Series: Fever Falls Series by Riley Hart
Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 96922 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96922 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Dax knelt and reached his hand out, which Mac sniffed like crazy before accepting Dax’s rubdown.
“Good boy,” he said as Mac lay down on the floor and rolled over.
“Yeah, he loves a good belly rub.”
“Just like his daddy,” Dax said, turning to me and winking.
“Hell, I sure wouldn’t have a problem getting rubbed down as much as he does, if some generous guy offered.”
“Oh, now you’re just interested in guys. I guess I have that effect on people.”
I let Dax enjoy believing that about himself, because I enjoyed when he acted a little full of himself. It was hot.
As much as he tried to seem like nothing more than a cool, collected, confident powerhouse, as he knelt on the floor, beaming while petting my little Shar-Pei pooch, I knew I was seeing the real Dax Munro. He rubbed Mac’s lower belly, leaving Mac twitching his head either way and reveling in the experience.
“Yeah, that’s his favorite right there,” I told him.
“I’m good at finding the right spot.” Dax’s gaze shifted back to me, filled with determination and a playful mischievousness that had a way of getting me riled up. “So you want to get some pizza and wings like we did in London?”
“Pizza? No. Fuck that. I’m gonna make dinner.”
Dax seemed surprised by that.
“What? You didn’t think I could cook? Come on. If you thought Nance was a good chef, just wait until you get a taste of what I can work up.”
“I had a taste of that.”
“Enough with the innuendo. I don’t need the chat when we can get to all that later.”
“What makes you think I want to mess around with you later? You’re the one who practically tricked me into coming over to your place.”
“Well, how about you stay for dinner and drinks, and then we’ll see if I can persuade you.”
“I’m the one who persuades, Jace.”
“We’ll see about that.” I started for the kitchen, which was on the other side of the living area, behind the island that jutted out from the wall.
Dax pushed to his feet and headed around the island. He leaned against it as I opened the pantry to see what I could whip up.
“Outside your normal dietary needs, is there anything you’re violently allergic to?” I queried.
“Not that I’m aware of. And it’s fine. I’m not going to be a stickler about my diet tonight if we’re going by what you have in your pantry.”
“Hmmm…” I scanned the boxed noodles, bottles of sauces, and canned goods before heading to the fridge and checking out what I had in there. “I think I’m gonna settle on some fried chicken. You like fried chicken?” I glanced over my shoulder to check out his expression. He shrugged. “Okay, that’s what I’m doing because clearly you’ve never had great fried chicken.”
“I’m fine with it.”
“I’m not okay with this laissez-faire attitude you have about fried chicken, so we’re gonna fix that, aren’t we, Mac?”
Mac was watching me searching through the fridge, and I knew it was because I’d encouraged him with pieces of deli meat and leftovers, something I shouldn’t have gotten him in the habit of expecting.
I grabbed some chicken from the fridge and set it beside the stove.
“You wanna peel some potatoes for me? I make some good loaded potatoes.”
“Yeah, I’ll peel some potatoes,” Dax said with a laugh.
“What? Tell me you’ve peeled potatoes before.”
“I…um…” He thought about it for a moment. “No, not really.”
“What kind of person has never peeled potatoes? And here I thought Nance was a good judge of character.”
“What do you think of that, Mac?” Dax asked, and as I turned to them, Mac lay down at Dax’s feet.
“Yeah, I guess he’s not a good judge either.”
Dax folded his arms and shook his head, that smile as broad as ever.
“I don’t have any martinis here, but you can help yourself to what I have.” I indicated my liquor cabinet on the other side of the room, near the living area.
“Oh, this is my department—I’ve got the drinks and potatoes.”
He headed to the bar and fixed us some vodka and ginger ale while I got the chicken started and put a pot of water on the stove. Then I fetched the potatoes, a peeler, and a bowl and guided him through the process, not able to keep from snickering at the way he was doing it.
“What are you laughing about?” he asked as he sat on the other side of the island, peeling in small pieces around a potato.
“If you just run it along the side of the potato, it’ll be easier. Here.” I demonstrated, sliding it around and then making my way in a spiral down the potato.
“Oh, got it.” Dax took the potato and peeler back and worked it himself. As I mixed spices and breadcrumbs, he inspected my work. “And the Hottie Firefighter cooks too? Don’t let that leak to the press. Then you’ll really be batting them off you.”