Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

KYLE

N ot to be cocky, but more often than not, I've got women chasing after me, so I have literally never had to work so fucking hard to get a woman to spend a few hours of her time with me. But everything in me is saying Dani's worth the work she takes. Hell, I'd do more if I had to, just to get a look from her dark eyes, an insult from her wicked tongue, or a moment of her undivided attention.

Maybe it's true that you want what you can't have because every time Dani throws a verbal bomb, sidesteps me, or flat out shuts me down, I can feel her hook digging in deeper and my interest growing.

However, when me and the guys finish the pool recheck at Kathy's, of course not finding a damn thing wrong with it, I time my exit for the moment Dani goes inside to grab her next order, sneaking my bike out between the two lines of trucks. Why? Partially because I know she's in the middle of her busiest rush hour and I don't want to interrupt her, and partially because I don't want to give her a chance to say she's changed her mind about going out.

At home, I take a shower, telling my nearly constantly hard dick that he's gonna have to behave. Tonight is not a fuck-and- done deal, not with Dani. I wouldn't mind fucking her—hell, I'd love to—but there's something about her that makes me as eager to know her mind as I am to learn her body.

I heard her today, all the baggage she's carrying weighing down her every move. I can help with that. I'm good at making things lighter, if only for a little while, and I think Dani needs that.

I pull on fresh, non-work jeans and one of my nicer black T-shirts before plopping down on the couch. I open my phone, thinking about what Dani and I should do tonight. A ride always clears my mind, and I think that would be good for her, and then, dinner, of course. But where should we go?

I scroll through a mental list of a few places I like, considering what Dani might enjoy. I don't think she's the expensive French cuisine type, nor do I want to take her to a dive bar, so somewhere in between. I flip through options, rejecting one after the other.

I let my head fall back on the couch, staring at the ceiling as if the answer will appear there. Surprisingly, it does.

Dani seems particularly concerned that I'm not able to care for myself, going so far as testing me with her questions last night, which were not subtle at all. So, I'm going to show her that I can.

I hop up from the couch, scanning my living room, kitchen, and dining room, which are all visible in the open floor plan. It's clean, but it could be cleaner, so I get to work. It doesn't take long until everything is sparkling.

Next? I peer into the refrigerator, making sure I have everything I need. I want to make an amazing dinner, so I need to pick something I know I'm good at and won't screw up.

Very quickly, I see I need to go to the grocery store. I've got ninety percent of what I want, which would be fine for just myself. But Dani doesn't get ninety percent of me tonight. She's getting the whole thing, done right.

A quick check of the clock shows that I have a few hours to get everything just right because tonight has to be perfect.

I pull up to Dani's house at seven on the dot. I put down the kickstand, turn the bike off, and stride to her front door like a man on a mission.

Mission: Impress Daniela Becerra.

Three quick raps on the screen door, and I wait. I don't think I've ever seen her main door closed, but it is now, and I find it only entices me to want to see the woman on the other side more.

When the door opens, it's like someone just plugged my spine into a light socket, energy flowing from there to my brain to explode in a cascade of lights and colors. I look from Dani's pretty face to her feet, and back up again.

She's wearing green Adidas tennis shoes, bootcut jeans that fit her like a second skin and have distressing that gives little peeks of her thighs, and an oversized, gray cropped tee with a green floral design. The shirt also shows a sexy sliver of her stomach that my hands instantly itch to reach out and touch. Her brown eyes are made up with smoky liner and mascara, her full lips are glossy, and her dark hair falls in a long, sleek curtain down her back.

"Goddamn, Dani, you look fucking gorgeous."

"You don't clean up too bad yourself." Her eyes are tracing over me too, and I fight the urge to flex for her.

She locks her door and walks up to my bike, which is parked in her driveway behind her car. As I take the helmet from the handlebars, I realize that her hair is going to be a tangled mess from the wind with it down like it is.

She grins as she tells me, "I knew I'd have to braid it but I wanted to see that look on your face when I opened the door." Her fingers are deftly making quick work down the length of her hair, and she finishes it with a simple cloth band from around her wrist.

I don't bother denying it because I know my jaw dropped wide open when I saw her. Working Dani is hot. Going Out Dani is a complete smoke show.

