Flirting With Disaster Read online

  Brooke laughed when he did just that. Before the tears of his mother's departure could set in, she had him sitting on a stool in the kitchen. This wasn't what she had in mind for the night. Dane had rolled by with takeout, some action flick and convinced her, easily, to have a night in. Their seventh in the past two weeks.

  She didn't mind the day off, because she'd been working hard. But him being here, her wanting him here meant they were getting closer to a relationship instead of just dating. Tension did its best to crawl up her neck.

  She exhaled and pushed that worry to the back of her mind. It was her day off and she needed one. Six of the cars were running again, and three looked spit shined. Whatever time she wasn't spending with Dane was spent at her shop with her brother.

  Pierce had packed up, moved to a hotel and driven into town. She never asked him why, but then again, he hadn't been at her house the first time Dane stayed over. She could guess he used the spare key, walked in, saw her and Dane's clothes strewn all over the living room floor and promptly turned around to find other lodging.

  And here she was, babysitting with him.

  Dane strolled into her kitchen as though it were his. The dark browns, deep mauves and golds complimented him or maybe vice versa. The moment felt so natural, so different than just a month before. Her life was unrecognizable. The fear she ignored flared back up again. What the hell was she doing?

  She pursed her lips, taking in the kid. “You look like a booger digger. Let's wash our hands.”

  Jon looked more like his mom than his dad so when his eyes rounded, she recognized Naomi in the small expression. The little boy said, “That's nasties.”

  She leaned forward and whispered, “Only if you eat them.

  He giggled. “I don't eat them.”

  She gasped. “I knew it. Booger digger.”

  He kicked his feet and that just made her smile. Dane moved beside her and asked, “Need some help?”

  “I'll get our hands washed up, make sure he uses the restroom. Can you get all the ingredients and things out?”

  He looked at Jon again and looked as wary as the boy did. “Sure.”

  She narrowed her gaze at his response. “Do kids make you nervous?”

  His brows rose before he sighed. “Yes.”

  Brooke glanced at Jon. “Are you scary?”

  The little boy put his hands above his head and roared.

  She met Dane's gaze who was smiling at Jon. “I guess you're right. Be very afraid.”

  She picked him up, did another twirl that elicited a giggle. When they returned to the kitchen, Dane had lined up everything she needed to make cookies from scratch. She handed Jon the measuring cup, stood behind him on the chair and then watched him make a complete mess while trying to measure flour.

  Dane leaned against the island, his hands clasped in front of him, his phone near his elbow. She opened her mouth to ask about his fear of children and realized how that question might sound—like she wanted to know if he would want kids with her. Dane cocked his head to the side, observant as usual and catching onto whatever insecurity she wanted to hide from him.

  She shook her head. They were dating. Emphasis on dating. Talking about children, even flirting with the subject, seemed like a big deal. Not just a relationship but skipping straight to a future with them and adding children.

  He wouldn't mind if she’d ask, Brooke knew. He'd told her that's what he wanted, but her own doubts kept her from taking that step with him. Being with him made her—scared her. Scared her shitless, and she didn't know how to navigate between keeping things light between them and losing herself in him.

  Maybe it showed on her face because he said, “I've never been around any.” His gaze stayed on her face, reading her reaction.

  She had a love-hate relationship with how he managed to cut to the heart of anything. “I guess it was an obvious question.”

  It wasn’t the first time they’d hit on a precarious subject. She wanted to know more and refused to ask. Because she knew Dane, she could guess he wanted to tell her more but refused to answer on principle. They were still fighting, arguing, but most of those heated exchanges were silent and happened in a blink of an eye.

  Jon managed to get half a cup of flour into the measuring cup. The rest was on his clothes, hands and the island. Brooke laughed. “Naomi will have a fit if she saw him covered in flour like this. I'm going to have to wash his clothes to hide the evidence.”

  Dane sighed. “You seem good with kids, Brooke.”

  Smooth. He was putting the ball back in her court, making her answer a non-question. “He likes me because I help him rot his teeth. I don't think that same tactic would work with...my kids.”

  Dane reached forward, offered his hand to Jon, and the boy handed him the measuring cup. He held it up to draw the toddler's attention and dipped it into the flour. When Dane was sure the little boy was still watching, he brushed off the excess.

