CHAPTER ELEVEN

DOMINIC

After our browsing trip yesterday, I asked Avery to stop by my place today to start working on her vision board. Photo stacks of furniture, supplies, decorations, and whatever else Avery or I thought we needed rests on top of my dining table, waiting for her to work her magic. It's a bit old-school, but I don't mind.

Whatever works for Avery, works for me.

A knock on the door lets me know she's here, and after showing her in, I motion to the photos. "That"s everything from yesterday. I"m going to start lunch. Is mac and cheese alright with you?"

Avery nods and sets down a white poster board and tote bag stuffed with craft supplies. This looks more like an art project to me, but I'll reserve judgment until I see the finished product. Especially since yesterday went surprisingly well. We didn"t argue as much, and Avery was friendly.

Maybe I'm making headway with her.

And if that's the case, I don't want to fuck it up by dismissing her process, even if I don't understand it.

Avery brings the large stack of pictures to the kitchen counter in front of where I'm boiling the water for noodles.

"Okay, I"m going to sort these by category. I think it"ll be easiest to decide what to keep and toss by going through all the desks, chairs, etcetera together," she mumbles, almost as if she's talking to herself, and I take the time to study her while she's otherwise occupied.

Clearly, Avery didn"t dress up for me. Oversized gray sweatpants balloon around her legs and have a hole in one pocket, while a plain pink V-neck tee shows fading in some places. The mass of curls crowning her head are pulled back into a bun again.

"Your water"s boiling." Avery points to the pot on the stove that's close to overflowing. Shaking myself out of my reverie, I quickly turn down the heat and pour in the noodles. That's all I need—to burn down the house while making a basic boxed meal.

But my eyes can't help being drawn to Avery. Even dressed as casually as possible, she's still all beautiful curves and fiery personality.

A black marker appears as she starts writing labels on neon-colored index cards. "The basics—desk, computer, desk chair, some sort of filing system, lobby chairs, coffee table, wall décor, clock. I think that covers everything for now." She hops up and tapes the cards to the board where STONE PRECISION OFFICE is written across the top in neat block letters.

"Now, it"s time to cut some things like the home improvement version of The Bachelor!"

"I"ve never seen that show, but I get the idea."

"First, Tangled and now The Bachelor? You are a sad, strange little man."

"Toy Story. Finally, a reference I understand." I feel inordinately proud of that one.

Avery rounds the counter and hugs me unexpectedly. It's brief. Barely a few seconds of her arms wrapped around my waist, but it's enough to send a shot of arousal straight to my dick. My hands rise to keep her there, but common-sense weasels to the forefront, and I let her go when she backs off.

Patience.

Something I've never had a problem exercising—before Avery.

"You don't know how happy I am to hear that you've at least seen Toy Story. It gives me hope that you weren't born a full-grown adult," she jokes—oblivious to the battle raging inside my blood—then shuffles back to her side of the counter to hold up picture after picture for me to veto or approve. If we disagree, she tosses it into a maybe pile.

"Food"s done. Time for a break," I interrupted, glad to have my body under a semblance of control again.

Avery abandons the vision board and props her elbows on the kitchen island where I scoop out her bowl first, then mine. "You put ketchup on your mac and cheese, too?"

"Yep, you want some?" I offer the bottle to her, but she waves it away.

"Heck no. I think it"s gross, but my dad likes it that way." She shudders in disgust. "I don"t know what"s wrong with you guys."

"Nothing wrong with having good taste. Why don't you take a seat? I've got this." I carry our bowls and two bottles of water to the couch where Avery's moved to sit cross-legged. Her mismatched bright neon socks snag my attention, and warmth settles in my chest. It's a simple thing, but her feeling so comfortable does something to me.

I like that she doesn't feel the need to be so proper and polite.

So put together.

Flipping on the television, I scroll through channels. "The Rockies and Dodgers are playing today. Hopefully, we can pull out a win."

"Who are you rooting for?"

"The Rockies, though I"m not sure why. I"ve never lived in Colorado. Guess I just have a thing for underdogs."

Avery's fork pauses halfway to her mouth. "I wouldn"t have said that about you."

"Maybe you don"t know me as well as you think." I stare back at her, a wealth of meaning behind my words.

Breaking the moment with a reluctant smile, she glances at the TV. "Not possible."

Turning away with my own grin, we watch the game and eat in companionable silence, until a few hours later—after my team loses—Avery asks if I have Starz.

"Yeah, why?"

"Because I missed the marathon of Black Sails because of you, and I want to catch some of the encore showings while we go through the maybe pile. Is that a problem?"

Raising my hands in surrender, I find the series and click on the episode currently playing.

"I recognize this guy."

Excited, Avery whips her head around. "You've seen Black Sails before?"

If only she got that excited about me.

"No, but I remember that man. The one who needs a bath. I"m pretty sure he was the cover photo for your Hot Men board on Pinterest."

Her eyes widen and a dark red blush pervades her skin. "How did you see that?"

"When we were looking at possible DIY projects yesterday. The boards were right next to each other. So, you"re into dirty pirates?"

"Oh my god." Avery throws her head back against the couch and groans. "I wouldn"t classify Charles Vane as a dirty pirate. He"s a hot, rugged man who manages to make dirt and blood look sexy. The fact that he"s a pirate adds to his dangerous appeal. Plus, he"s had such a hard life. That stupid chick betrayed him and broke his heart and..."

I cut her off. "You have a lot of feelings for this guy." Is it possible to be jealous of a fictional TV character? "But you do realize he doesn"t exist, right?"

"Actually, he did exist back in the 18th century. And the actor is real. See?" She scrolls through her phone and shoves the screen at me.

A different man stands there shirtless.

"How many semi-naked guys do you have on your phone?"

Confused, Avery glances at the screen again and mutters an epithet under her breath. "I scrolled too far." Finding the right picture, she shows me the actor dressed in a suit with his hair cut. "And I don"t have naked guys saved to my phone. They"re all on this board. For... well, just for whenever." She huffs as she puts her phone away and tries to end the conversation by returning her attention to the TV screen.

I muted the show. "Not so fast. Define whenever." Curiosity is killing me to know what she's using those pictures for. I wouldn"t have thought Miss Perfect would keep what amounted to a secret porn stash stored on her phone.

"Nope. You can unmute now."

"Sorry, firebrand. No can do. I want to know what you"re keeping those pictures for. You want me to guess?"

Avery glares at me.

"I"m sure I can already imagine what your perverted mind is concocting. But it"s nothing so sordid. Can"t a woman appreciate people"s attractiveness? Is there something so wrong with that?"

She's definitely not telling me the whole truth, but it's good enough for now.

Because I don"t plan on her needing pictures of other men to fulfill her needs for very much longer.