“Don’t try to use logic when this is clearly an emotional topic. Soup made with pregnant crabs justfeelswrong.”
He bit his bottom lip to contain his wide grin before nodding dutifully. “Noted. No logic. Pure emotion.” Then he tilted his head. “So what’s your favorite Chicago staple?”
She liked this part. The lazy, sated, getting-to-know-each-other part.
At least, she liked it withhim.
She’d dated men who were complete shit at it. Men who rolled over and fell asleep directly after orgasm. Or men who stayed awake long enough for her to ask them questions, get one-word answers, and eventually realize they had no interest in her beyond what her body could offer them. They werefarworse than the straight-to-sleep guys. At least the straight-to-sleep guys were honest.
But Britt?
He was genuinely curious about her. Genuinely funny and kind and smart. And unfortunately, instead of the sex having scratched her itch for him, it’d only inflamed it.
She wanted more. More of the sex. More of this pillow talk. More of him.
Allof him.
It hit her then.
That…thingthat existed between them, that chemistry or compatibility or…what was the word he’d used? Oh, right.Affinity.It went beyond the physical.
They were a mental match, too. Her intelligence aligned with his; she enjoyed his wit as much as he seemed to enjoy hers. Theygoteach other. Simpatico.
Stir those things together in a pot, throw in a dash of Southern charm, and top it with his penchant for loyalty and honesty, and what she had was a big ol’ recipe for falling in love.
Yes,she thought forlornly.It’d be so easy to fall in love with Sergeant Britt Rollins.
Perhaps he’d sensed that from the start. Sensed that their mutual attraction would extend beyond the bedroom. Maybe that’s why he’d been so quick to poo-poo her offer for drinks. He’d wanted to head her off at the pass before she’d had the chance to take the leap over the ledge and?—
“Did you fall asleep with your eyes open?”
His question had her thoughts flying back to the present. “Oh.” She shook her head. “Sorry. I spaced out there for a second.”
“Where did you go?” A little line formed between his eyebrows.
Had she mentioned how lovely his eyebrows were? Jet black, slightly arched, thick without being overgrown?
Gah!Now she was waxing poetic about his eyebrows?
Damn, I’ve got it bad.
Although the truth was, she’dhadit bad for him from the beginning. Now, it was just worse.
“Off in a direction that’s not worth mentioning,” she assured him. He’d made it clear he hadnointerest in a relationship. Mentioning how easy it would be for her to fall in love with him was a moot point. “What was the question again?”
He narrowed his eyes like he wanted to press her. But decided not to—thankfully—because he said, “I was asking about your favorite Chicago staple.”
“A steak sweet. Hands down.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “And that is…?”
“It’s a steak sandwich dipped in a sweet sauce made at one place and one place only. Home of the Hoagy. It’s on 111thStreet. It’s a big, sloppy mess to eat, but it’s worth every stain you get on your shirt.”
Maybe when we get back to Chicago, we can go there.
The words were perched on the tip of her tongue. She swallowed them down because…one night only.
“I’ll have to give it a try.”
