Queenie hops onto the bed beside me, tail twitching, scanning the room like she expects him to pop out and make her eggs.
“What’s up with Miss Thing?” Rayne asks cautiously. “Eyes looking all crazy. She better not be planning an attack.”
“I think she’s just looking around for him.”
“You’re telling me Queenie likes Dice now?”
“Maybe notlike, but she’s catching some kind of feels.”
“Same as you.”
“Not gonna lie,” I say, tequila loosening my tongue. “Dice is easy to fall for. He’s sexy, funny, and has that smooth warmth down to a science. It can mess with a woman’s head.”
“Is he messing with yours?”
“Nope. But he’s wrecking my body real good.” I fill her in on last night.
She groans, fanning herself. “You two so nasty.”
“I know. My toes were curling in my boots. But then, right before he finished, he said, ‘Tell me you’re mine. Say it. Say you’re mine.’”
“Oh damn. That’s even hotter. What’d you say?”
“What do you think I said in that moment? Something like ‘I’m yours.’” Notsomethinglike. That’s exactly what I said.
“Did you mean it?”
“Of course not. He didn’t either.”
Rayne tilts her head. “That sounds like a deflection.”
“How?”
“I think you don’t want to mean it because you’re scared he doesn’t.”
“Whatever. I’m not tryna get hurt. Just tryna have fun. And that’s what Dice is. A good time, for a short time.”
My boxing workout had nothing on trying to wrangle Queenie into her crate.
Rayne was no help. “I’m not getting clawed by that hellcat,” she said, hiding on the couch.
I’d already given up when Dice knocks.
Rayne cranes her neck toward the door like she’s watching an episode of a reality dating show. “Your man’s here!”
“He’s not my man,” I mutter, feeling cute in a pair of camo pants, an oversized shrug, and one of my graphic tanks.
“You need help carrying those lies.”
I flip her off and open the door.
Dice stands there looking like something I want to mount. Dark jeans, fitted sweater, chunky watch, fresh fade, and that scent that lives somewhere between lemons and sin. His eyes drop to the words on my top:I’m not high-maintenance, you’re just low effort, then meet mine before he leans in and kisses me. Really kisses me.
PDA’s never been my thing, which is rich given my Friday night behavior. But that was still private. This is visible. Blatantly. I can just picture Rayne’s giddy reaction. I break the kiss and glare at him.
“Just putting in that effort.” He grins.
“Well, that was quite an entrance,” Rayne says from behind me, clearly delighted.
