Drop Dead Sexy

“You don’t need much—a rug with some good earth tones, maybe some curtains.”

“Hmm, so I need a woman’s touch to my swinging bachelor pad?”

I cupped his ass through his pants. “A woman’s touch is always a good idea, isn’t it?”

He grinned. “You’re killin’ me, Smalls.”

Giggling, I removed my hand. “Sorry. I’ll try to be a good girl from now on out.”

“Just be good until dinner is over. After that, you can be as bad as you want to be.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Catcher then gave me a tour of the rest of the house. Everything was beautiful, and if I allowed myself, I could imagine living here with him. In my fantasy of playing house with him here, I tried ignoring the nagging fact that he was forty-five minutes away from my work.

When we returned to the kitchen, Catcher patted one of the bar stools. “Up.”

“Yes, sir,” I replied as I hopped onto the stool.

“Would you like a glass of wine?”

“I would love one.”

Catcher headed over to the fridge. “I’ve been saving this white for a special occasion.”

I bit my tongue to keep from asking if it was for an occasion with another woman. I didn’t want to think about the potential string of hussies who had sat on this barstool. Regardless of how well things were going between us, Catcher’s past was just too depressing to think about.

He interrupted my thoughts by setting a glass of white wine in front of me. “Thank you,” I said before taking a sip. As I let the liquid roll over my tongue, I nodded appreciatively. “This is really delicious.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” He poured himself a glass before taking the vegetables out to wash.

“Can I help you with that?”

He shook his head. “Nope. Dinner tonight is all on me. You are to just sit there and relax.”

“Wow. How nice of you.”

He winked at me before saying, “My pleasure.”

“Trust me. Watching you cook for me is my pleasure.”

“Guess that means you’ve never had a man cook for you?”

“If you consider one guy microwaving Ramen noodles for me in his dorm cooking, then yes, I’ve had a man cook for me.”

Catcher shot me a look of disgust. “Microwaving that bullshit is not cooking.”

“Then you can be my first,” I teasingly said.

“I’ll pop your cherry any day, babe.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Ugh, I really hate that expression.”

“Would you prefer I took your male-cooking V-card?”

“That’s somewhat better.”

Catcher nodded. “So tell me something.”

I swallowed down a sip of wine. “Okay.”

“Did you always want to be a mortician and coroner?” he asked as he began cutting the vegetables.

My fingertips traced over the rim of my wineglass. “Not exactly.”

Catcher paused in his chopping. “You mean, you weren’t holding Barbie funerals, or playing funeral home instead of house?”

I laughed. “Um, no, I wasn’t. And if I had been doing morbid shit like that, my parents should have put me in therapy as soon as possible.”

With a grin, Catcher said, “So what was it you wanted to do?”

“Growing up, I was pretty indecisive about my future. I wavered back and forth between a ton of different things. One day I wanted to be a teacher. The next a nurse. Then it was a hair stylist.” I took a thoughtful sip of wine. “I guess it was my way of delaying the inevitable.”

“The inevitable being you should go into the family business.”

I nodded. “If I had bailed on the mortuary business, I’m not sure what would have happened to Sullivan’s. I don’t think my younger brother would have taken it on. Maybe Todd or Earl, the guys who work for us, would have wanted to run it. Who knows, we might’ve had to close the doors. That would have killed my father.” An ache burned its way through my chest, and it wasn’t from the wine.

“Tell me about him.”

I blinked at Catcher in surprise. “Really?”

He nodded. “He obviously was someone very important to you, so in that token, he’s important to me.”

This time I blinked at him because I was fighting the tears that his words caused. “He was a lot like his dad—soft-spoken and reserved. He was fair and honest in all facets of his life. He was compassionate and caring, especially when it came to his family and to his job. He loved UGA football, dancing around to the oldies, and taking his old bird dog with him hunting.”

Catcher smiled. “He sounds like an amazing man.”

“He was,” I replied. And he had been. Whenever he called me Liv Boo in public, I had wanted to hide in embarrassment. But I’ve missed it. I’ve missed him so very much. He had certainly set the bar high when it came to men considering the way he had treated my mom like a queen. Of course, growing up, I’d found it a little sickening. Now I wanted the same thing—for a man to look at me with the same love and adoration my dad had looked at my mom. Someone who respected me as he had Mama. A love that lasted a lifetime and beyond.