Down and Dirty (Dare Me)

chapter Six


The doorbell rang and Shane crossed the room to answer it. Cat stood on the porch wrapped in a long, wool coat. There was no reason to think she’d be naked underneath, but his dick was clearly more optimistic. He had to cut the big guy some slack, though. It had been a restless night for both of them, and he’d been tortured by the most erotic dreams he’d ever had after his kiss with Cat. He’d been so right about that. Now that he’d tasted those lips again, they were all he could think about.

He pulled himself together quickly and opened his mouth to greet her, but she cut in before he had the chance.

“Are your mom and dad home?” she asked, her breath forming a puffy cloud in the air.

“No, they just left. I forgot, they play canasta on Tuesday evenings.” He stepped back to let her in, but she paused in the doorway. “Is that a problem?”

“Uh-uh, I just thought they’d be here.”

Judging by her expression, that had been more of a hope than a thought.

“They’ll be back later. Mom left stew for us, though. She thinks it’s a great idea, by the way. The whole dating service. She’s been angling for more grandkids. Hard to believe the Reign of Terror hasn’t cured her of that.”

“It hasn’t cured you of wanting kids, has it?”

He cocked his head and took a second before answering, in case the question was more than just a casual curiosity. “No, I don’t think so. It’s definitely made me reevaluate how soon I want to have them, though.”

She slipped in past him and beelined for the stairs. “Did you pack any dress clothes?”

“Not really, but my bedroom closet is still full of stuff that I never got around to clearing out when I moved.”

“We’ll see if any of that will work.”

“How’s your leg?” He trailed behind her up the steps, taking in the sway of her curvy hips under the heavy material. When she reached the top she hung a left, heading for his bedroom.

“Better, thanks. No bleeding, I changed the bandage this morning, and so far so good.”

“Glad to hear it.” She’d stopped in the center of the room and was aggressively ignoring the bed, her gaze taking in everything but. “Want me to take your coat?”

Their eyes met and held for a moment, and she wet her lips. “Sure.” She slipped the coat from her shoulders and handed it him. He took in her appearance and held back a growl of appreciation. Black boots hugged her trim calves, and fitted gray jeans clung to her thighs, the outline of the bandage on her injured leg the only indication of yesterday’s mishap. The short, red, off-the-shoulder sweater that capped off the look should have totally clashed with her hair. But it didn’t. She looked bold and beautiful.

“You look great.”

She glanced down at her clothes and smiled. “Thanks. The sweater is part of my winter collection. I’d planned to do it in cashmere, but then fell in love with the way this mohair gave it such an interesting textural quality.”

The pleasure she took in her work lit up her face, and he found himself wishing he knew more about clothes. Then maybe he could keep her talking. Unfortunately, he’d reached the bottom of the conversational well on fashion.

“Anyway, as you were saying, I do look pretty great. And that makes one of us.” She wrinkled her nose, sweeping an assessing gaze over him from head to toe. “First we’ve got to lose the T-shirts. You’ve got a good body under there, and they definitely showcase that, but we can do better. Flaunt the goods but still let people know that you have some taste and more than eleven dollars in the bank to boot.”

He glanced down at his shirt and frowned. “I don’t get what the big deal is. It’s just a T-shirt.”

“Exactly,” she said triumphantly, wagging a finger at him. “We can do better. Do you have any suits in here?” She turned to riffle through the tiny closet. Every so often, amid the scoffs and snorts, she handed him an item of clothing, most of which he hadn’t worn in years. No surprise there. His parents had modernized some of the house since he’d left home, but his room was like one giant time capsule. The walls were still the same New York Giants blue that they’d been since his junior year of high school, and were riddled with pennants, posters, and foam fingers. Football and basketball trophies lined the shelves that ran the perimeter of the back the room. He was only glad he’d had the foresight to take down his framed Eagle Scout patch before she’d come over. No reason to give her more ammunition to support her theory about him.

She snapped her fingers a few feet in front of his face and called his name. “Hello? Anyone there?”

“I’m here. I was just thinking how ludicrous it was that you imagined I might get all decked out in a suit for coffee or a drink. It’s not the eighteen hundreds. People go on dates in jeans all the time. I don’t know what you think it is that I’ve been doing the last nine years, but I’m not a shut-in, Cat. I can dress myself.”