I gently settle the helmet over her head, tugging at the braid's end as I say, "Worth it." She lets me do the strap around her chin and then stands back for me to get on the bike first.

I hold a hand out, helping her climb on behind me, and there's no hesitation this time when she wraps her arms around my waist. Feeling her tits press to my back and her hands on my abs makes my cock go instantly hard, and I have to shift my hips in my seat, but I'm pretty sure I cover the reason by stepping the bike back to turn around.

Lucille starts with a loud rumble, and I yell back over my shoulder, "You ready?"

"Yep," she calls back.

I slow-roll us down her street, not wanting to piss off her neighbors any more than I already have and not wanting to make Dani any more of a target of Kathy's ire. But once we hit the stop sign at the end of the street, I gun it for the open road. My bike roars like a beast happy to be let off the leash, and within seconds, we're up to speed.

First, I take us out to the highway, where we fly. There's not much traffic for a weeknight, and I enjoy the feeling of having Dani latched onto my back. I even hear her giggle once or twice when we go a little too fast, and not once does she tell me to slow down or squeeze me like she's nervous. I'm not sure if it's because she trusts me in this at least or if it's because she's got a bit of a wild streak in her that matches mine.

Next, I exit and take us through a row of stop lights until I find our turn. Slowly, town drifts away until it's only us on a two-lane road with twists and curves that have us leaning together like we're dancing.

I could do this all night, just ride with Dani behind me like the sexiest fucking backpack ever, her knees at my thighs, her pussy at my back, and her arms wrapped around me, especially as her hands get lower and lower and my cock reaches up, trying to meet her.

But the ride isn't all we're doing tonight, so eventually, I direct us to our destination.

When I turn into the driveway, I feel her tense behind me and I pat her leg, then hold up a finger, telling her to wait before she freaks out. But as soon as I park and shut the bike off, she's climbing off, ripping the helmet off her head and holding it at her side like she might use it as a weapon against me.

"Where the hell are we? I thought we were going out! Did you just bring me someplace to fuck? Seriously? I should've known. Men are all the same."

Her eyes are fiery dark coals and every word is coated in venom as she flings an arm around wildly, gesturing toward the house and me and herself all in one jerky motion.

I grit my teeth as I climb off the bike, not liking her generalization of me with all the men she's talking about because that's definitely not what this is and not what I'm doing.

Before I can argue my point, I hear the doggie door on the back of the house swing, and that becomes my priority.

"Incoming," I warn.

"Wha—"

It wasn't enough lead time, though, and Peanut Butter runs for Dani first because I'm yesterday's newspaper as far as he's concerned. But someone new to demand affection from and trick into giving him treats? That's his favorite kind of person.

Peanut Butter goes right up to her, his paws landing on her belly right where I'd like to touch, and stupidly, I'm jealous of my own damn dog. "Pee-Bee, get down. Don't maul her, for fuck's sake."

Dani's still glaring at me, but her eyes soften immediately when she looks down at the dog and her free hand, which I was concerned she might smack me with, turns gentle as she starts to pet him on the head. "Nice to meet you, Peanut Butter. Do you know your dad's a complete asshole?" She doesn't baby talk to him, which is the best part. I hate it when people wittle-bitty-goo-goo speak to animals, like they give a shit. Peanut Butter barely has two brain cells to rub together, but he knows what I'm saying when I speak normally, so that's what I do.

"First off, I'm not his ‘dad'. We're bros, roommates, and friends. My bestie just has a lotta hair, four legs, and a fluffy tail, but we don't discuss it because he thinks he's a person. And second, yeah, he knows better than most that I'm an asshole, but not for the reason you think," I say, and Dani's eyes narrow as she considers me. "You wanna hear my thinking or stick with your ‘men suck' deal?" I ask dryly as I lean back on my bike, my arms crossed over my chest.

She juts her chin out, which I take as a sign that she's willing to listen.

