Three

Three

DESI

"I did not mean to buy this much stuff," I say as I drop bags of clothes, shoes, makeup, and hair products onto my bed. "But I left most of my belongings at my parents' house, so I think we can call this spree necessary." It's not untrue; I didn't want to haul all my stuff from Infernis, but as soon as I got here, I realized my mistake. All the items I went shopping for today are necessities if I'm going to be dating. And tonight, I have my first date with Kyle.

"Hey, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do," Meredith says as she adds the bags she was carrying for me to the pile.

"Thank you for taking me to the mall. I would've had no idea where I was going. Back in In—" I stop short and clear my throat. "Back in my little hometown, we don't have all those stores. I'm not used to this kind of variety." I gesture for her to sit down in one of the plush armchairs across from my bed.

She sits and I do the same, crossing my legs under my butt. "Glad to help. It was fun to have a girl's day. I was serious when I said it's been a while since I had a neighbor I could gossip with. In other words, it's been a while since a woman lived next door. I've been stuck talking to Jeremy and our sons, and I'd be better off talking to a rock sometimes."

I grin. "Well, can I trouble you for a little something else?"

She clasps her hands. "Please. Anything to avoid going home to all the chores I have to do."

"I have this date tonight. I haven't been on a real date before, and I just . . . I need advice. How do I act? What do I say?" I have a million other questions, but I shut my mouth and let her think.

"Oh honey, you have nothing to worry about. He's going to take one look at you and be invested. But I guess the best advice is to be yourself, ask questions, and listen. Oh, stroke his ego by laughing at his stupid jokes. I don't know why, but men love it when you think they're funny."

"Okay, I can do that. And also . . . how do I know for sure if he's creepy? Jace had me turn my phone's location tracker on last night, which freaked me out a little. What if I read this guy all wrong?" Kyle's pictures had me weak in the knees based on his extraordinary height, ski instructor build, hazel eyes, and blond hair, but looks could be deceiving.

Meredith shakes her head, the dark curls whipping around her narrow face. "Always follow your gut. If he is giving you a bad feeling, then you run. Send me a text, I'll call saying you have a ‘family emergency,' text Jace to come get you, and then you're out of there. But if you're really in a jam, you can always kick him in the balls. But you know there is a safer and perfectly scrumptious option in this house—every time I catch Cannon sliding out of that Lexus of his, I swear I drool down the front of my shirt."

"He is handsome, but I'm not sure it's the best idea to date him or Jace."

She snorts and tucks a curl behind her ear. "Please, you'd have a better chance at landing a date with a priest. Jace is damaged goods." My ears perk up at that; it reminds me of the conversation I had with Cannon last night, but before I can put too much thought into it, I glance at my alarm clock and nearly jump out of my skin.

"Oh my gosh, I have to get ready! He'll be here in an hour!"

Meredith stands. "Well, I'll let you get to it. I'll stop by tomorrow with some goodies so we can chat about how it went."

"Sounds perfect. Thank you for everything."

Meredith nods and slips out of my bedroom door with a wave.

Now that it's time to get ready, I feel sick to my stomach when I think about what I didn't ask Meredith. Kyle invited me to dinner, and then he said we'd just "see where the night takes us." I have a feeling I know what that means, and I'm nervous about it.

I don't have any intention of sleeping with a stranger on the first date, but it would be nice to be kissed, maybe even touched. But just the thought of it has my heart hammering, and as I apply my eyeliner, my hand is trembling.

The chances of me finding my perfect match on my very first date are slim to none. Kyle might as well be the appetizer to what could be a five-course meal. And let's face it, what I'm really looking forward to is dessert. The man I choose will have to be the decadent chocolate treat I crave when life is at its worst and its best, even if I might have to swallow a few bites of salad before I get to what I want.

