Series: Kristen Proby Crossover Collection
Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 69686 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69686 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
I frown. “Why do I get the impression that you don’t want to talk about yourself?”
Holding her wine glass, her hand pauses a few inches from her mouth. “I’m telling you about myself.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “You’re giving me short answers, then turning it back to me. The point of a first date is to get to know each other so we can decide if we want to keep seeing each other.” I lean over and tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. “Why so mysterious?”
“I’m not mysterious,” she says, frown lines forming between her eyes as she glances down.
“Are you wanted by the FBI? Are you part of the witness protection program?”
She smiles. “No.”
“Serial killer?”
“I mean, I do enjoy cereal. Wheat Chex, usually.”
“You’re a smartass,” I say thoughtfully. “I like it.”
She laughs. “Pistachio ice cream.”
“Go on.”
“Pistachio is my favorite ice cream.”
“Okay.” I lean in, intrigued. For some reason, I get the feeling that Fallon doesn’t always share a lot of details about herself. “What is it about that flavor you love?”
“Well, I like the green color,” she says with a smile. “And I like that it’s not too sweet. Also, pistachios are healthy so I can say I’m eating health food.”
“See? This isn’t so hard.”
She blows out a breath. “Harder than it looks.”
“I’m not scary,” I inform her, all the humor gone from my voice. “I’m just a nice guy, trying to get to know you better. And now I know that you like pistachio ice cream and green and pinot gris.”
She smiles, and I swear it lights up the whole damn room. “What kind of ice cream do you like?”
“I’m a chocolate kind of guy, but I’ll take just about anything over at Scoops. Except the huckleberry.”
“Wait, you were born and raised in Montana, and you don’t like huckleberry ice cream?”
“I know, I’m surprised they haven’t asked me for my Montana card. I think I just had too much of it growing up.”
“No huckleberry for you then,” she says and leans back as our meals are delivered. Hers is a meatless pasta dish with a white cream sauce, and mine is good ol’ spaghetti and meatballs.
“Are you a vegetarian?” I ask casually.
“No.” She shakes her head, takes a bite, and sighs in happiness.
And…cue my dick. If she makes noises like that when her food tastes good, I can only imagine what’ll come out of her mouth when I’m inside her.
“I do try to stay away from red meat and pork,” she says with a shrug. “Mostly because they’re just not good for heart health. I mainly stick to fish and chicken. Why do you ask?”
“Because, although I may not love huckleberry ice cream, I am from Montana, and I love beef. And let’s face it, breakfast isn’t the same without bacon.”
“They do make turkey bacon,” she reminds me, and I feel my face crumple into a scowl.
“That just seems un-American.”
“Or healthier,” she says with a laugh. “Is this going to be a deal-breaker for us?”
“It’s not good,” I concede and let out a long, dramatic sigh. “But I guess I can overlook it.”
“I’m so relieved.” Her voice is bone-dry, and it makes me laugh.
“You and I are going to get along just fine.”
* * * *
“I enjoyed myself,” Fallon says as I escort her to her door. “And I can’t believe we spent three hours at dinner.”
“Time flies when you’re having fun.”
Or when you’re talking to a beautiful woman and enjoying yourself more than you have in years.
Fallon stops at her door, and I can see by the look on her gorgeous face that she’s trying to decide if she should invite me in or say goodnight.
So, I make the decision for her.
“I’d like to see you again,” I begin and take her hand in mine, linking our fingers.
“I’d like that, too,” she says.
I step closer with the intent of kissing the breath out of her against the door, but when I move my feet, a sloshing noise catches my attention.
“Shit.”
“It’s okay,” she says, backing away. “You don’t have to kiss me—”
“What? No. There’s water coming out from under the door.”
She steps back, looks down, and reaches for the knob.
“Don’t open it,” I say. “If it’s seeping out, there’s a lot of water behind this door. Is there a back way in?”
“This way.” She hurries, despite her heels, around the house to the back. The sliding glass door is unlocked and opens easily. We both stop short when we reach the living room.
“Shit,” I repeat, staring up at the hole in the ceiling. “Where’s the water shut off?”
“I have no idea,” she says in shock. “I rent this place from Jenna Hull.”
“I’ll find it.” I hurry outside and, sure enough, find the valve on the side of the house. I turn it off.
“That was it!” she yells from inside, and I join her as we both stare in shock at the damage done in just three hours.