Into The Fire - E. L. Todd Page 0,24

I thought this would make up for it.” He held up a second finger. “I was hoping I could get your number if I were sweet enough.”

“Whatever the reason, they’re beautiful. I love sunflowers.”

“I think they’re really cool. They’re big and bright and not cliché like roses.”

I grabbed a vase from under the sink and placed the flowers inside. “Thank you. That was very thoughtful of you.”

“So…can I have that number?”

“Why do you want it so bad?” I filled the vase with water then set it on the table. “You can call me at the office whenever you want.”

“I don’t always feel like talking on the phone so I want to be able to text you. Come on, give it to me.” He wiggled his eyebrows in a ridiculous way.

“Is that supposed to convince me?”

He shrugged. “Works on everyone else.”

No, your good looks works on everyone else. “I’ll think about it.”

“Man, you’re such a tease. I let you sleep over and you won’t even give me that?”

“I’ll give it to you if you can guess it.”

“Are you crazy?” he asked. “That’ll take me three hundred years.”

“Three hundreds years?” I asked. “That’s oddly specific…”

“You would put an end to this conversation if you just handed it over.”

I pointed at the table. “Sit down.”

He remained standing.

“Do you want dinner or not?”

That got him in the chair. “What are we having?”

“Filet mignon, brussel sprouts, and mashed potatoes.”

He rubbed his palms together greedily. “Fuck yes.”

I served the plates then sat across from him.

“Shit, this looks good.” He shoved a brussel sprout into his mouth. “Even the green balls are good.” He practically inhaled his food, stuffing as much as possible into his mouth to where he could barely chew. “You’re a good cook.”

“I didn’t catch that.” I’d only taken a few bites in the amount of time he managed to eat half his plate.

He chewed for a full minute before he swallowed. “I said you’re a good cook.”

“Thanks.”

“I should have got better flowers.” He cut into his steak and took a big bite.

“They’re perfect.” I stared at them on the kitchen table. They brought life into the apartment.

“So…does it start with a seven?”

What was he talking about? “Sorry?”

“Your number.”

“You’re really going to guess it?”

“You aren’t giving me a choice,” he said. “So, does it start with a seven?”

“No.”

“Does it start with a six?”

“Nope.”

“Damn, this is going to take me forever.”

“So quit while you’re ahead.”

He set his fork down and stopped eating. “You know, I have a few buddies in homeland security. All I’d have to do is call in a favor and I’d have your digits.”

“Then why don’t you do that?” I was calling his bluff.

“Maybe I will.” He took a bite of his potatoes.

“Fine. Go ahead.”

His eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. “Dammit, just tell me.”

“Why don’t you ask your friends?” I sipped my wine.

“Because that would be a total breach of privacy. I’d rather just get it from you.”

“How thoughtful…”

“You’re such a tease.”

“I’m not a tease,” I argued. “I told you from the beginning I didn’t give out my number. It’s not my fault you thought you would be an exception to that. You told me not to expect you to change. Well, don’t expect me to change.”

“And that would be fine if I didn’t know you were full of shit. I’m sitting in your apartment and eating your cooking as we speak. Come on, you clearly trust me.”

He had a point. I’d never had a client in my apartment before. I’d never even told them what side of town I lived on. “Did you ever think that maybe I’m the serial killer and I’m just trying to get my clients to trust me?” I gave him a meaningful look and kept eating.

“You? A murderer?” he asked incredulously. “I’d like to see you try and take me down. You shouldn’t have picked a veteran to tango with. Even without my gun, I could kill you instantly.”

This dinner took a turn for the worst. “This is fun…”

“Sorry, I get a little hung up on stuff like that.”

“I can tell.” I sipped my wine and watched him across the table. His brown hair was a little long, which explained the light curling. His blue eyes were brighter than usual, and his fair skin was unusually clear. The ruggedness existed in his hands. They were calloused and dry from constant use. A man this attractive should be illegal. At six three, he was all man. His arms were the size of footballs, and his thighs were thick