Taking a deep, cleansing breath, I shake the nerves out and start again, feeling a little steadier as I finish my makeup and tame my unruly mane of curls. I slide the dress I decided to wear off the hanger and slip into it, smoothing the emerald satin over my hips and adjusting my breasts so my cleavage is fully on display. One thing I do appreciate about my realm is that we've never been encouraged to hide or be ashamed of our bodies. I choose a pair of stilettos, and when I check the final product in the full-length mirror, I take a note from my brother Fier and admit that I look pretty damn sexy.

Snatching my clutch and a black leather jacket off the chair in the corner, I make my way down the stairs. Jace is leaning over the island in the kitchen, flipping through a stack of papers. His hair is just as disheveled as yesterday, and he wears a plain black T-shirt and gray joggers. He's eating a bowl of cereal, the only snack I've seen him eat since I moved in.

"Hey," I say, walking across the kitchen, my heels clicking on the tile floor.

He glances up at me and stops with the spoon halfway to his lips. "Hey. You look . . ." He blinks and shakes his head before shoveling the cereal into his mouth. "Nice."

I raise an eyebrow and place a hand on my hip as I lay my jacket and purse over the island. "Nice? Are you sure you're not talking about that cereal you're currently stuffing into your face?"

"Nope," he says with his mouth full, pointing at the bowl with his spoon. "This is good, and you look nice."

That's okay. He doesn't need to say the words; the way his eyes roamed up and down my body the second he looked up said it all. Even now he continues to steal glances in my direction. My grumpy roommate thinks I look smoking hot. And I do, dammit!

"Don't you think your contacts might be overkill for a first date though? Maybe hold off on the sexy witch thing until the second date, when you strap him to the bed and sacrifice his poor soul to Satan," he says.

Satan. I nearly laugh out loud at the mention of the name, but more than that, the notion that I'm wearing contacts. "What are you talking about? These aren't contacts. This is my real eye color."

"No way. They practically glow. I've never seen eyes like that before." He steps around the counter and bends down until we're eye to eye, inspecting me as though he's never really looked at me. "Oh. They are real. Your eyes are amazing."

"Thank you," I manage to say, and clear my throat, unnerved by how close he is to me. "So are yours."

I don't mean to say it; it just rolls off my tongue. I noticed them the first time we met. Eyes like his aren't common in Infernis; nearly everyone's irises are green, red, or purple, and his are the smokiest, richest shade of gray that reminds me of a stormy day, perfect for staying inside and reading under a blanket with a mug of hot chocolate.

He stiffens at my compliment and takes a step back, returning to his cereal. "Thanks. When is your first victim supposed to be here?"

I bite my bottom lip and glance at the clock on the microwave. "Any minute now."

The front door opens and a cheerful voice asks, "Anybody home?"

"In the kitchen!" I call back.

"He's going to kick his damn shoes off in the middle of the entryway," Jace grumbles, shoving more cereal into his mouth, like it's going to cure his irritation.

I've noticed that Jace is especially irked by Cannon's lack of tidiness. He practically follows Cannon around the house, picking up dishes and lining his shoes up under the bench in the foyer. But even though he has little patience for Cannon's disregard for his rules, the two get along. They've spent the past two nights in the living room playing video games and talking about work over beers. I must admit that I'm jealous that the two have clicked so easily, while Jace and I are still tiptoeing around each other.

Cannon strolls into the kitchen, pulling on his tie. He stops and whistles. "Damn, Desi! That dress is sexy as hell."

I shoot Jace a glare as if to say That's the reaction I was hoping for, and then flash a smile at Cannon. "You think so? I just got it this morning."

"Green is definitely your color. Jace, did you have any clue that we were living with such a smokeshow?"

"None," he mumbles as he moves to rinse out his bowl.

Cannon chuckles. "I got to get our boy a new prescription for his glasses."

I roll my eyes and examine my nails before glaring at the back of Jace's head. "He's just irritable because that was his last bowl of peanut butter puff cereal."

Jace grunts and walks past us. "I have a proposal I need to finish. Enjoy your date, Desideria."

