Page 330 of On A Manhunt: Complete Series

GEORGIA

“I can’t believe you want more pizza,” I told him. I meant the night I’d watched him with Drew and Andy through his kitchen window and then moved to the James Inn to get distance. For only one night. Then, I ended up in Mac’s bed.

We were at a little place a few blocks down Main Street from the fire station, tucked in a corner table with a sausage and mushroom pizza between us.

I had my plate raised for him to slide a slice onto it.

It smelled so good. Garlic. Tomato sauce.

The windows had condensation on them from the heat of the brick oven.

“There’s always room for pizza,” he replied, tossing in a wink.

I agreed. I took a bite. Especially something this good.

He’d somehow tracked me down to one of the study rooms at the library, coming in just after five and telling me I was done for the day.

Not asking if I was finished but telling me.

He’d grabbed my laptop and my bag. While that was gentlemanly, I’d refused to let him carry my purse.

No man, especially with all the testosterone and pheromones he had, was carrying my pink purse.

I loved how it matched my new puffy coat. It definitely didn’t match his.

We’d ditched my rental in the library lot and he’d driven us to the pizza place.

He’d updated me that Andy was spending the night with Theo and Mallory and Drew was fine with a friend over for dinner.

It seemed he had a counter full of dropped off desserts and more casseroles than he could eat by himself.

That meant we were alone.

And we were on a date. Dinner meant a date, right?

While he didn’t exactly ask me, it was more along the lines of chest beating, grunting you and me and pizza and now.

So here we were with a guy named Otis making us the best pizza I’d had in a long time.

“Besides, you need your strength for what I have planned for later,” he murmured, leaning across the small table. “And if we ate at the house, well, we wouldn’t eat.” His gaze darkened and heated.

I knew exactly what he wasn’t saying.

We’d be having sex. Probably on his kitchen table. Maybe this wasn’t a date after all. Perhaps it was preventative planning. We needed fuel for what he had in mind. I squirmed; my pussy eager for more. I’d gone from a sex dry spell to a deluge. My panties weren’t going to be able to handle it.

“How’s the calendar coming?” he asked, then took a bite of his slice.

“You want to talk about the calendar? You do realize it’s almost your turn to be photographed. I don’t want to turn you off your food.”

He chewed, then wiped his mouth. Those lips I knew could kiss so well turned down. “Right. No work talk.”

“Right,” I confirmed with a nod. He wasn’t grumpy right now. In fact, he seemed downright… normal.

He had on jeans and a blue flannel. His hair was combed, face shaved. No walkie talkie attached to his hip. I had all his attention.

He took a sip of his soda. “You mentioned you used to be in pageants.”

I took extra time to chew the bite in my mouth. Then swallowed hard.

“That’s what you want to talk about?” I asked, licking my lips.

He shrugged, his gaze following the motion of my tongue. “Sure. It’s not like I know anything about them.”

I took a sip of my drink, the ice clinking in my glass.

“Well, it’s like any other kid activity.” I gave him a casual shrug. “Soccer or violin lessons. You practice and then there’s a big game or recital or whatever and you try to be the best.”

He studied me. “I don’t see you playing soccer, but maybe you did the violin?”

I laughed. “No violin. Tap lessons were first, but me practicing on the kitchen floor when I was six threw my mother over the edge. Too loud and I was horrible. Then she put me in dance, but I have zero coordination. Then singing lessons.”

His eyes widened. “You sing?”

I nodded. “I do.”

“How old were you when you started in pageants?”

“Five.”

His eyes widened. “Five? Wow.”

“My sister started first and so I tagged along and then my momma got me in on it, too.”

“How’d you do?”

I sighed. “Not good.”

“No sash and tiara for you?”

I shook my head. “Runner up. Little Miss Calhan.”

He laughed. For a split second, I thought he was poking fun, but he wasn’t. He was only amused. “I can see a young version of you up there giving them hell.”

“Me?” I paused, my pizza slice halfway to my mouth. “I’m too ladylike for that.”

He sobered and looked me over. “You are. I’m guessing you stopped at some point.”

And this was where the conversation always turned sour for me. So I made my response short and sweet. Like a pageant question and answer session, I had what I wanted to say down pat after years of practice.

“The better Sassy got, I quickly learned it was harder and harder for me to keep up. Perfection is pretty hard to follow. I stopped when I was fourteen.” I took a big bite so I didn’t have to say more.

He held his slice of pizza in his hand and cocked his head. “Who wants to be perfect?”

I laughed. “Sassy. My momma. The pageant judges are looking for perfection, too.”

“Fourteen. That was a long time ago. You still trying to keep up with her?”

I shrugged. “She’s married. Has two kids. A Miss Georgia crown.”

“And you’ve got–”

“What do I have?” I asked, cutting him off. “An ex who cheated on me. Who–” No, I wasn’t going to say that he was having a baby. “A job I had to leave. I’m in Montana.”

This was not a fun date.

He grinned.

Why was he grinning?

“That’s right,” he confirmed. “You’re in Montana.

In Hunter Valley. Eating with me.” He leaned in so only I could hear.

“You’ve got on a kickass pair of snow boots and you’re the only person around who can rock a pink coat.

If you finish your dinner like a good girl, I’ll give you a really big treat when we get home. ”

Home.

I didn’t have a home right now. The house with Art was being sold. Momma’s place definitely wasn’t mine. I was only temporary here. Even in Mac’s bed.

He hadn’t meant it the way my little aching heart took it. So I focused on what he meant to make me hot instead. “Really big treat?” I asked.

He waggled his eyebrows like an idiot. “You know it.”

I had to shut down the pageant chat. Talk of Sassy. Momma. Art. All of it. Mac was right. I was here with him, the guy who gave me multiple orgasms and didn’t seem to care I wasn’t perfect or hold my past against me even after twenty years.

He’d seen every single bit of my body. Saw me bare faced. Bare assed.

And he wanted to see it again. As soon as I finished my dinner.

What was a smart girl to do? I ate that pizza in a hurry.