I’ll give Oscar Wilde that. “Wilde was ahead of his time, really.”
“Why would your grandfather name his child after a character like that?”
I shrug. “I never met him, but I’m going to guess he did it for the same reason my dad named me after an F. Scott Fitzgerald character—he loved Oscar Wilde.”
“Hmm.” Gage looks off like he’s thinking. “If I had a child, I think I’d name it something average. You know, like John.”
I giggle, but I have to ask, “You want kids?”
Smiling down at me, he nods. “I do. You?”
“I wouldn’t mind. I’d want more than one, though. Being an only child sucks.”
He laughs. “Yeah, well, I’ve got a brother, and he’s a pain in the ass, so there’s that.”
“Why? What’s he do?” This is the first real personal information I’ve gotten from Gage. It’s nice.
“He’s always getting into trouble.”
My eyes grow round. “Like legal trouble or lady trouble?”
Chuckling, he takes my hand and holds it. “Both.”
“Wow. And you’re even a cop. Does he live around here?”
“Nah. I’m from Missouri originally. He still lives there, in the town where we grew up.”
“What about your parents?”
“My dad died a few years ago. My mom’s still in the same town. They live next door to each other, actually.”
“That’s nice for her. He can do things for her.”
Scoffing, Gage explains, “It’s the other way around. I’m pretty sure she still does his laundry.”
“No!” I slap Gage’s firm chest. “How oldishe?”
“Twenty-four.” He pauses. “No, twenty-five now.”
“Close to my age. Old enough to do his own laundry.” I mean, seriously.
Chuckling, he leans down and kisses me quickly. “You’re right.” Moving a rogue piece of hair out of my face, he adds, “I think she likes to do it. It makes her feel needed or something.”
“She sounds nice.” I close in on him and give him a kiss. “I’m sorry about your dad.”
“Thanks.” Gage kisses me again, this time a little deeper. “He was a good man.”
“Like you?” We kiss again, a little longer this time.
“Better.” I feel Gage’s fingers slide around my neck and into my hair. His tongue sweeps against my lip, so I open for him. It’s getting heated fast. Moving closer, I crawl over him until I’m straddling his lap.
“You’re addictive, Mr. Golden.”
Kissing down my neck, he whispers. “So are you, Miss Buchanan.” Sliding his hand beneath my shirt, he skims over my lacy bra. “Let’s go to bed.”
“Yeah.” I nod. “Let’s.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