"I will," I answer in an overly chipper tone.

The doorbell rings, and Cannon grabs my shoulders, turning me to face him. Bringing a bunch of red curls over my shoulder, he says, "You got this. Smile and remember you look smoking hot."

I close my eyes and take a deep breath before going to the door and swinging it open. The man on the other side is just as attractive as his photos, and it's all I can do to keep my jaw from dropping.

His blond hair falls in soft curls over his forehead and his hazel eyes sparkle as he takes me in. "Hello, Desi, it's so good to meet you in person."

I grin and step back, opening the door wider and letting him in. "Thank you, Kyle. You too. Come on in and let me grab my jacket."

He follows me into the kitchen where Cannon is at the sink getting a glass of water. He looks up but doesn't say anything, just nods in Kyle's direction.

Kyle gives a polite nod back, and I feel the need to explain myself.

"Oh, this is Cannon. He's just my roommate. I'm not, like, married or anything."

Crap.

What if he thinks I don't ever want to get married now?

I backpedal. "Not that I'm opposed to marriage. In fact, that's what I'm looking for. Eventually, I mean. How do you feel about marriage? I think the possibility of being with the same person forever is romantic. I love going to weddings, and I've even planned my own just for fun. Have you ever thought about your wedding before?"

Cannon coughs and does a spit take into the sink, water going everywhere.

Kyle fidgets and looks around the room. "I . . . um . . ." He pulls his phone from his pocket and stares at the screen. "Oh, damn. I hate to do this, Desi, but I just got a text from my vet and my . . . um . . . my lizard isn't doing so well." He steps backward toward the door. "Maybe we can reschedule for another time."

"Do you want me to message you later?" I ask.

"You know, this isn't looking good for my, uh, turtle. He might need a kidney transplant. I'll message you when things have calmed down." Kyle runs for the door and slams it closed behind him.

I'm stunned. The message came out of nowhere, and he left so quickly.

"I thought he said his pet was a lizard," I say, my shoulders slumping just as I get my jacket pulled over them.

"I'm thinking it's more like a snake with an aversion to almost marriage proposals within two minutes of meeting his date," Cannon says.

Kicking my heels off and leaving them in the middle of the floor, I move next to Cannon. "What did I do wrong? I know I went on a bit of a ramble, but I'm just nervous. Was marriage not okay to mention? Where I come from people talk about all kinds of things openly, including marriage, and no one freaks out."

"Desi, I don't care where you're from; most guys younger than twenty-five are going to freak out about marriage. That's a conversation for, like, the twentieth date, if not the fiftieth."

I prop my elbows on the counter and thread my fingers through my hair, gripping it at the roots. "I clearly have no idea what the hell I'm doing."

"You need to relax. Remember, these guys are just as nervous as you."

I snort and open the fridge, snatching a can of soda from inside. "Yeah, right. I am such a damn mess. You've been on dates before. How do you know what to say? When to say it?"

"Treat your dates the way you're treating me right now."

"That won't work. I'm only like this with you because you're so easy to talk with."

"You're overthinking this." He tips his chin at my shoes and says, "Throw those back on and let me at least take you out for some appetizers and a beer. You look too good to let this go to waste."

A smile sneaks onto my face and I let my shoulders relax. "All right. Like a practice run so this humiliating situation doesn't happen again?"

He holds his arm out to me. "Sure, if that's how you want to think of it. I just figure this is my chance to wiggle my way in for a short date."

"Wait. Are you considering this a real date?" I ask, grabbing my purse off the counter and slinging it over my free arm.

"A mini date," he says, with a flirtatious wink.

We stop at the front door where Cannon's shoes lie nowhere near the bench. He puts them on, and we step outside. The sun is low in the sky and the air is brisk. Goosebumps form on my legs, my dress doing little to ward off the cold. Cannon opens the car's passenger door, and I climb inside. He speeds down the road, shifting gears and tapping his fingers to the music.