She ignored him and held a brown sports coat up to his chest, sizing him up with a practiced eye. “This is perfect. Casual enough to seem like you don’t care that much, for the girl who likes them aloof, but dressy enough to show you care, for the girl who likes a guy to put a little effort in.” She pushed by him and tossed the jacket onto the bed. “You want to keep the T-shirt, I’ll work with you. Wear it under this with those jeans.” She gestured to the ones he had on. “You get dressed—I’m going to raid the bathroom for hair product and see what we can do.”

She whirled away and he stared after her. “Hair product? You mean like gel or something? Do I really need that?”

She didn’t bother to answer, the opening and closing of his bathroom cabinets answer enough.

Fine. None of this shit mattered anyway. The point was to keep her close, and he was definitely succeeding. He tugged off his T-shirt, then pulled a clean one out of his top drawer.

“I found some…” Cat stood in the doorway of the bathroom, can of mousse in her hand. Her gaze was glued to his naked chest and sent a sizzle straight to his cock.

“I thought you were wearing that T-shirt under the jacket.”

Her voice sounded froggy and he bit back a grin. “I’ve been wearing it all day. I figured I’d get a clean one.” He should’ve pulled the shirt over his head then, but if she was enjoying the show, who was he to stop her? He fisted the cotton, leaving his hand hanging by his side and her view unobstructed.

“What,” she cleared her throat and tucked a strand of fiery hair behind one ear, “what does the tattoo represent?”

He was about to answer, then stalled. If he told her, it would derail her current fascination with his body, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for her to stop looking at him like he was food.

He opened his mouth to tell her the same thing he’d told the last couple women he’d been with when they’d asked. Some lame bullshit about liking the pattern. But he found the words stuck in his craw. Instead he lifted his free hand to the symbol and held her electric-green eyes as he spoke. “Taken literally, it represents hope when things seem hopeless.” He let his fingers drift to the next black character, tracing the still slightly raised flesh with his thumb.

He waited, wondering if she would press further…hoping she would. Hoping she wanted to know more about him, his life and what he’d been doing these past bunch of years.

She bit her lip, the indecision plain on her face. Then, she turned away.

Ouch.

“Cool. Finish getting dressed and we’ll do your intro video. Then I have some ideas for still shots we can take. Do you have an ax?”

He nodded, yanking the T-shirt over his head. “Yeah.”

Felt like one was lodged in his gut.

…

Cat set the video camera on the oak dining room table and peered at the screen. “Okay, sit up straight because you’re slouching a little.”

Shane straightened and frowned. “Is it even rolling yet?”

“No, but I want to make sure you fit in the frame when you’re sitting right.”

Shane didn’t say anything, but that was nothing new. For the past twenty minutes, since their emotionally charged exchange in the bedroom, he’d been even quieter than normal. But in spite of her every effort not to, she couldn’t stop thinking about his tattoo and the meaning behind it. Was it something to do with his job? Or about a woman?

That thought made the French cruller she’d eaten on the way over feel like a lump in her stomach. How stupid was that? Jealous over a woman who may or may not exist. Exactly the reason she never wanted to feel so much for a man. It did nothing but muddy the water. Good sex, companionship when needed, and common interests—those were the things she was looking for in a relationship. Get too caught up and someone ended up compromising until they’d compromised so much, they became someone else. A mirror for the person they were with.

A vision of her brilliant mother smiling her way through another student’s painful performance of “Hot Cross Buns” flitted through her mind, and she shoved back the guilt that came with it.

F*ck. That.

“Can you see the script?” she asked Shane, shaking off the memories and melancholy to focus on the task at hand.

He leaned in to look at the iPad propped up near the camera and nodded. “Yup.”

“Okay, readyyy, action!”

“Hello, ladies, how you doing?” He stopped abruptly and held up a hand. “Jesus, Cat, seriously? I’m not saying that. It makes me sound like a tool. What’s next, my astrological sign?”

“No,” she said, her tone sharp. “It was supposed to be funny. Like Joey from that old show Friends. Like, ‘How you doin’?’ If you think it’s so bad, you come up with something better.” She grabbed the iPad and covertly deleted the section about him being a Taurus and “strrrong like bull,” which had seemed funny and kitschy when she’d written it, but less so now. “What do you want to open with, Casanova?”

