Page 12 of Unleashing Chaos

He laughs, and it’s a hearty sound that warms my insides. Cannon is like a summer breeze; he emanates light and makes every situation comfortable.

“Tell me what a man has to bring to the table to make you swipe right.”

“You talking physically or emotionally?”

“Either. Both?”

I shift and lean back casually against my seat, trying to play cool. “As far as looks go, I like it when a guy is taller than me, which isn’t always easy, considering I’m not exactly petite.” I let my gaze travel over him, from his face down to his arms. “I’m a bicep girl. I like it when, you know, a guy’s arms sort of . . . bulge out from under his T-shirt sleeves.” My eyes flick up and I continue. “I like broad shoulders—even though I can take care of myself, I also like to feel protected.” Meeting his bright-blue stare, I add, “And light eyes get me every time. Personality . . . funny, sweet, calm, collected.”

“So, when do you take me home to meet your dad?”

My cheeks heat and I push my hair behind my ear. “My dad is a little intimidating. Why don’t we start with finishing this date and then a second one before we start talking about that?”

“Just joking, Desi. I only want to spend time with you. I definitely don’t want scary dad brought into the mix.”

“I know. I was kidding too,” I say, taking another long drink of my margarita, nearly draining the glass. I haven’t eaten all day so I could fit into this dress, and my alcohol tolerance isn’t very high as it is. I can already feel my eyes glazing over and my head spinning just enough to loosen my nerves.

“Do they dance at this bar?” I ask, looking around to where the band is playing near the front of the room.

“I don’t know, but I do know that I don’t dance. Ever. Never. If you need to move, we can go for a walk.” He stands and grabs my hand, pulling me out of my seat playfully.

“No, no, no, sir. I don’t think so. I’m not going to miss the magical pickles. You hyped them up too much.” I shove him gently back into the booth and slide in next to him, leaning in against his side, soaking in his warmth. “And what do you mean you don’t dance? That’s a travesty.”

“I’m terrible at it. I even ditched those slow dances where you just spin in a tiny circle with your partner.”

“Ohh,” I say in an exaggerated tone, resting my head on his shoulder. “That makes sense. I’ll give you a pass then. But maybe you’ll let me teach you one day? Just you and me at the house?”

He glances down at my face and cracks a smile. “We’ll see.”

His hand drops next to mine on the seat, and his thumb traces zigzags over my knuckles. It’s a sweet gesture that makes me flutter with excitement. I sweep my index finger over his in a small confirmation that I approve of the touch.

“You’re soft,” he whispers against the crown of my head.

Heart racing, I lift my eyes to his. “Cannon—”

“Here you guys go,” the server says in a cheery voice as she slides a plate of pickles in front of us and we break apart as if electrocuted.

“Thank you,” I say, turning to face the table, grabbing a pickle, and dipping it in the ranch dressing before cramming it into my mouth as she walks away, her face flushed with the knowledge that she just interrupted something. What, I have no idea. But it was something.

“What do you think?” Cannon asks, eating a pickle chip.

I swallow and nod as I snatch another one from the tray. “Delicious, actually. I’ll admit I was a little unsure. But there’s something about them that’s addictive. I think I could eat this whole damn tray. I can’t believe my brother has never conj—I mean, has never cooked these for me before,” I say, hoping he didn’t catch my almost slip. The word conjure in relation to food really doesn’t make much sense and would no doubt lead to some awkward questions.

“I’m guessing you’ve never been to a state fair. The fried possibilities are endless.”

“Never.”

“We’ll have to add that to our list of potential dates.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” I say, shoving another pickle in my mouth.

He grins and I lean back against him, and we spend the next couple of hours talking about anything and everything from favorite foods to favorite colors to most hated movies and pet peeves, and before I know it, I’m yawning every other minute, and the three margaritas I’ve had are slurring my words.

“Desi, I think it’s time I take you home,” Cannon says with an amused expression. “You look like you’re feeling a little too warm and fuzzy.”

“I’m good,” I say through a yawn, and I cover my mouth sheepishly. “Well, I might be just a li’l bit tired.” I hold my index finger and thumb up to show just how tired I am, which is not a lot. Which happens to be a total lie. I’m exhausted, but also feeling brave. I turn to him in the booth and run my fingertip down the center of his chest. “Did you have fun tonight?”

“I did. I think I achieved what I set out to do. I’ve learned more about you and have you cuddled right next to me. This was a good start in my opinion.”

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