I can't stop myself from sneaking peeks at him. A light dusting of black stubble graces his jawline. His skin is perfect, not a single blemish. I want to touch it and see if it is as soft as it looks. And those dimples, they might charm me more than his words. Meredith wasn't joking when she called him a scrumptious option.

It isn't more than five minutes before he pulls his Lexus into the parking lot of a hole-in-the-wall bar. He guides me in with his hand at the small of my back. His touch makes me a little nervous, yet at the same time it's calming, which is good since the place is packed. Businessmen in suits and a cluster of women holding fruity drinks congregate around the bar. Even with everyone absorbed in conversations and the dim lights, I feel a little too dressed up, but Cannon doesn't seem to mind as he flashes a smile at a group of people dressed in sports paraphernalia and leads me to an empty booth.

"This place is busy," I practically yell to Cannon across the table.

"Yeah, they have good everything, but their fried pickles are my favorite," he says, pulling two menus from behind the napkin dispenser and handing me one.

My eyebrow dips. "Fried pickles? Like, pickles you put on a burger? Fried?"

Cannon's eyes widen. "You don't know what fried pickles are?"

I lift one shoulder in a shrug. "I take it they're delicious?"

"That's the understatement of the year," he says as the server comes over.

He orders us some, himself a beer, and a margarita for me. As we wait for our drinks, I look at Cannon and chew on my bottom lip before saying, "Thank you for taking me out tonight. I would've sat at home and sulked for the rest of the evening if you hadn't."

"Not a problem. I've wanted more time to get to know you, just the two of us."

My heart pounds against my rib cage at the thought of us alone. "Yeah? I'd like to get to know you better too." My nerves are rattled, and I take a drink of the margarita as soon as the server brings it out. "What do you want to know?"

"Let's start with the basics. I know you're under pressure to find a partner, but why look for a potential husband in Denver? Wouldn't it be easier to find someone closer to your home?"

I take a long sip of the frozen drink and choose my words carefully. "My hometown is small and there aren't a lot of men to choose from. I went out with a few guys, and none of them were what I was looking for. I needed to get away, get out on my own. And this seemed like the kind of place I wanted to be."

"And were you looking for a ski instructor? Is that the career of choice for your future boyfriend?"

I cock my head to the side and stick my tongue out. "Apparently not, at least not one with a pet lizard."

He laughs, and it's a hearty sound that warms my insides. Cannon is like a summer breeze; he emanates light and makes every situation comfortable.

"Tell me what a man has to bring to the table to make you swipe right."

"You talking physically or emotionally?"

"Either. Both?"

I shift and lean back casually against my seat, trying to play cool. "As far as looks go, I like it when a guy is taller than me, which isn't always easy, considering I'm not exactly petite." I let my gaze travel over him, from his face down to his arms. "I'm a bicep girl. I like it when, you know, a guy's arms sort of . . . bulge out from under his T-shirt sleeves." My eyes flick up and I continue. "I like broad shoulders—even though I can take care of myself, I also like to feel protected." Meeting his bright-blue stare, I add, "And light eyes get me every time. Personality . . . funny, sweet, calm, collected."

"So, when do you take me home to meet your dad?"

My cheeks heat and I push my hair behind my ear. "My dad is a little intimidating. Why don't we start with finishing this date and then a second one before we start talking about that?"

"Just joking, Desi. I only want to spend time with you. I definitely don't want scary dad brought into the mix."

"I know. I was kidding too," I say, taking another long drink of my margarita, nearly draining the glass. I haven't eaten all day so I could fit into this dress, and my alcohol tolerance isn't very high as it is. I can already feel my eyes glazing over and my head spinning just enough to loosen my nerves.

"Do they dance at this bar?" I ask, looking around to where the band is playing near the front of the room.

"I don't know, but I do know that I don't dance. Ever. Never. If you need to move, we can go for a walk." He stands and grabs my hand, pulling me out of my seat playfully.

