“That shit cost fifteen dollars.”
“That shit could kill you.”
“Not everybody can be like your Martha Stewart ass,” he says of my cooking ability.
Laughing, I grab two bottles of beer from the six-pack. It’s the only thing in the fridge besides eggs, questionable-looking cheese, and a half loaf of bread. “You, my brother, give bachelors a bad name.”
“That’s not what the honeys say,” he boasts, scratching his bearded chin. “Luscious Lola had no complaints. When I tell you she’s a brick house, C, you don’t even know. I think I’m in love.”
You can always count on some things in life: the sun rising and setting each day, taxes, and Dice falling in love.
“Where’d you meet this one?”
“At Docks last night.” He sets the condiments and the brown paper-wrapped fish on the table. “She was there dancing her fine ass off, and I was spinning the vinyl. A match made in heaven.”
Shaking my head, I join him with the beers and a wad of napkins.
Tall, handsome, and ripped, Dice is one of those big-hearted players. He’s fast and generous with his affection, but it tends to be short-lived.
“She had a friend with her who was fire too. I could hook you up.”
“Naw, I’m good.” I dip the crispy battered fish into the container of tartar sauce and take a bite. “I already got my sights on someone.”
“Ahhh, shiiit!” Dice exclaims, clacking his fingers in the air. “Do tell, bruh.”
“Lexie Monroe. She’s here from Chicago and renting my cottage for the next six weeks.”
“She must be a dime and a half to get you out of your slump.”
“I’m not in a slump. Just haven’t met anyone who I vibed with in a while.”
“And you vibing with this Lexie?” he asks, dousing his fries in salt and malt vinegar.
“Could be. I’m definitely feeling her. We chatted at the café yesterday, and I bumped into her today while I was running with Bitsy. Photography’s her hobby, and she took some shots of us.”
“And from that, you already gone?”
It sure as hell seems that way. I haven’t been able to get the intriguing Lexie out of my head. Maybe it’s her reserve that’s caught my attention—her caution stirring the innate hunter in me to chase and conquer. Part of that drive is a base, primal urge. But the other part, well . . . “There’s something there, and I need to find out what it is.”
“So, ask her out,” Dice says simply.
“I did, and she shut me down.”
His mouth tips in a bemused grin. “You, Mr. Charm himself, struck out?”
“It happens.” I take another bite of fish.
“Not often. What reason did she give?”
“She says she’s on a solo retreat, which sounds like she’s here to get away from something.”
“Or someone.”
“Could be.” My jaw muscle tics. “But I asked, and she said there was no one. I think she’s just cautious.”
“So why bother? It’s not like it can go anywhere when she lives in Chicago.”
“It’s only a two-hour drive.” I tip the bottle of beer to my lips.