"You seem real fucking concerned that I know how to take care of myself and aren't looking for someone to do that." I pause, giving a chance to correct anything I've misstated, but she stays quiet, one dark brow lifting ever so slightly like I'd best hurry up and get to my point. "This is my house. It's not much, but I bought and paid for it with money from my job with no one else's help, so it means a lot to me. This is my bike, Lucille, and my truck's over there." I point to the side of the house where my big, dusty work truck with a bed full of various tools is parked, the way it's been for the last week while I've been riding my bike to the job site so I didn't cause this infuriating woman additional undue problems. "Inside, you'll find a place I clean and care for myself, and a kitchen stocked and ready for me to make us dinner. I figured I'd let you watch me cook so you know I didn't order takeout and pop it in the oven to sell it as my own work. And that's my boy, Peanut Butter, who I love with my whole heart. And he knows I'm an asshole, but only because I refuse to feed him treats all day and night, which would be his preference. He also doesn't like it when anybody other than him talks shit about me, so don't do it in front of him. I can take it, but he's sensitive where I'm concerned."

Dani glances down at my dog, who's sitting at her fucking feet like the traitor he is, tongue lolling out to the side and lips lifted in what looks like a doggie smile.

"Yeah, he seems super delicate," she deadpans.

The fire in her eyes has gone out, replaced with regret. "I'm sorry for assuming you only brought me here for a quick fuck."

I step toward her, getting as close as I dare, which I'll admit is stupidly, dangerously close considering I thought she might smack me a minute ago. "Apology accepted." Taking the helmet from her, I turn to put it on the handlebar, adding, "And I don't do quick fucks. I like to take my time so that you're completely satisfied."

With that, I leave her standing there with Peanut Butter, her jaw hanging open as she watches me walk to my front door.

"You coming?" I call back, peeking over my shoulder. "And to be clear, I mean to the door, not orgasming just from the sight of my ass."

She makes a noise of shocked displeasure behind me that I take not-so-secret delight in, and then I hear her stomping across the drive. By the time I unlock the door, she's right behind me.

"Fine, show me this house of yours and make me dinner."

She makes it sound like she's allowing me the opportunity to do so. Honestly, I'm not sure she's wrong because I think it's an honor she wouldn't give many.

As I open the door, Peanut Butter jets between our legs, going inside first and heading straight for his bed in the corner of the living room, next to my couch. There are others in the primary bedroom, my workout room, and the back porch, but he's often on the couch or my bed too. He basically has run of the place everywhere he goes.

I close the door behind us, watching as Dani looks around my house and wondering what she thinks. "It's nothing special or fancy," I tell her, downplaying the importance of the space.

I know it's not like my brothers' or sister's places, which vary from ridiculously huge and expensive to slightly less large and pricey. Cole's suburban paradise is the exception, but it was Janey's first, and they do still have the downtown building as an investment. But I don't need real estate. When I bought this place, what I needed was a home away from the Harrington name, and this was it for me, something I bought and paid for with money I earned with my own labor. I don't honestly know if Mom and Dad helped my siblings with their first homes, but it doesn't matter because I wouldn't have accepted a dime from them no matter what.

"It's lovely," Dani says. "Really clean too. Especially with a dog living here… and Peanut Butter." She fights to hide the grin that's trying to spread across her lips. I think, for Dani, that's another version of an apology, acknowledging her overreaction.

"Well, now that I've impressed you with my ability to wield a vacuum and mop, wait till you see what I can do with a skillet and some chicken breasts."

Peanut Butter's head pops up at the word ‘chicken'.

"You already ate," I remind him, and he lays his head back down with a long-suffering sigh, rolling his eyes, which is somehow something he recently learned to do.

Dani's head swivels from the dog to me, her eyes wide. "Did he roll his eyes?"

I nod. "Yeah. I think my niece, Grace, taught him. She's eleven, going on twenty-three, and solidly in her pre-teen, adolescent angst era. According to my brother, she rolls her eyes approximately eleven hundred times per day, so I think Peanut Butter picked up on it."

Dani looks back to Peanut Butter, her smile beaming now. "You two are the cutest."

I'm pretty sure she mostly means my dog is cute, but she included me in that total of two, so I'm taking the win. I preen, strutting to the kitchen and pulling out a barstool, inviting her to sit and oversee my work.

She settles in, undoing her hair while I wash my hands. The time in the braid has left soft waves in the strands, and I long to run my fingers through them to feel their silkiness over my hands. But I don't make a move toward her. Things are way too tenuous for that. First, I need to wow her with my culinary skills.