"No, no, no, sir. I don't think so. I'm not going to miss the magical pickles. You hyped them up too much." I shove him gently back into the booth and slide in next to him, leaning in against his side, soaking in his warmth. "And what do you mean you don't dance? That's a travesty."

"I'm terrible at it. I even ditched those slow dances where you just spin in a tiny circle with your partner."

"Ohh," I say in an exaggerated tone, resting my head on his shoulder. "That makes sense. I'll give you a pass then. But maybe you'll let me teach you one day? Just you and me at the house?"

He glances down at my face and cracks a smile. "We'll see."

His hand drops next to mine on the seat, and his thumb traces zigzags over my knuckles. It's a sweet gesture that makes me flutter with excitement. I sweep my index finger over his in a small confirmation that I approve of the touch.

"You're soft," he whispers against the crown of my head.

Heart racing, I lift my eyes to his. "Cannon—"

"Here you guys go," the server says in a cheery voice as she slides a plate of pickles in front of us and we break apart as if electrocuted.

"Thank you," I say, turning to face the table, grabbing a pickle, and dipping it in the ranch dressing before cramming it into my mouth as she walks away, her face flushed with the knowledge that she just interrupted something. What, I have no idea. But it was something.

"What do you think?" Cannon asks, eating a pickle chip.

I swallow and nod as I snatch another one from the tray. "Delicious, actually. I'll admit I was a little unsure. But there's something about them that's addictive. I think I could eat this whole damn tray. I can't believe my brother has never conj—I mean, has never cooked these for me before," I say, hoping he didn't catch my almost slip. The word conjure in relation to food really doesn't make much sense and would no doubt lead to some awkward questions.

"I'm guessing you've never been to a state fair. The fried possibilities are endless."

"Never."

"We'll have to add that to our list of potential dates."

"Sounds like a plan to me," I say, shoving another pickle in my mouth.

He grins and I lean back against him, and we spend the next couple of hours talking about anything and everything from favorite foods to favorite colors to most hated movies and pet peeves, and before I know it, I'm yawning every other minute, and the three margaritas I've had are slurring my words.

"Desi, I think it's time I take you home," Cannon says with an amused expression. "You look like you're feeling a little too warm and fuzzy."

"I'm good," I say through a yawn, and I cover my mouth sheepishly. "Well, I might be just a li'l bit tired." I hold my index finger and thumb up to show just how tired I am, which is not a lot. Which happens to be a total lie. I'm exhausted, but also feeling brave. I turn to him in the booth and run my fingertip down the center of his chest. "Did you have fun tonight?"

"I did. I think I achieved what I set out to do. I've learned more about you and have you cuddled right next to me. This was a good start in my opinion."

It's not just a good start, but a phenomenal one. After having my first date run out on me, Cannon is the reason my night was salvaged. Despite the drama it could stir in the house, I wouldn't mind having another night like this with him.

I get to my feet, and he stands up right behind me, placing his hand on the small of my back. When we get home, he helps me to my room.

"Oops, I didn't take my shoes off," I sing with a giggle as I plop down on my bed to remove them. "Jace will be mad."

"Jace clearly has issues with giving up control. This place is staged like a model home. He needs to let go and live a little," Cannon says, turning down my blankets.

I start to climb into bed but shake my head. "Whoa, no way am I sleeping in this dress." I hold up one finger. "Be right back." I make my way to the closet, swaying a bit as I walk, and shut myself in.

I lean against the closed door, shutting my eyes and taking a deep breath. Cannon is a great guy—sweet, polite, funny, handsome. But he's the first guy who's shown me attention. I have to slow down; there's potential here, but I just got to the human realm. I have more to experience, more to see.

I slip out of the dress, hang it up as neatly as I can manage in my condition, and slide into a pair of flannel pajama pants and a baggy T-shirt, something that shouldn't give Cannon the wrong idea.

