked.
“What do you mean?” Her gaze flickered to his earlobe, rather than holding his gaze.
Ah ha. “I'm a detective, remember?” Now he did lean in slightly. “You did have something. Did you sneak a stray cat into your closet that your mom didn’t know about or something?”
“No. I didn’t bring it inside. And it wasn’t a cat.” She paused. “Or a dog. Or a rabbit. Or anything like that.”
That was a very specific, yet vague, answer.
“So what did you have?”
Jesus, she had a snake. The thought hit him a millisecond later. He was absolutely waiting for her to say that she had a snake. Or a tarantula or some other weird, creepy pet.
“I fed some…”
He leaned closer. “Some?”
She blew out a breath. “Rats.”
He blinked. Then sat back. “What?”
“I fed some rats.” She lifted a shoulder. “I saw them outside by the garbage cans one day. They were looking for food.”
“Well… yeah.”
She rolled her eyes. “I was a kid. I didn’t know that’s what they did. So I fed them.”
“For… how long?” He worked on not grimacing.
“Until Phil, our neighbor, saw me one day and told me not to and why.” She winced. “So probably two months or so.”
Spencer shook his head. He’d been right. It had been weird.
“And now I have two crows.”
He looked at her. “Sorry?”
“Now I have two crows,” she repeated.
Crows. Okay. That wasn’t so bad. But it was still… not a dog. Or something totally normal. “You said you didn’t have any pets.”
“Well, they’re not pets. They don't live in my apartment. They visit my balcony. So they’re not mine, but they've been coming around for a while, and they bring me presents.” She paused and wrinkled her nose. “And actually, there's been four of them in the past couple of weeks, not just two.”
“There are crows that visit your balcony and you think they’re specifically here for you?”
She looked mildly offended that he’d even asked that. “Crows are incredibly intelligent. They’d fly down and sit on my balcony railing when I was out there reading or doing puzzles, so I started talking to them. They kept coming back. They especially liked it when I was playing music. After a couple of weeks, they’d come sit on the arm of my chair, and then, eventually, on my shoulder. That was even before I started feeding them.”
