Spitfire in Love (Chasing Red 3)

“Like you’re seducing me with your words.”

My face relaxed into a lazy smile. “Am I?”

“See?” She blew out a breath. “Put a lid on it, all right? I got it.”

I chuckled. “Tell me.”

She looked up at the ceiling, then breathed deeply. She muttered something under her breath. I thought I heard Lord have mercy, but I wasn’t sure.

“Hold on.” She cranked her window open a little more. “Hmm, let me think,” she started, chewing her lip. “Like, what I do for fun? I like decorating. And designing.”

I was hoping she’d answer my other question—if I was succeeding in seducing her with my words. But I liked her answer too.

“Houses?”

She nodded. “I probably would have taken interior design if I had the money, but that’s what the internet is for, right? I just watch videos about it and I learn a lot.”

She preferred an eclectic style, I knew, remembering the time when I was in her house.

“What else?” I prodded.

“When I was a kid, I had this huge swing at our old house. Whenever I felt sad or angry or misunderstood, I’d just go there and swing the day away. If I had money to spare, maybe I’d buy some candy or a milkshake, and I wouldn’t get hungry while I was there. I didn’t have many friends so…” She jerked a shoulder. “I was too much for girls my age, I guess.”

She placed her hand on the steering wheel, her thumb rubbing the groove on it. “Dylan sometimes came with me, but mostly he stayed in the tree house. He and my dad built it and I decorated it. I think that’s where I started to love decorating.”

She pulled her seat back, tucking her long legs under her and leaning against the door so she was facing me. I liked that. I liked that a lot.

“I like fireworks too. When we were kids, Dad used to take me and Dylan to the Forks in Winnipeg. We’d drink milkshakes and eat spaghetti and feed the ducks in the river.”

The smile on her lips looked tender. Her childhood memories were happy ones. I wished I could tell her the same.

“Dylan wanted to ride the boat, but Dad didn’t have money. I don’t remember us having enough money ever.” She frowned. “I used to ask my dad every year to buy me new shoes for the new school year. I was a kid and didn’t know better, until I heard Andrew giving my dad shit about paying off his debts or something like that. I thought at the time, because I was so young, that I didn’t understand what they were talking about, but I realized I did. Because I never asked my dad to buy me anything after that.”

“Tell me more.”

“Hmm. I like makeup. I feel pretty with makeup.”

“You look pretty without it too.”

She snorted, not taking compliments from me. I wondered if she knew I meant every word.

“What about you?” she asked. “What do you like?”

“I like you.”

She blushed, then said, “Do you sleep around a lot?”

I paused. “Do you really want to know?”

She looked at me directly. “I guess I know.”

I was surprised how much that hurt coming from her.

“It didn’t mean anything to me,” I said. “And I feel like shit talking about it to you.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Because it’s…you.”