Page 27 of Things Good Girls Don't Do (Rock Canyon, Idaho 1)

“’Cause, I’m still getting to know you. I don’t even know if you’re a Coke or Pepsi guy,” she said.

“Coke,” he said quickly, before stuffing a French fry in his mouth.

“Hmmm . . . I’m a Pepsi girl. Although, the truth is, my favorite soda is Dr. Pepper,” she said.

As strange as it was for her to put so much stock in his choice of pop, it wasn’t the weirdest conversation he’d ever had. Although he was a bit surprised when, in mid-bite, she followed it with, “So, have you been tested for . . . stuff?”

He raised his eyebrow, knowing exactly what she was talking about but loving the way she nervously stuttered. “Yeah. I’m clean.” She looked relieved and he laughed. “What about you?”

She nodded. “After I found out Jimmy had . . . cheated, I got tested.”

“And there’s been nobody since your ex?”

She shook her head, and he was secretly pleased she didn’t just hop into bed with anyone, although it wouldn’t have mattered if there had been someone else. He wanted her too much and he wasn’t exactly a saint.

They finished their food, and he got down from his stool, taking two steps closer to stand between her legs. She leaned back on the counter and he put his hands on her thighs as he asked, “So does this little interview mean you want me to come over tonight?”

“I don’t know.” She nibbled on her lip and he leaned over to kiss it, taking the plump flesh into his mouth and sucking gently. He slid his tongue over it, happy to be able to taste her like this. He had been worried when he left last night that he’d blown it, and the thought had been like a sucker punch. Katie had wormed her way under his skin, and he just couldn’t seem to shake wanting her.

“Do you have your list?” he asked, pulling back from her.

Her eyes still closed, she tried to bring him back to her. “It’s in my purse.”

Chuckling, he reached out to grab her purse off the counter and gave her a quick kiss. “Hmmm . . . why do women keep so much shit in these things?” he asked as he started rummaging through the bottomless pit of change, lip gloss, and other odd items only a girl would think she’d need.

“Because we like to be prepared, whereas men would rather MacGyver their way through life,” she said.

Looking up with a grin, he said, “Struck a nerve?”

“No, I’m used to hearing that kind of thing from men, and with you being such a guy’s guy, I figure you probably call women ‘chicks’ and slap barmaids’ butts,” she said.

“Guess we’ll have to go out and find a barmaid. See if your theory is right.” He found the napkin and held it up. “Aha!”

“Look at that! You managed to find something through all my . . . stuff,” she said.

Grabbing a pen off the counter and handing it to her, Chase said, “Here you go, sassy Sue. You need to check off your tattoo, your streaks, the sex shop, and saying the first thing that came to your mind.”

She took the pen. “But I didn’t go to a sex shop,” she argued.

He grinned. “You have everything you need from one. Except the handcuffs.”

She hit his arm and he grabbed her hand. “And Becca told me about how you went off on Mrs. Andrews. You said the first thing that came to mind. I bet you apologized afterward, but it still counts.”

She didn’t pull away as he stroked her hand but said, “Which reminds me, I have to call her tonight about the weather. There’s supposed to be a big thunderstorm coming in, so we will have to move the pageant from an outdoor stage to the community center. And reschedule the fireworks. Knowing Mrs. Andrews, she’ll probably call it a blessing.”

“Does that woman like anything? What kind of person hates fireworks?

You get to play with fire and watch things explode,” he said.

“Why are all men such pyros?” she asked, laughing. “She doesn’t hate them; she just thinks they’re a waste of money.”

“I see. Well, back to your list. All you have left is to steal something—which, again, I do not recommend—skinny-dip, get drunk and flirt with a bunch of guys—not a big fan of that one either—have a one-night stand, and buy some handcuffs. Oh, and tell your ex that he’s a jerk off. I don’t know why you need to explain that; it should be obvious to him.”

“It’s therapeutic for me, and no, I don’t think Jimmy considers himself to be anything less than awesome.” Running her hand over his chest, she said, “I could just text Becca about the handcuffs.”

“Great, okay, so now a one-night stand. I do remember offering my services for that.” He dropped her hand to move closer.

Reaching up, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and said, “But it wouldn’t work with you.”

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