Chapter 26 The Real Interrogation
THE REAL INTERROGATION
DALLAS
There's a specific kind of contentment that settles into your bones when you've had earth-shattering sex twice in twelve hours, and the woman responsible for it is sitting at your kitchen island like she belonged there.
Which, technically, she did.
I leaned against the counter, protein shake in hand, watching Davina tap away at her laptop.
Her hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun that was somehow both chaotic and sexy, loose strands escaping to frame her face.
She'd stolen one of my t-shirts, a grey Tampa Bay Buccaneers tee that rode up every time she moved, making it very difficult to concentrate on hydrating.
Ricky positioned himself at her feet, his head resting on his paws, but his eyes tracking my every movement with deep suspicion.
He'd apparently decided that while I was tolerable enough to share a bed with his mother, I still required constant surveillance.
Every few seconds, one ear would twitch in my direction, monitoring me for signs of treachery.
Karen, meanwhile, had claimed the corner of the kitchen island as her throne. She sat with her tail curled around her paws.
My wife. My dog. My foster cat who acted like she owned the deed to the house.
The words still felt strange in my head. Like wearing a new pair of shoes that hadn't quite broken in yet. Except these shoes came with spectacular legs, a mouth that could cut me down to size faster than any opponent in the ring, and a small zoo of animals with strong opinions about my existence.
Davina reached for her coffee mug without looking, took a sip, and made a small sound of satisfaction that went straight to places that had no business being awake again this soon.
Karen's ear rotated toward the sound, then she turned her judgmental gaze on me, as if she knew exactly what I was thinking.
“Take a picture,” Davina said, not looking up from her screen. “It will last longer.”
“I'm admiring.”
Her fingers kept moving across the keyboard. “It looks like you're plotting something.”
Ricky lifted his head at her voice, glanced between us, then settled back down.
“The only thing I'm plotting is whether I can convince you to take a break from whatever's got you scowling at your laptop.” I took a long pull of my protein shake, watching her over the rim. “I have ideas. Involving that shirt and the removal of it.”
Karen made a sound somewhere between a meow and a sigh, hopping down from the island with the grace of a creature who decided this conversation was beneath her. She stalked toward the living room, tail held high, radiating disapproval.
“Even the cat thinks you're being inappropriate,” Davina said, her lips twitching.
“The cat thinks everything I do is inappropriate. Yesterday, she knocked my protein powder off the counter and stared at me while it happened.”
“She's establishing dominance.”
“She's established it. I'm fully dominated. I live in fear.”
Her lips twitched again, but she kept her eyes on the screen. “Some of us have actual work to do. Not all of us can coast on our good looks and questionable life choices.”
“Questionable?” I pressed a hand to my chest. “I'll have you know my life choices have been exceptional lately. Exhibit A: convincing you to marry me.”
“You didn't convince me of anything. Tequila did the heavy lifting.”
“Tequila got credit, but I did the follow-through.” I set down my shake and moved around the island, coming up behind her. My hands found her shoulders, thumbs pressing into the knots of tension I could feel there. “What's got you so focused?”
She made a sound that was half groan, half sigh as I worked at the tight muscles.
“Podcast prep,” she managed. “I'm trying to figure out how to introduce my new husband to my audience without sounding like I've completely lost my mind.”
“Just tell them the truth. You met a dashingly handsome wrestler, fell madly in love, and couldn't resist his charms.”
“So... lie completely.”
“I prefer creative interpretation of events.” I leaned down, pressing a kiss to the exposed skin of her neck where my shirt had slipped. Her skin was warm, still carrying traces of her shower, and I had the sudden, vivid memory of how she'd tasted last night, this morning, both.
She tilted her head, giving me better access, and I took full advantage.
Ricky whined softly, clearly conflicted about this development. On one paw, his mother seemed happy. On the other paw, I was touching her, and he still hadn't fully forgiven me for existing in her life.
“Dallas...”
“Mm?”
“If you start something right now, I'm never going to finish this outline.”
“That sounds like a you problem.”
She laughed, swatting at my hands, but there was no real force behind it. “Boundaries. We discussed boundaries.”
“Did we? I don't recall that conversation. Must have been distracted by something.” I nipped at her earlobe. “Or someone.”
Karen chose that moment to return from her living room exile, leaping back onto the island with a pointed meow that sounded distinctly like get a room. She sat directly on Davina's keyboard, her considerable fluff spreading across the laptop screen.
