Page 70 of Last Chance Love

“Since when do you know your Dickens?” I asked as I plucked a piece of bacon from the container. “You hated the excerpts we had to read for class. Said they made you feel like your brain had turned into sanded-down wood. For the record, that makes as little sense now as it did back then.”

He made a harsh rubbing gesture at his head. “Just the constant grind that reduces my brain cells to sawdust.”

“Mmm, yeah, not helping.”

“Anyway, everyone knows about the orphan scene and how he wants more.”

“You could always go back and read it, see if there’s anything else you could pull from it.”

“Thanks, I think I’ll stick to detective books.”

“Don’t think I didn’t recognize a couple of the books on that shelf of yours. The ones you didn’t get from the library.”

I had to give him credit; if it had been anyone else but me, his attempt to hide his surprise would have been effective. As it was, I saw the way his lipsalmostthinned noticeably and the twitch of his eyes as he fought off the instinct to widen them. Mostly, though, it was the way he stared at me for a second too long in complete silence as he tried to think about what he could say that might throw me off the trail…which he had no hope of.

“What books?” he asked finally.

I cut into the final flapjack, knowing it was too much for me to eat, but a full stomach could easily lose an argument against happy tastebuds. “I have to say, your taste in romance books is special. They don’t have obvious covers that would give them away, but they are what they are.”

He blinked, fighting with himself for a moment before sighing. “I got into the series ages ago. They were different from other romance books. Less, I don’t know, fluffy.”

“Then you’ll have to let me read them, and I can tell you whether they're good or if you’re just being picky.”

“Wait, you didn’t recognize them?”

“No, not really a romance book reader myself.”

“Then how…ugh, you read them, didn’t you?”

“I might have skimmed the backs and seen what they were about.”

“Right.”

“So when you said you liked detective books, you mean you like two FBI agents who can’t stand each other and end up falling for each other while fighting crime and doing filthy things in private.”

He sighed. “There’s more to it than that.”

“Oh, what kind of filthy things do they do then? Is it kinky?”

“No, other than a couple of, uh, rough scenes, they’re pretty vanilla. The good stuff is in the plots and how the two stop being, well, awful.”

“Well, it’s hard to argue with you expanding your horizons. If you want to read about sexy FBI agents, I won’t stop you.”

“You’re trying to provoke me.”

“Trying and succeeding in so many ways, it’s almost unfair but funny.”

“Weird how that seems one-sided.”

“Sometimes life is unfair. Are there handcuffs involved?”

He rolled his eyes. “I said they weren’t kinky.”

I snorted, closing the empty container and dropping it into the basket beside the desk. “Seriously? Light bondage is so vanilla these days that it might as well be flavorless. We’re in a day and age of breathplay, fisting, dildos, and strap-ons in the shape of animal dicks. All sorts of things count as the base level of kink.”

He stared at me, and I had to restrain the urge to laugh, but then I realized he was probably screaming internally. After another beat, he swallowed and cleared his throat. “So, uh, I guess you’ve experienced some…interesting things then?”

“Well, we can’t stay innocent forever, right?” I asked with a wink. “Plus, everyone knows nurses arefreaks, and you want to guess what I worked alongside all the time? And don’t even get me started on how stressful med school can be and the ways you find to work off stress before you explode.”

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