I gather my ingredients from the fridge and pantry, lining everything up on the counter, and then pull out a skillet and big pot. I start water to boil in the pot, salting it generously, and see approval in Dani's eyes.

"Oh, ye of little faith," I tease, and she has the decency to duck her chin as she blushes. "I told you I can cook."

I turn the heat on the skillet, letting some oil come to temperature while I season two chicken breasts and then dredge them in a flour mixture. Once the oil's ready, I lay the chicken in and then wash my hands again.

"What're we having?" Dani asks, eyeing the ingredients.

I turn around, leaning back on the counter and staying across the room when I say this. "Don't start getting ideas in that head of yours and jumping to the worst conclusion at the slightest provocation the way you like to do. I just wanted to make something I'm comfortable with so I didn't fuck it up." She cocks her head, expecting the worst. I lick my lips, diving into dangerous waters with concrete weighing down both feet. "It's called Marry Me Chicken."

She laughs, and I don't think either of us expected that reaction, given the look of surprise in her eyes.

"It's pan fried chicken, pasta, and cream sauce, with sun-dried tomatoes and spinach. That okay?" I ask.

Dani shakes her head, saying no, but what comes out of her mouth is, "That sounds amazing."

Relieved, my shoulders drop an inch because she's still sitting at the counter and not running for the door at the too-terrifying recipe name. "Good, but don't expect a proposal over dinner. No falling in love with me." It's a joke, and I laugh, but as I return to the stove to flip the chicken, there's a knot in my chest that wasn't there a second ago.

"Pretty sure you're the one who needs that warning," she reminds me.

"Touché."

Dani watches as I cook, and thankfully, I don't screw up the recipe I make at least twice a month, usually packaging up the leftovers for the next night's dinner. It's comfortable and easy as we talk about this and that, getting to know each other.

"Do you do this a lot?" she asks as I'm plating our food.

"What?"

"Date. Cook girls dinner."

I pause, pinning her with a look. "You're the first woman other than my family who's been here since the real estate agent who sold it to me dropped off the spare keys. I don't date much, and when I do, it's usually something like Applebee's two-for-twenty before we go back to her place so I can leave after." I see the hard edge come back to Dani's gaze. "Because that's how they want it. I'm not exactly the ‘take home to Mom and Dad' sort, am I? I've made my peace with that because I'm not taking girls home to my parents, either."

Dani's eyes melt by approximately two degrees when I mention that no one would take me—a dirty, blue collar, fancy hole digger—home to their folks because we both know that's true for her. Especially after she already said her parents want to marry her off to the closest rich guy, like her brother who wears fancy watches and drives a BMW. I could be that guy, but I have less than zero interest in that kind of life, so if that's what Dani's looking for, I'm not it.

"Why not? I've told you about my parents, and you said your dad's not proud of you, which sucks. But would they really not be happy if you found someone?"

Too close. She's too fucking close to shit I don't want to talk about, shit I don't even like to think about. And I definitely don't want to talk about them tonight. Hell, I don't want to talk about them ever.

"Are we trauma bonding now?" I ask, forcing my voice to sound light and teasing because I know it'll piss her off.

She's got walls? Well, so the fuck do I. And what would make my parents happy is stored behind one of those walls that's been fortified with concrete, rebar, and electrified to keep people out. Even myself because I don't want to examine too closely why I don't make them happy.

Her mouth clacks shut, but what hurts more is the shutters I see closing in her eyes. I'm pushing her away from too-sensitive things in my past and present, but it's pushing her away all the same, and if there's one thing Dani knows, it's defensiveness.

"Let's eat." I walk past her to the round, glass dining table and set the plates down. "Wine? Beer? Soda?"

"What kind of beer?"

"Coors, white wine, or Sprite."

"Wine, please. Is Coors even real beer?" she teases, and I can sense that she's trying to get us back to a better place too.

I pour her a glass of wine, grab a bottle of beer for myself, and then sit down beside her. "Real enough for me."

I hold my bottle up for a toast, and she clinks her glass against it, saying, "To not dating, not falling in love, not getting married, and not meeting the parents."

I laugh at her summary of our pitiful agreement. "And to flirting, having fun, and if she can stop giving me shit long enough, to maybe getting to kiss a sexy woman tonight."

To that, we both drink.