“How about just, ‘My name is Shane Decker.’”

“No salutation? Seems rude, but whatever.” She adjusted the script and set the tablet back up so he could see it. “Okay, now just roll with it this time. If you don’t like something, we can deal with it after. You’re going to need a few retakes anyway, so let’s use this first one as a trial to get you comfortable in front of the camera, tweak the lighting, etc. Pretend you’re talking to really hot girl instead of a piece of equipment. Ready, aaand, action!”

Shane looked down at the table for so long, she was about to stop rolling and snap at him again, but then he lifted his head and pinned his stormy gaze on the camera. A wicked smile spread across his usually serious face. “Hi, my name is Shane Decker. I’m not much for chatter, so I’ll get right to the point. I have some cue cards here telling me to describe my ‘type,’ but that’s not me. I respect and love women. All types of women.”

His voice rang with sincerity and Cat found herself leaning forward, literally on the edge of her seat.

“So if you think you’re too tall and skinny but have a smile that makes people want to smile back? You’re my type. Curvy and always trying to lose that last ten pounds, with a loud, bawdy laugh? You’re my type. A little older than me, with some lifelines that look earned and the confidence that comes with age? My type. Life is short, and I want to spend it with someone who recognizes that, and takes happiness wherever they can find it. If you think I might be your type, send a message to Shane84, and we can meet for coffee.”

The room was silent but for the dishwasher running in the background until Shane spoke again. “Was that okay?”

“Uh, yeah. You went off the grid a little, but it was fine.” Fine? It was more than fine. What woman didn’t want to hear that a sexy guy like Shane would love them even if they weren’t perfect? The women at MeetMyMate.com were going to be salivating over him.

Which was great. Exactly what she’d been hoping for. Wasn’t it? So why did she want to claw their collective, imaginary eyes out?

Shane smacked his hands on the table and stood. “Let’s go get these pictures done and then we can eat.”

She needed to stick to the plan. It was only a matter of time before all this excitement and anticipation she felt around him faded and things would be back to normal. It was nothing more than infatuation. The same she’d felt a million times before, except now—just like with that fat slice of strawberry cheesecake she’d almost managed to say no to the night before, after her kiss with Shane—it seemed larger than life because she was depriving herself of it. As soon as he was settled with someone new, and she got some space, she’d be thanking her lucky stars she dodged this bullet.

Note to self: buy another cheesecake on the way home.

She forced a cheery smile. “Sounds good. Where’s your ax?”

“Probably in the shed. I forgot to ask, why do we need an ax again?” He led her toward the back door, tossing a glance over his shoulder.

“I don’t know, I was thinking the ladies would like seeing you do something manly, like chop wood or something.”

“Well, these aren’t exactly my wood-chopping clothes,” he said drily, glancing down. “Should I change?”

“Nah, just take the sports jacket off and go with the T-shirt and jeans.”

They just stepped into the mudroom and he’d reached for his coat but paused. “It’s like thirty degrees out.”

“You’re only going to be doing it for a few minutes,” she reasoned. “Come on, I promise, I’ll only take a couple shots, and we’ll go right back inside. I won’t put my coat on either.”

He sighed and stripped off the jacket, slinging it over her shoulders. “No sense in us both freezing. But you’ve got five minutes to get the shot. I’ve been away too long, and my blood needs a little time to get used to this New England weather again.”

She trailed out the back door behind him, swamped in his scent and oblivious to the cold as she tried to tear her gaze from his thick, broad shoulders. Instead she focused on the center of his back, but even that wasn’t safe. The T-shirt clung tight enough that she could see the straight, deep indent of his spine flanked by the muscles that made a perfect V to his trim waist. She swallowed hard and blew out a steamy sigh.

Amended note to self: make it two cheesecakes.

…

Shane stood before the wide log on the chopping stump and looked up. “I say we’ve got about twenty minutes of daylight left, so let’s get this done. Ready?”

Cat gave him the thumbs-up from her perch on the brick wall surrounding the patio. “Roger that.”

