Drop Dead Sexy

“So you have a house and not a condo?”

“Even better than having a house is the fact my brother and I built it.”

My eyes widened as this news was certainly unexpected. “How interesting.”

“Yeah, I can’t take all the credit. My younger brother, Jem, is a contractor.”

“Jem? As in Jeremy Atticus Finch from To Kill a Mockingbird?”

Catcher grinned and bobbed his head. “Yep. Another one of my parents’ favorite books.”

“It’s mine, too. My father was a huge fan. He always kept a copy in his desk drawer at the funeral home. Whenever business was slow, he would take it out and reread it. It was the only book I ever saw him reread. Well, except for the Bible.”

“He was a huge fan?”

I bobbed my head. “He passed away five years ago. Pancreatic Cancer.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you.”

Our once easy-flowing conversation became strained, like so many times whenever grief or loss was mentioned. Although the great equalizer, death was always the pink elephant in the room—the one sure-fire mood and conversation killer. Pun intended.

“So…” Catcher said breaking silence.

“So what?”

“Are you finally going to answer my question?”

I furrowed my brows in confusion. “What question?”

“Why did you run out on me this morning?”

I shifted in my seat. “Not that again.”

“Oh yeah, that. And since we have at least half an hour in the car, I’m not going to let you avoid it again.”

“You’re such a pain in the ass,” I grumbled.

Catcher turned to grin at me. “Come on, Liv. The truth shall set you free.”

“Fine. If you must know, I was embarrassed.”

“Of fabulous sex?”

With a roll of my eyes, I replied, “Last night was unchartered territory for me. I’ve never done anything sexual with someone outside of a relationship. Well, at least, several dates.” I shook my head. “In the light of day, I realized what a mistake last night was.”

“You seriously need to get your head checked if you think mind-blowing sex is a mistake.” When I started to protest, Catcher held up one of his fingers. “So what if you didn’t know me that well. You can get to know me before the next time.”

“Next time? I think you’re the one who needs his head checked if you think we’re having sex again.”

“Trust me, babe. It’ll be on like Donkey Kong the minute I have you alone again.”

“Did you honestly just compare our sex life to a video game?”

“Maybe.” He turned and pinned me with his gorgeous baby blues. “Seriously, Olivia, I meant what I said about last night being special. I really do want to see you again and not just for sex.”

I stared at him for a moment, waiting for the punch line or for him to say, “Psych!” But he didn’t. I desperately tried to find a reason to tell him no. But I couldn’t. My heart, mind, and vagina all pleaded with me to give Catcher a chance. Of course, I think my vagina was putting up the greatest argument.

My mind convinced me that the man was intelligent, driven, quick-witted, and pretty freakin’ phenomenal in bed. My heart recalled his moments of absolute kindness and empathy, his defense of me at the bar. Those things were emotional kryptonite to a female heart. Especially one who had been through a dating wasteland.

And my vagina? That greedy little bitch had found the best piece in the candy store and definitely wanted another lick, suck, and swallow.

“So what do you say?” Catcher asked.

“Okay. Why not.”

A pleased smirk curved on his lips. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to say no to me.”

Rolling my eyes, I shook my head at him. “You sure make a girl second guess herself.”

He laughed. “My apologies, Miss Sullivan.”

The GPS instructed us to turn off the main highway. After we drove down a secluded road for half a mile, Catcher mused, “It seems one thing Randy and Patricia had in common is living in the sticks.”

When we turned a curve, a guard shack loomed in the distance. “Hmm, a gated community. The plot thickens.”

“Maybe it’s some kind of resort.”

“Maybe it’s some kind of commune for genital freaks. Like there’s women with three tits or something.”

I rolled my eyes. “You have got to stop calling Randy a freak. He was a really nice man who deserves better than to be made fun of because of his special endowments.”

Catcher held up his hand. “Fine, fine. I’ll try to be more respectful.”

“Thank you.”

As he drove the car up to the guard shack, Catcher eased the window down and then reached into his jacket for his badge.

“Can I help you?” a man’s voice asked.

“Yes, I’m Agent Mains of the GBI. We’re here to speak with one of your residents—a Patricia Crandall.”

When Catcher turned to flash his badge to the guard, he jumped in the seat. “What the fuck, man?”