She gasped and giggled. “Is it? How a dominatrix sounds,” she asked.
“Pfft.” He snorted. “I have no idea. Too much alpha,” he told her.
Well, there you have it, she thought with a smirk. The man was a walking, talking advertisement for testosterone overload. He exuded masculinity. It was hard to imagine him being submissive.
“I think I’d laugh and ruin it,” he told her in a sexy drawl. “But if you wanna play at being a domme, I’d give it an honest try.”
“No, you wouldn’t.” She playfully snorted.
He nodded and bit back a smirk. “You’re probably right.”
“Okay, then.” Summer giggled. “Back to setting the scene.”
Arnie relaxed, slung an arm on the back of the sofa, and looked around.
“Less light.” He grinned. “Music is good. So is background porn.”
The look she gave him was as dry and snarky as she could pull off. It wasn’t easy—not when a smile and a giggle were fighting to take over.
“I volunteer to do the cleanup,” he told her with an air of manly superiority. “Cleaning shit up is something I excel at.”
He gathered their trash and empty bowls and walked all of it into the kitchen. She jumped up and ran around, turning lights on and off until the proper making-out ambience was achieved.
“Mind if I help myself to a beverage?” Arnie hollered.
“Help yourself to a Diet Coke.” She listened for his laugh and smiled when it came.
He was easy to be with and super easy to like. It was a comfort thing, or maybe he gave off a safe vibe—she wasn’t sure if it was either or something else entirely, but whatever it was, she couldn’t stop herself from jumping first and being sensible later. Much later.
“Music. Oh, god.” She nibbled her lip and considered the options. Her musical tastes were eccentric and ranged from be-bop kid songs to modern country to ’80s hair bands.
Wait a minute.
A lightning bolt of giddiness hit her. At the rock-steady age of almost twenty-five and with ample opportunity to change her mind, she was making a choice. Going all the way with the sexy, outrageously funny blonde wasn’t something she was doing capriciously. It was fated, and she was sure of it.
Trying to be something she wasn’t or playing a part wasn’t who she was, and she was relatively sure Arnie wasn’t interested in a charade. Amidst all the smiling and laughter was a deeply serious undertone. He wasn’t shy about telling it like it was. There really was something happening between them. Something wild and untamed. Something she wanted to explore joyfully and not stumble into shyly.
She grabbed her iPad, brought up a playlist, synced the device with a Bluetooth speaker, and got ready to blow his mind. Tonight was going to be memorable anyway, so why not add a soundtrack?
“A girl after my own heart,” Arnie said with a chuckle. He held up an ice-filled plastic tumbler filled with soda. “Scooby-Doo? Really?”
Oh! Summer giggled. The tumbler was decorated with the Scooby gang in vinyl. It was a joke between her and Reed. He was always telling her never to trust anyone who drove a van. Except for the Mystery Machine. That was the exception.
When it came to big brothers, Reed was the best—even if he was a know-it-all pain in the ass.
“I’ve been told I’m a Daphne.” She accepted a tumbler and smiled. “I’m definitely not a Velma. I wouldn’t make the debate team, and while I’m part California hippie, I think I’m mostly like Fred and not because of the hair.” She held a finger to her lips, and fake whispered, “Don’t tell anyone, but I’m a bit of a jock.”
“I drive a van. For work,” he told her with a straight face.
“No. You. Do. Not!”
He laughed. “Nah, it’s true. It has a distinct Mystery Machine vibe made worse by the addition of some well-placed Scooby stickers.”
She sipped the soda and tried to imagine what his job entailed. From everything he’d told her, his security agency sounded like something out of a Judd Apatow movie.
“Now, in my defense,” he drawled, “because you know a guy always has to have a defense, there was a significant amount of alcohol involved. It started in a hole-in-the-wall store in New York City. Me and one of the guys. We stopped for munchies one night, and a rack display of Scooby stickers was near the register.”
He painted an interesting picture. She smiled and winked. “Boys will be boys?”