“Just a funny email.”
“Did you get the YouTube one of that cat that logrolls a watermelon? Janice sent that this morning.”
“No.” And I felt oddly left out if everyone on the staff was getting goofy cat videos while my inbox remained empty.
Another email pinged in my inbox a few minutes later.
From: Brogan Starr
To: Lainey Taylor
Subject: re: Meatballs
Trying to ward off vampires, huh? Rumor has it the garlic thing is a myth, though holy water and a salt circle will do the trick. Are you free on Thursday?
-B
From: Lainey Taylor
To: Brogan Starr
Subject: re: Meatballs
Did you just make a Supernatural reference? I see the Netflix is paying off.
I’ll have to check my schedule. My boss runs a tight ship, and I might have a lot of work to do that night.
-L
From: Brogan Starr
To: Lainey Taylor
Subject: re: Meatballs
I’ll put in a good word to your boss.
-B
I smothered my grin with my hand and bounced my legs against the rung of my chair. Oh lordy, was I in trouble.
…
Brogan was on his computer when I finished walking Bruce the following night. He had a pair of black-rimmed reading glasses on as he focused on a spreadsheet. The glasses gave a cute geeky edge to his muscled exterior, something that was deliciously adorable.
“How’s the Henderson account coming?” I asked, plopping a tote and my purse on the coffee table.
“It’s going. Just finishing up.” He hit a few keys on the computer and then closed the laptop. He scrubbed his hands over his face, removing his glasses and propping them on the end table. His look of irritation dissipated when his gaze slid over me, replaced with a soft smile. “Damn, you are a much-needed sight for sore eyes. Come here, beautiful.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me onto the couch. My fingers ran along the stubble of his jaw as our lips brushed together.
“What’s in the bag?” He jutted his chin to the large sack on the table.
“Tonight’s festivities.” I grabbed the bag and set it on the couch next to him.
As he peered in the tote, his brows furrowed. “Is that a plastic gun?” He put his pinky through the trigger hole and picked it up, examining it.
“Is that a gun?” I scoffed. “It’s only the best gun known to man. The Zapper NES.”
He shook his head, but a smile played at his lips. “You lost me.”
“Have you never played Duck Hunt in your life?”
He just stared at me.
“Did you seriously live under a rock in the nineties?”
“Might as well have,” he muttered, and his smile fell momentarily. It quickly reappeared, though, and he said, “The gun’s part of the game, I assume? My parents believed that video games and television rotted brains, so the most I got was thirty minutes of PBS. Don’t worry, I’ve made up for it since then.” He nodded toward three different gaming consoles nestled in his entertainment system.
“Well, get ready to lose a few brain cells tonight, because we’re having an official Duck Hunt throw down.” I unearthed the Nintendo console from the bag and hooked up the cords to his TV.
“Can I at least pour us some wine?”
“Is that even a question? Wine goes with everything. Including…” I grabbed a bag of gummy worms from the bag and tossed them in Brogan’s lap.
He grimaced at the package and picked it up carefully, like it contained hazardous waste. “Wasn’t there something in our arrangement saying you’re not allowed to poison me?”
“It’s candy, not arsenic.”
He lifted a finger and said, “Ever hear that a clean system is a healthy system?”
Right of course. Mr. Organic wouldn’t eat a gummy worm. “Then mine must look like the inside of a garbage dump. You can’t knock ’em unless you try first.”
He rolled his eyes but opened the package. He squished the worm between his fingers and shuddered, looking like he was going to throw up right there on the spot. “This is just disgusting.”
I put my hands on my hips and gave an exaggerated sigh. “Just try it.”
“Wasn’t peer pressure supposed to end in high school?” he mused, his hand sliding up my thigh, momentarily making me forget what we were talking about. His lips kissed along my neck and goose bumps pebbled my flesh. Something told me I’d never get used to his touch.
He threw the bag of gummy worms to the side and continued working along my collarbone, then lower. “This is a much better alternative to candy,” he said, his hands slipping up my shirt.
If he thought he could get away with distracting me with his mouth and hands, well, he was right. But he wouldn’t win this time. I could muster up some self-restraint. “Did you hear that? I think there’s a chicken in your condo.”
He let out sigh and said, “I take back everything I said about admiring your determination.”