"Okay," I say, coming back to bed and climbing into the spot he's made for me. "Thank you, Cannon. For everything."

"I had fun with you tonight. Thanks for indulging me. Is there anything I can get you before I leave?"

"A glass of water maybe?"

He nods. "Coming right up." He disappears into the hallway and comes back a few seconds later with an ice-cold bottle. "Here you go."

"Thank you. I appreciate it. And thank you for showing me how to act on a date. Next time I have one, I won't bring up marriage. I swear."

"Just be yourself, Desi. I'm sure you'll charm the right man." He leans down and kisses my forehead. His lips are soft on my skin, giving me a giddy feeling. I close my eyes and bask in the sensation. My bliss is short lived when he pulls away and turns off my light before leaving.

I stare at the ceiling and replay my time with Cannon. Every conversation, every touch, every tingle that coursed through me. I had fun, a little too much fun thanks to the margaritas, but fun all the same.

A flicker of light catches my attention, and I turn on my side to look out the massive window . . . and straight into Jace's room.

My jaw drops. How did I not realize this before?

The decor is much like the rest of the house: simple, clean, and comfortable. He steps around his bed and takes off his glasses, setting them on the nightstand. He looks slightly different without the distraction of the black rims on his face. Even from here I can see the strong line of his jaw and the scruff that lightly covers it. He grabs the back of his shirt, his biceps flexing with the movement, and my eyes go wide as he takes it off. Holy shit, he is ripped; his abs could have been chiseled by a world-renowned sculptor. His chest is broad, the perfect complement to the muscular arms I already knew he had. And every inch of him appears to be soft tan skin.

His body is gorgeous.

I feel creepy watching this private moment, but I can't tear my eyes away. In fact, I want to get up and move closer to the window to check if I can see any better. But I don't. I just hope he doesn't take off any more of his clothes.

Or hope that he does. I don't know. I'm so confused right now.

Jace acts like he can't stand me half the time, and I can barely stomach him either. Yes, he's organized and there doesn't seem to be one aspect of his life that's run by chaos, which is what I want, right? But he's cold. His practical take on everything makes him seem boring and unapproachable. Play video games, eat some bland, healthy food, load the dishwasher, work, run, work some more, maybe eat some peanut butter puffs if he has had a bad day, and go to bed. I'd have more fun, and a better conversation, with a bucket of rocks.

Yet here I am, still half-drunk on tequila, watching my rigid, type-A, apparently jacked-as-hell roommate get undressed for the night, like a stalker in some horror movie. I guess it just goes to show that my limited experience with a male of any species has left me easily excitable.

I wonder if Jace gets excited about anything. My dress, which I know was hot, didn't have much of an effect on him. He spared me a couple of glances before a "You look nice."

Nice. Pfft. He probably doesn't even jerk off.

Jace snaps the button open on his jeans.

Jeans! He's actually wearing something that isn't loungewear. I wonder if he went out tonight. Did he have a date too? I don't get the chance to ponder the thought further because he pulls down the zipper and tugs the jeans down, revealing skintight boxer briefs and a set of strong, powerful thighs, and I nearly implode.

"Oh, oh, no," I say out loud, covering my mouth with my palm. "I didn't mean to manifest that shit . . . shit!"

Thankfully, Jace disappears into his bathroom. Although there is nothing more to see, I don't turn away. Images of his perfect body are seared into my head: rippling muscles, tanned skin, and those stormy eyes. My thighs clench, and I jerk my hand away from where it's toying with the waist of my pajama pants.

"No. Absolutely not." I fold my hands on the outside of my comforter. "Forget what you saw, brain and hormones. Go to sleep. We are not getting turned on by Jace Wilder. Not happening."

But my eyes don't listen and sneak one more peek into his room just as all the lights go out. I bet he has an entire bedtime routine and has never felt conflicted about anything. I snort at the thought. That's absurd; of course he's been conflicted. I bet he contemplates what he loves more—peanut butter puffs or Spider-Man?