“Karen!” Davina groaned. “I was in the middle of…”
The cat slow-blinked at her, unrepentant, then began grooming her paw with aggressive nonchalance.
“She's helping,” I offered. “She agrees you need a break.”
“She's being a menace.”
“Menace is a strong word for someone who just wants attention.” I reached over to scratch behind Karen's ears, and she allowed it. “See? She likes me.”
“She tolerates you.”
“I'll take it. That’s more than Ricky gives me.”
At the sound of his name, Ricky's head popped up again. He stared at me for a long moment, then turned his back, presenting me with his tiny spotted rump as he curled tighter around Davina's feet.
“He's warming up to you,” Davina said, but her voice was shaking with suppressed laughter.
“He literally just showed me his ass.”
“That's how dachshunds show affection.”
“That's absolutely not true.”
“How would you know? Have you ever owned a dachshund?”
“I've never owned any dog. I'm learning on the job here.” I gestured at the menagerie surrounding us. “I went from zero pets to a judgmental cat and a wiener dog with trust issues in the span of twenty-four hours.”
Karen meowed, as if to remind me that she was not, in fact, my pet. She was merely allowing me to cohabitate in her space.
“You're doing fine,” Davina said, finally abandoning her laptop and swiveling on the barstool to face me. “Ricky's barking has decreased by at least thirty percent.”
“He barked at me for eleven minutes straight this morning because I walked past his water bowl.”
“See? Progress. Yesterday it was fifteen minutes.”
The truth was, standing there in my sun-drenched kitchen with this woman who'd somehow become the center of my universe, surrounded by animals who had very strong opinions about my worthiness, I realized something terrifying.
This felt easy.
Not the fake-marriage-for-PR-purposes kind of easy. The real kind. The kind where I could picture doing this every morning for the rest of my life—her at my island, me making inappropriate comments, Ricky providing running commentary in barks and sighs.
“You know,” I murmured against her skin, having migrated back to that spot on her neck that made her breath catch, “we could skip the podcast prep entirely. Stay in bed all day. Order takeout.”
Karen made a disgusted sound and jumped off the counter, apparently having heard enough.
She turned her head, and suddenly our faces were inches apart. Her eyes, bright and knowing, searched mine. “You're in a mood this morning.”
“I'm in a great mood. Exceptional mood. Best mood of my life, possibly.”
“And that has nothing to do with the fact that you got laid twice?”
“It has everything to do with that,” I admitted freely. “But also...” I paused, not sure how to explain how I was feeling. “I like this. Having you here. In my kitchen. Wearing my shirt. Looking like you belong.”
Ricky chose that moment to stand up on his hind legs, front paws braced against Davina's calf, demanding to be picked up. She obliged, scooping him into her arms where he immediately snuggled against her chest and shot me a look of pure triumph that said; She's mine. I was here first.
“Your dog is gloating at me.”
“He's not gloating. He's... okay, he's gloating a little.”
Her expression softened, and for a moment, her usual defenses dropped. Ricky must have sensed it too, because he stopped his victory stare and nuzzled closer to her neck.
“Dallas...”
The doorbell rang.
We both froze.
Ricky's head whipped toward the sound, and he launched into full defensive mode, his barks echoing through the kitchen with enough force to make the windows rattle.
“ARF ARF ARF ARF ARF!”
Karen came tearing back into the kitchen from wherever she'd retreated to, fur puffed, looking deeply offended.
“Are you expecting someone?” Davina asked, raising her voice over Ricky's alarm system.
“No.” I frowned toward the front of the house. “You?”
“I don't live here.”
“Yes, you do.”
The doorbell rang again. Ricky's barking reached a pitch that probably registered on seismographs.
“Maybe it's a delivery,” I said, already moving toward the door.
“At nine in the morning?”
“ waits for no man.”
I padded through the living room, suddenly very aware that I was shirtless and wearing only basketball shorts. Whatever.
Ricky was now running circles around my ankles, determined to be the first line of defense against whatever threat lurked beyond the door.
I pulled it open.
And my brain short-circuited.
Standing on my front porch was… Davina.
Except it wasn't Davina, because Davina was in my kitchen wearing my shirt. But this woman had the same blonde hair, the same bone structure, the same stubborn set to her jaw. She was maybe an inch shorter, and her hair was shorter instead of Davina's longer waves. But the resemblance was uncanny.