“God forbid you do a bad thing,” she muttered.
“Exactly. But interesting that you neatly diverted us from talking aboutyou. You do that a lot. Ask me a bazillion questions about what I like and do, but you don’t share much about yourself.”
He shifted in his seat. He actually disliked talking about himself. Dex had always been on the shy side, only losing most of that when he grew into his size-thirteen feet after high school. It would probably amuse her to know he still occasionally felt tongue-tied around her. Looking into her beautiful brown eyes could leave him mute with appreciation. She had beauty that went soul deep.
“You want us to get to know each other?” said Maya. “Well, that includes me asking questions. That’s not deflecting. That’s me being curious.”
That had to be a good thing, right? He felt her gaze like a caress and swallowed a sigh.
She asked, “Do you get along with your parents?” Still wanting to know about his parents.
“Yes.”
“Really well or just tolerably?”
“Like you and your dad. We’re close.”
She nodded. “You and Anson still tight?”
“Yep. Jack too. It’s like we never left Bend.” The three of them had been gone for twelve years and had come back in the span of a few months. It felt like they’d always been together. Some friends were just like that.
“Hurray for assholes sticking together.”
He grinned. “You do know that your attitude does nothing but make me hard.”
“And we’re back to sex.” She sighed. “I take back everything I said before. Now why can’t we go back to my place and fuck like bunnies? Because I don’t understand. We can still be ‘friendly’ when you’re buried inside me.”
He gritted his teeth. “Do youhaveto say things like that?”
“Oh, baby. I surely do.” She licked her lips, and he groaned. She laughed. “So what’s your favorite thing to do to me?”
“I have to pick just one?”
“Yeah.”
“I can’t,” he said. “I like it all.”
She quieted, and he chanced a glance at her, only to see her studying him.
“What?” he asked when she remained quiet.
“Would your mom like me?”
“Well that killed the mood.” He blew out a breath. “Of course she’d like you. You’re beautiful, smart, obnoxious, and you’re an artist. My mom has a soft spot for artists.”
“Oh. Is she into art?”
“My grandfather—her dad—was a starving painter. Great talent, not so good at marketing himself. She’s always been more than supportive of my photography.”
“That’s good.”
“What about you? Did your dad always support you?”
It amazed him how pleasant and unguarded she could seem when she let herself just be with him.
She nodded. “I’ve always been into doing my own thing. Pottery was a natural extension of expressing myself. Dad has always been there for me.” She grew quiet. “He’s the only one, other than Ann or Riley, who I can count on.”
Too soon to tell her,You can count on me.So he changed the subject again. “Where should we go on date number four?”
