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I opened and, despite expecting him, found myself flustered. “Hi, Detective. I mean Mr. Walker.” I wanted to bite my tongue to shut up as I finished with a high-pitched, “How nice to see you.”
He winced and immediately chuckled. “I guess I should have told you before, call me Brayden.”
“And I’m Alyssa, Allie, actually, to my friends.” I waved a hand. “And that lazy butt over there, pretending to be a dog, is Blade.” I prattled, then almost slapped myself because…hello, he knew all that.
Brayden eyed my pup and drawled, “I’m going to guess you didn’t name him.”
“No. If I had, he’d probably have some kind of weird car name.”
“My last cat was called Fluffs.”
The admission startled. “You’re a cat person?”
“My ex was. But when we split, I kept the feline.”
“How long were you together?” I could have slapped myself a second after I asked.
But he didn’t seem bothered. “Me and the ex? Three years. The cat? Almost fifteen before cancer took her.”
“I’m recently divorced after twenty some years of marriage.” A blurted admission.
“Kids?”
I shook my head and then made the shocking admission. “Never wanted any.” A nod from Brayden rather than condemnation. “You?” I asked.
“I thought about it. However, I enjoy my life, the freedom to go and do as I please.”
“Within the boundaries of the law,” I quipped.
“Not always,” he murmured before saying, “Shall we go?”
My dog didn’t start howling until I locked the door.
Brayden eyed the house. “Is he going to be okay?”
“Yeah. He has separation issues. If it gets bad, he’ll cuddle his pillow.” Wrapped in my T-shirt of the day.
“Maybe next time we’ll watch a movie on the couch so he doesn’t have to worry.” Casually said and implying that this wasn’t a one-time thing. That would depend on how good he turned out to be tonight.
The detective’s company proved nice. He held courteous, old-school views on women, which meant doors being opened, chairs being pulled out, and him respecting me when I said no to wine with dinner.
First dates should always be mostly sober, or so some lady on that video social networking service claimed—something about not having second-date regret when you eventually spent time with them without the haze of alcohol.
Brayden stuck to lemon water and coffee with dessert. I ignored the dating advice about not ordering anything and flirtatiously asking for a bite of his. Fuck that. I wanted my own piece of cake—chocolate with whipped cream and cherries. I groaned as I ate it.
He’d ordered the pie, which smelled and looked good, but he barely touched his wedge. Maybe I’d scam a piece when I was done.
We sat side by side at a two-person table, facing a stage featuring some play I couldn’t have described. I’d been having too much fun talking with the dry-witted detective.
“Can I have a bite?” he asked, his hand lightly coming to rest on my thigh.
“My cake. Eat your own dessert.” I jabbed my fork at it.
“But yours looks much yummier.” His gaze lingered on my mouth.
I tingled between the legs and leaned close enough to whisper, “It’s delicious.”
“Mmm, I’ve no doubt. Let me taste.” He rubbed his mouth on mine.
