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“We’ll choose our own dares, so you can stay in your com fort zone.” Boundaries had never been Jean’s strong suit, either on the “noticing” or “respecting” side of the equation, so this seemed like a necessary precaution. “I’ll go first.”

The pepper grinder rattled to a stop pointing slightly more toward Jean. “I challenge myself to walk across the room with this magazine on my head.”

After she failed to keep the glossy resort guide from hitting the floor, Charlie attempted to stand on one leg for a minute while Jean timed him.

“Nice try, Karate Kid.”

They went back and forth, risking nothing spicier than downing a handful of wasabi peas, before Jean casually raised the stakes.

“I challenge myself to take off my shirt.”

“Jean.” He put a hand on her arm to stop her. “This isn’t really part of your job, is it?”

Oh dear. He was the easiest mark she’d ever met, but in a strange way, his innocence was so complete it almost felt like a protective shield. Who would take advantage of someone so pure? Teasing didn’t count; she suspected he needed more of that.

“I clocked out at ten, Captain Underpants.” She smiled at his gusty exhale. It was as if she’d told him (and everyone else in Whoville) that Christmas wasn’t canceled after all.

He tracked the movement of her hands as she raised the hem of her polo a couple of inches and then lowered it again, faking him out a few times before ripping it off in one quick motion and tossing it onto the sofa.

It was a fluke of the laundry cycle that she happened to be wearing her best bra, black and lacy with a little bow between the cups.

Or so Jean chose to believe, even though there’d been another clean one in the drawer, a dingy cotton number.

But that reveal wouldn’t have left him looking like he’d been tased.

“Your turn.” She nodded at the pepper grinder.

He seemed to have forgotten the game, along with basic functions such as breathing and the use of his arms, because when he finally spun the “bottle,” it skidded across the table before thumping to the floor.

“Um,” he said, without bothering to verify that it was pointing at him, “I challenge myself to recite a poem.”

That was… unexpected.

Gripping the edge of the table with both hands, he closed his eyes before diving in. “Two paths diverged in a snowy wood and I, um, took the path less traveled by?”

It came out in a rush of overlapping syllables, his voice rising at the end as if he was asking instead of telling. “Those probably aren’t the right words, but I hate public speaking more than anything.”

“That was very brave.” And you are painfully adorable . Jean kept that thought to herself, suppressing the urge to pinch his cheeks. Or dig her hands into his rumpled hair and kiss him senseless. One of those.

But she couldn’t resist reaching past him to get to the pepper grinder, enjoying his sharp intake of breath as her side brushed his front, skin against skin.

When the bottle spun to a stop facing her, Jean pretended to think it over, tapping her chin with one finger, even though she knew exactly what she wanted to do.

“I challenge myself,” she said, slowly turning to face him, “to kiss you.”

Rising to her knees, she started to edge toward him, stopping when he placed a hand on her bare shoulder. It rested there an instant before he jerked away as if stung.

“Jean.” He pushed his glasses up his nose, giving her a better view of his solemn expression. “You don’t have to do that. If you don’t want to.”

She leaned closer so she could whisper in his ear. “It was my idea.”

“Good point.”

Jean sat back. “Unless you’d rather I didn’t?”

“No, no. Be my guest.” He took off his glasses, waving a hand like he was gesturing her to precede him through a revolving door. “I’d hate to be a bad sport.”

They grinned at each other, small and fleeting in his case, but Jean still felt the trace of it as she pressed her lips against his.

It was a good mouth, smooth and warm and welcoming.

She took her time exploring, keeping it lips only.

For now. When she pulled away, his eyes stayed closed, giving her a chance to study the planes of his face at close range, the inky hair and pale hollows of his cheekbones and jaw.

“Heartbreaker” was the word that came to mind—like an old-time movie star.

He blinked at her, slowly resurfacing. “I think that might have been more than one.”

Jean tapped her lower lip with the pad of her index finger. “Do I get a penalty? Maybe I should go again.”

“That would be cheating. It’s my turn now.”

As it turned out, he wasn’t only talking about spinning the bottle. He leaned forward with his eyes closed, pressing the slowest, sweetest sigh of a kiss to her lips, leaving Jean no choice but to up the ante by daring herself to climb onto his lap.

“Comfortable?” he asked, when she finished wiggling herself into place, using his shoulders as handholds.

