Page 23 of Enforcing the Rules

She lifted her chin. “So, tell me about you, Utah.”

I folded my arms on the bar top and leaned closer, dipping my head toward hers. “What do you want to know?”

She studied my eyes for a long moment, and I got sucked right into hers. They were golden brown with long dark lashes and turned up at the corners. She had more makeup on tonight. That smokey eye thing girls do. I liked it on her. She looked sexy and mysterious.

“Something no one else knows about you,” she elaborated.

I blinked, thinking long and hard about what I could tell her. I wanted to give her something true, not some bullshit answer. I reached for her glass and took a sip of her drink, licking my lips. Whiskey on the rocks. My kind of girl.

“Okay. Here’s something no one knows about me.”

“Do tell.”

“I hate snakes. Can’t stand ‘em. My older brother took me to see Indiana Jones when I was a kid. I freaked out when that scene came on the screen with all the snakes. Ran out of the theater and wouldn’t go back. Nope. No way in hell.”

She giggled. “Guess I shouldn’t take you home to meet my pet snake then, huh?”

I swear I could feel myself pale. “Tell me you’re lying. Tell me you’re not one of those crazy chicks with pet snakes and tarantulas.”

“I’m kidding.”

I held up a finger. “Do not play with me like that. Not about snakes.”

She reached to the tray of bar condiments and grabbed a cherry, popping it into her mouth. “I don’t like them either, to tell the truth.”

I couldn’t drag my eyes from her mouth and that cherry disappearing inside. Finally, I cleared my throat. “We have something in common, then. Your turn. Tell me something about you.”

“I hate peanut butter.”

“Come on. Something nobody knows.”

“I’m a pretty open book.”

“There’s gotta be something.”

“Okay. Fine. I’ve got a huge Christmas collection. So big, I have a storage locker filled with décor. You know, like ornaments and garlands and blow-ups. I’d love to have a big house with a tree in every room, all decorated differently. My family doesn’t even know how much stuff I’ve collected.”

“So, you’re a hoarder?”

“I’m a collector. There’s a difference. I take it out every Christmas. I suppose I’ve kind of got an addiction. When the home shopping networks have their Christmas in July show, I take off work just to watch it. That’s pretty crazy, right?”

“It’s a little crazy. I could think of worse things to be obsessed with. At least you aren’t one of those chicks with a skulls collection or those scary Victorian dolls. Christmas is okay. Who doesn’t like Christmas stuff, huh?”

“You’re just saying that.”

“I love Christmas, especially the hot cocoa… if there’s whiskey in it.” He grinned. “Do you really have a storage locker full of Christmas shit, or are you pulling my leg?”

“I really do. Scared yet?”

“No, ma’am. Be real hard to scare me off of a woman who looks like you.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Kate—

I sipped my drink, the alcohol warming all the way down, but the flash of heat that shot through my body had nothing to do with the whiskey. Even dressed as Utah was in the plain denim shirt and jeans, he couldn’t disguise the badass underneath. Tattoos peeked out of his cuff, and I couldn’t resist reaching over with my index finger and pushing the edge up an inch. “I bet you have a lot of ink under there.”

He flashed me those pretty white teeth, the grooves along his mouth deepening. “Come back to my place, and I’ll show you every one of ‘em.”

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