She looked so frigging cute, red curls flapping in the icy breeze. He turned away, focusing his attention on the task at hand. He gripped the smooth, wooden handle and was just about to take a swing when he thought about the longing on her face when she’d seen him shirtless. Why the f*ck not?

“Well, shit, if I’m going to do it, I’m going to do it right,” he said, leaning the ax against his shin and yanking the T-shirt over his head. His whole body tightened in protest at the cold, but the look on her face as the camera hung from her limp hand, forgotten, was worth every ounce of pain.

He pretended not to notice and took the ax in hand again. Lining up, he set his feet, then took a swing. With a crack, the log splintered apart, falling into halves on the frosty grass. “Did you get it?”

“Um, yeah.” She nodded vigorously. “Yup. I got it.”

“Are you sure? Because the camera’s aimed at the ground.”

She startled and peered down. “Well, it is now. It wasn’t before. I just clicked it right before that. But, you know, sure. Let’s do one more because this one’s blurry.”

Her nervous babble had him struggling not to grin. “Okay, ready?”

She nodded and pointed the lens in his direction. “Let ’er rip.”

He lined up another piece of wood, then swung. It split cleanly and fell off the stump. “Can we go in now?”

She climbed down from the wall and walked over to him. “What do you think?”

She held the screen to his face and he glanced at the picture. It looked fine to him, but what did he know?

“Yes?”

She shook her head and rolled her eyes before starting toward the house. “Yes. You look great, which is so unfair. No tricks, no Photoshop, no makeup, stark natural light.” He grabbed his shirt, catching up to her just in time to hear her grumble, “One shot, no one should look that good.”

“So what next?”

“Next we get a couple more indoor stills, and put this and the video up on the site. I already wrote your bio, I’ve just got to cut and paste that into your profile. According to the guidelines, once everything is loaded, we wait for it to get reviewed and then it will go live. I’d say by the time we eat dinner and clean up, you’ll be all set.”

Forty-five minutes later, their bellies full of beef stew sopped up with thick slabs of buttered sourdough bread, they sat back in front of the computer with their coffee and Cat logged in.

“Okay, it looks like you’re in.” She clicked on his profile and the desktop dinged. “And you have a message. Probably them welcoming you to the site, maybe some tips about how t—”

Before she could finish, it dinged again. Then again.

“Maybe they have a welcoming committee,” Cat said, clicking into the message center. Eleven new messages stared back at them, one of which was indeed a welcome from the president of MeetMyMate.com. The rest had numbers next to the subject lines, along with tiny thumbnail pictures.

All of them of women, lining up for a piece of him. Nuts.

Ding.

“Well,” Cat said brightly, pushing away from the table to let him get in front of the screen. “Seems like there was a hole in the market for someone like you at this place. You’re a hot commodity already.”

“So what do I do now?”

“Click on their avatars, read their messages, and see if you like any of them.”

“How will I know that from one message?”

Ding.

“You won’t. But at least we can weed some out. The maybes we can put into a separate folder, and then the yeses you can set up short dates with.”

Ding.

“Jesus H., can you turn that thing off?” she snapped. “It’s very distracting.”

He didn’t care that she sounded like a shrew, because her reaction could only mean one thing. She was jealous. Satisfaction surged through him, and he vowed to redouble his efforts.

“Sure thing.” He lowered the speakers, then clicked on the first message in the list. “Deedee Coruthers.”

An image of a waifish blonde filled the screen. Cat looked at it for a long moment, lips pursed. “Hmm…don’t you think her right eye looks lazy? Like it’s not really up on what the left one’s doing, and doesn’t care much to find out?” She made her eyes go slightly crossed. “It’s off-putting in person, I bet, because you don’t know which one to look at.”

He looked at the photo more closely, and while Deedee wasn’t a stunner, she didn’t look cross-eyed. More like tired. “I guess a little…”

She didn’t pay him any mind, already moving along to the next one. “Let’s see, what about her? Sara Mitchell. She calls herself an artist. That probably means she doesn’t have a job. She’s also a vegan, which means you’d have to deal with her meat-shaming you.”

He’d never been meat-shamed before. It sounded bad.

“And she probably does macramé,” Cat continued. “So that crap will be hanging all over your house before you know it.” She x-ed out Sara and pointed to another photo a few messages down. “She looks nice.”

