Page 89 of Say Yes to the Hot Mess
Dex raises his eyebrow at me, taking one leisurely step closer. “Yes, well. You were being very charming and funny.” He tilts his head. “Plus you were tugging on my tie. I found I…quiteliked that.”
“Sounds like excuses to me,” I say, keeping my voice steady.Barelysteady, and for sure betrayed by the way my cheeks are heating. But I’m pretty sure I pull it off.
Maybe.
“In that case,” he says, his voice low, “I suppose it would be bad form to tell you I’m having trouble paying attention right now, too.”
I shiver as he takes another step closer.
“Depends.” He’s near enough now that I have to tilt my head back to look at him, because of the whole a-million-feet-tall thing. I reach for his tie, giving it a tug and pulling him closer. “What’s got you so distracted?”
His eyes drop to my hand on his tie before returning to mine with a flash of heat. “You look good enough to eat, for one,” he says. His gaze flits over my face. “Just as beautiful as always. But mostly”—his throat bobs as he swallows—“the way you make me feel. All the time. In here,” he says, gently pulling his tie out of my grasp before taking my hand and placing it over his heart. It’s beating rapidly, thudding against the hard planes of his chest, and for goodness’ sake—whereare all these muscles coming from?
And who does he think he is, saying things like that? Things that make me weak in the knees, that make my insides turn to jello? Who gave him permission to be so irresistible, so adorably cheesy? Because the thing is, from any other man, these words would sound like a line—a rehearsed sentiment designed to make me swoon. But when I look at Dex, at the vulnerability in his eyes, at the way his body sways toward mine as though magnetized…well, all I see is sincerity.
I take a deep breath—because somehow, miraculously, I’m still capable of breathing—and ask the question that’s burning a hole in my heart. “And how, exactly, do I make you feel?”
I’m going to call it a win that my voice only cracks a little bit, that my breath onlyslightlyhitches when Dex’s lips tilt into a smile.
“Alive,” he says huskily. “You make me feel alive.”
And with that he leans in, brushing his lips over mine in a feather-light kiss that nevertheless has my head spinning.
“Now,” he says, stepping away again and putting some distance between us. “Let me impress you with my cooking skills.”
I laugh, gesturing to the stove and the oven. “Be my guest.” I hesitate, then say, “You know, you told me once as Kingston that you don’t really do ‘casual’ dating.” I swallow, forcing myself to go on. “And I don’t want to be casual, Dex. I can’t do casual. Not now. Not with Archer. I’ll only ever let stability into his life, as much as I can help it.”
“This isn’t casual for me,” he says seriously, looking over his shoulder at me as he opens the fridge. “I wasn’t lying. I’m not the kind of man who can do flings. I think we should keep dating, keep getting to know each other for a while, but…I’m open to this becoming more serious if we think we’re compatible.”
I nod, relieved. “Okay, good. Me too.”
“Yeah?” he says, and I don’t think I’m imagining the relief in his tone, either.
“Yeah,” I say.
He smiles, looking pleased, and turns back to the vegetables he’s laying out on the counter—though not before I spot a flush rising in his cheeks.
“You’re blushing,” I say, my smile growing as I step into place next to him.
“No, I’m not,” he mutters, but the pull of his lips gives him away.
“Yes, you are,” I tease, poking one of his cheeks.
He bats my hand away, laughing. “Fine; I’m happy. So sue me,” he says. Then he grins over at me. “Here—think you can use a knife?”
I hold up my uninjured hand and wiggle my fingers at him.
“In that case, start chopping.” He passes me two bell peppers, and I take them, smiling back at him.
“You know,” I say as I watch him begin dicing tomatoes and onions. “This whole cooking thing is really doing it for me. Why is it so attractive to watch a man cook? Do you think it’s some evolutionary thing? Women like a man who’s going to provide or whatever?”
“Could be,” he says. Then, before I know what’s happening, he turns until we’re suddenly face to face. His strong arms wrap around me, pulling me closer. “Or in your case, it could just be that you’re bad at cooking, so it’s a quality you like in a man.”
I place one hand over my heart, feigning hurt. “Whereeverdid you get the idea that I’m a bad cook?”
“Might have been the cookies you made me,” he says, grinning down at me. “Or…” He draws the word out. “It might have been Scarlett. I believe her exact words were, ‘Don’t leave her alone in your kitchen, she’ll burn the whole thing down.’ Just as we left to come back over here.”
That little traitor.