“Very.” She tightened her legs around his waist, watching his breath stutter as she rocked her hips. “What’s your move, cowboy?”

His eyes tracked down her body to the lacy triangles of her bra. “I…”

“Go for it,” she told him when he trailed off. “It’s easier than poetry. And it’s practically see-through anyway.”

“That’s true.” He swallowed. “You’re good at logic too.”

“I like to think so.” Despite the fact that no one else in her life appreciated Jean’s problem-solving skills.

His hands moved from her waist to the bottom of her bra, fingers brushing the clasp in back.

“I challenge myself to do this,” he said in a rush, undoing the strap and peeling it off. He started to fold it, but Jean yanked it out of his hand and threw it against the far wall.

At first, he could only blink, eyes wide and fixed on a point below her chin. “So pretty,” he finally whispered.

“Are you talking about my boobs?” Jean glanced down, in case they’d gotten a glow-up without her noticing.

“And this,” he said, tracing a finger along the dark edges of the tattoo she’d designed for herself, climbing up her bicep and around the curve of her shoulder until it almost touched her collarbone. “What kind of flowers are these?”

“Plumeria. They have the most incredible scent.”

He bent to press his nose to her upper arm. “It makes me dizzy how good you smell.”

She thought about letting him believe that was her natural fragrance but didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. “That’s gardenia. It’s my perfume.”

“It’s the best smell I ever smelled.”

“Better than baking bread?”

“Mmm.” Charlie rubbed his face along her arm. “Or fresh-cut grass. And… fruit.” He trailed off like he couldn’t remember the names of any specific varieties just then.

“Strawberry?” Jean suggested, thinking he might be looking at her chest.

“Peaches.” His voice was thick, like she’d drugged him. “And cream.”

“You still with me, Dakota?”

He breathed a noise of assent against the inside of her elbow. “I like the birds too.”

“Ravens. They remind me of me.”

“Because of your shiny black hair, or being so smart?”

“Let’s go with that.” Although she would have said cunning, and occasionally obnoxious. His version sounded better.

You really like me, don’t you, Charlie? She kept the words on the inside, not wanting to freak either of them out.

Jean wasn’t a stranger to making a strong first impression.

People might be dazzled initially (or possibly shocked), but the shine wore off once they realized she wasn’t interested in being their party monkey—wacky fun, on command!

—or watering herself down to be more socially acceptable.

It was different with Charlie. His admiration felt too sincere to second-guess.

She was still processing the compliment when he wrapped his arms around her ribs and yanked her against him, chest to chest. His face pressed to the side of her neck.

“You feel incredible too,” he said on a ragged inhale.

Jean didn’t answer right away, due in part to how tightly he was squeezing her, but also because she had not seen the hug coming. “You didn’t spin for that,” she said, to cover her surprise.

“Hugs are free.” He gave her another squeeze before loosening his grip slightly. “Did you know a python can feel the heartbeat of its prey as it constricts?”

“I did not.”

“They tighten their coils every time they breathe out, until the blood can’t move around anymore.”

“Just to be clear, that’s not your endgame?”

His laugh rumbled against her stomach. “I promise not to constrict you to death.” He ran a hand up her back, fingers spanning the space between her shoulder blades, and then down her side. The pressure was right on the line between ticklish and not. “I can’t stop touching you.”

“Do your worst.” She licked the hollow of his throat, hoping it would give him ideas.

“Did you know they can smell with their tongues?”

“Snakes?” Jean didn’t really need to ask, but it was part of the fun of being with him. Here we are, talking about reptiles. As one does.

“They use them to pick up odor particles and deposit them in there.” He pointed at the roof of his mouth. “They have a special organ.”

That’s what she said . Jean didn’t crack the joke, because she didn’t want Charlie to think she was laughing at him.

“I have a theory.” She paused to make sure she had his full attention. “About why you’re here.”

He stiffened beneath her, and not in the interesting way; he’d been in that state since Jean took off her shirt.

“Don’t worry. I’m not asking you to confirm or deny. This is about my powers of deduction. Okay?”

His nod was reluctant.

“So you’re a scientist, right? One of those orciologists?”

“O phi ologist.”

“I guess the other one is probably killer whales.”

Charlie frowned. “I’m not sure—”

“The point remains,” Jean interrupted. “You’re a sexy science guy.”

“Well now, I don’t know about that,” he started to quibble, until she shushed him with a finger to his lips.