“Her?” he asked incredulously, sliding the cursor to blink under a masculine face.

“Yeppers. She’s got an honest smile. I like that.”

“Greta Doyle,” he recited, clicking to enlarge her photo, which only succeeded in making her look even more like a man. “She likes sailing, waterskiing, and backpacking. Her favorite show is Nancy Grace, and she works as an occupational therapist.”

“Sounds perfect for you.”

“In what way?” he asked, openly frowning at her now.

“You like water sports.”

His mind was inexorably drawn back to the time he and Cat had engaged in some water sports together, and for a second, he forgot what they were talking about.

“Shane?”

“Right. I do like water sports, but that’s it? That’s what puts her in the keeper folder?”

“Sure. Common interests are huge in a relationship. Otherwise one person’s always getting dragged around by the other and doing stuff they don’t want to do, you know?”

He didn’t know, but he nodded anyway. It seemed to him more that if two people liked being together, they made compromises sometimes and the rest of the time tried to find new things both people liked to do, but there was no point in arguing. He had no interest in dating any of these women, opposite or not, so what did it matter who he corresponded with? As long as he let them know up front he was looking for friendship only, there wouldn’t be a problem. But he had to make sure some of them were attractive enough to make Cat jealous. “Okay. Maybe she’s just not photogenic. Who else you got for me?”

She sipped her coffee and clicked on to the next one. “Courtney Lockhart DeLollis. Hmm…”

Courtney was quite the looker. Long, honey-blond hair, wide-set hazel eyes.

“Nope.” Cat shook her head, and moved to close the photo. He covered her hand with his to stop her.

“What’s wrong with this one?”

“Vapid. You can see it in the eyes. Dull. Not quite focused. If I were to guess what she was thinking right now, it would be ‘I like turtles’ or ‘I wonder what Kim Kardashian is doing right now’ or something.”

She looked dead serious, but that couldn’t be right. “You can tell that from looking at her eyes in one picture? How is that even possible?”

“It’s just a feeling. She looks like a nitwit. It’s your choice, though. If you want to spend an evening discussing the merits of turtles, go for it.”

He stared at her hard, but she steadfastly ignored him. “Cat.”

“What?” She kept her gaze locked on the monitor, but her fingers tapped a nervous beat on the desk.

“Is this what you do?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb. Is this what you do to guys you date? Look for flaws?”

“Oh, honestly, now you sound like Lacey. That’s not what I’m doing. I’m just trying to save you some time.” She looked down at her watch. “Speaking of which, I’ve got to go.”

Running again. A tense moment passed while he debated whether to let her off so easily, but eventually he stood. They’d kissed last night; she’d gotten jealous today. They were making slow, steady progress. He had all the time in the world. “Okay. I’ll get your coat. You want to help me weed through some of these tomorrow?”

She stood and stretched, the move baring enough of her sleek tummy to distract him from hearing the front end of her response. “…to go bungee jumping tomorrow, but I think I’m just going to cancel. I have a couple things to do in the morning, but you can come by my place around noon if you want.”

“Why cancel the jump? You’ve been dying to do it, so do it.”

“I was supposed to go with a girl from work, but something came up and she can’t make it. The thing is, it’s a two-person rig, so if I went alone I’d be paired with a stranger. Just won’t be as much fun.”

“I’ll go with you.”

She stared at him dubiously. “It doesn’t really seem like your thing.”

“I spend a lot of time in risky conditions for work, so it’s not something I’d necessarily go out of my way to do for pleasure, but I’d do it to support a friend if she didn’t want to go alone.” She hadn’t said no yet, but she was about to. “I can tell you’re looking for a reason to say no, but I’m not sure why. Friends help each other. Unless you’re afraid?”

“Afraid? Not a chance. I’ve gone skydiving, parasailing, hang gliding, swimming with sharks.” She ticked each one off on her fingers. “I’m not scared to bungee-jump.”

“I didn’t say you were. I was thinking maybe you were afraid of bungee jumping…with me.” He stepped closer. Close enough to see her pupils dilate and the pulse pound in her throat.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The column of her neck worked as she swallowed, and any thoughts of letting her off easy crashed and burned. He closed the remaining distance between them, pressing forward until her back was against the wall.

“You tell me.”