Caged (Gold Hockey #11) - Elise Faber Page 0,20

tugged open the door. “Whatcha doing?”

To her credit, she got over her surprise in a flash. Shrugging, her tone completely even and without a hint of embarrassment, she said, “Snooping.”

“That usually involves opening and closing things,” he said, moving to a bank of drawers and tugging out the top one. “Like that.” He nodded at it. “This exhibit is my junk drawer, and there are many interesting things in here that tell you about the various parts of my psyche.”

Her lips twitched, probably because he sounded like a dumbass.

But whatever, she wasn’t running from the house, so that was a win in his book.

“Like what?” she asked, peering down into the drawer.

Okay, that he wasn’t really sure of. It was his junk drawer, a place to dump his receipts, old keys, etc. His gaze drifted down, and also apparently a place to dump several candy bars and a manual for his car. He reached in, picked up one of the bars. “I like Snickers?” he asked.

More twitching of those lips. “That is not on Rebecca’s meal plan.”

Probably why they were shoved in the drawer in the first place. “How about receipts?” He snagged one at random. “Look, this says I spent twenty-two dollars and ninety-six cents on gas.”

She giggled. “That is actually more telling than you probably suspect.”

“Why’s that?”

She snagged it, pointed at the total. “It means you’re one of them.”

“What do you mean by them?”

“Them being,” she said, lips twitching, “one of those weirdos who fills up their car when it’s only halfway empty.”

He tilted his head to the side, and he studied her closely. “As opposed to what?”

She set the receipt down, closed the drawer. “As opposed to us normal folks who drive until we’re on fumes and then begrudgingly hit up the gas station.”

“That sounds stressful.”

Amusement in those amber eyes. “I like to live dangerously.” She laughed. “Okay, not so much. The truth is that I hate going to gas stations.”

“Why?”

A shrug. “It just always seems like such a waste of time. The cheap places always have long lines, and then it takes forever to fill up your tank, but not long enough to be able to do anything productive like reading.”

“Bookworm,” he teased.

“Takes one to know one.”

He laughed. “Also, not sure if you’re aware, but you’re obsessed with this concept of wasting.”

She smiled up at him. “I like to be as frugal with my time as possible, is all.”

Curiosity threaded through him like fibers weaving into a basket, coiling, wrapping around each, pulling taut. “And what does being frugal with your time consist of?”

Her gaze drifted to the ceiling as she considered the question. Then she glanced back down, her eyes meeting his, and it was as though he’d been struck by a cattle prod. Electricity flowed through his nerves, his muscles tightening, his body going stiff—okay, maybe that was just his cock.

“Keystrokes are the most important frugal use of my time,” she said, “followed by doing my best to never drive during peak hours, thus wasting my free moments in traffic.” She ticked off the items on her fingers. “Also, I never spend more than eight hours in bed, even if I can’t sleep.”

He’d circle back to that later—because there were many reasons to spend more than eight hours in bed, especially with a woman like Dani. Right now, he had to bite on something else she said. Lifting a brow, he asked, “Key . . . strokes?”

A chuckle bubbled up in her throat, and she sighed. “Seriously?”

He took her hand in his again, lacing their fingers together, tracing light patterns on the inside of her wrist. She shivered as he touched that sensitive skin, but she didn’t pull away. In fact, she shifted a little closer. He sidled closer himself, until his body was a hairsbreadth from hers. Her skin smelled like strawberries, and he found himself drifting closer, wanting to taste it on his tongue.

Patience.

“So, you never laze in bed?”

She swallowed, and he traced the lines of her throat with his gaze. “No,” she said. “I don’t have any patience for it. Too much to do. Too many things in my brain that . . .” She trailed off.

“That what?”

“Too many things that only seem to come to the forefront of my mind when it’s too quiet, when dark has taken over the world.” She shook her head. “That sounds ridiculous, I know.” A smile that didn’t look right in the least. “Come on,” she said, turning for the front door, “let’s go