  Jon's eyes brightened as he grinned. “Thank you.”

  He looked back at Brooke, a smile tugging at his lips. “I can see the appeal of having kids.

  Dane wanted children. Brooke’s stomach fluttered and her hold tightened on Jon. If they were normal people, maybe they could have just stated one day in the future they'd like to have kids. But that was too optimistic of a conversation for either of them. They'd been heading down this road for a year, and had finally reached dating.

  Fighting was their first, real form of foreplay. She had looked forward to it, she could admit that now. So, God, they were so screwed up and that worried her to no end.

  Dane's phone buzzed at his elbow. He spared it a second of his attention, sighed, and looked back at them. It buzzed again, but this time he didn't look.

  She found that reaction curious. “You can answer that if you need to.”

  He shook his head. “First Reid then Tate. They like to tag team.”

  She nodded, seeing the full picture. “A boy's night out. You said no?”

  A smile showed in his eyes. “More important things came up.” He put emphasis on the last word.

  She snorted at the joke. She had no hold on him, no right to his time. They were dating. It was in the boundaries she drew in the line between them. No way to get her hopes up about some fairy tale she used to believe in. No way to forget her own comfort zone. As long as she didn't put a claim on him, he could never do it to her.

  “Brooke.”

  A shiver went down her spine. She could always hear the way he had growled her name their first time together. She opened and closed her hand to steady the tremble.

  “Dane.” After he laughed, she added, “I can guess Reid and Tate started laying in on you about spending all your time with me.”

  “Something like that.”

  Jon picked up the chocolate chips and handed them to her. She ripped open the bag, and handed him some. He shoved them all in his mouth.

  “I have company if you want to go.” She gave Jon another handful and again he stuffed them into his mouth. She ate some too. “He's gorgeous, he makes me laugh, and I'm baking him cookies.” She dropped some chips into Dane's outstretched hand.

  He chewed on them, his gaze narrowed on her. “Are your friends laying in on you about spending all your time with me?”

  She laughed because they were. She finally put some chips into the mixing bowl. “I'm just saying, seeing as how our plans for the night are waylaid, you can have fun with the boys.”

  “Brooke,” he said again, this time his voice low. He sounded...irritated. “If I wanted to spend time with them, that's where I'd be. I thought we talked about this.”

  Her stomach clenched, because they had, but that fear had crawled into her heart

  Jon looked at her and that was the only reason she swallowed the choice curse word. “More chips?” she asked.

  “Yes!”

  She placed a kiss on his forehead and gave him another handful. Dane was watching her, his jaw taut. She sighed because
she knew that expression. “You choose now to have this argument?” she asked.

  “We've been avoiding it.”

  She couldn't say that was a lie. “He,” she referred to Jon, “has sat through too many as is. Can you hold him while I do the eggs?”

  “Slick way to avoid it,” he said and reached out for the toddler. He held him close to his chest. Jon just looked at him, but he didn't cry. Then his small fingers touched Dane's five o'clock shadow along his jaw.

  Dane smiled. “One day you'll have one of these things.” He lifted his chin and pointed to his Adam's apple. “One of these, too.”

  She added the rest of the wet ingredients and began to stir, watching the two males bond over little things. Did her heart flutter? Yes. Nothing was sexier than a man holding a child. He may have been scared or nervous, but the more he just talked to Jon, his posture relaxed. He kept the boy busy as she laid out the dough on the sheets. He never left the room, and his voice soothed her as much as it did the toddler.

  Could she lie to herself anymore about how she felt about Dane? Yes. She could, but what would be the point? She had fallen for him. He'd gotten under her skin and then deep in her bones. And it scared the shit out of her. She was just waiting for the other shoe to drop. So sure the heartbreak was just around the corner. So sure she'd wake up and not even recognize the woman she'd become.

  After she wiped everything down and had the cookies in the stove, she went to Dane and put out her hands for a handoff. He smiled at her and shook his head. She crossed her arms over her stomach because the butterflies flapping around refused to die. The bastards.

  She was trying to play it cool and that feeling did not help. “He probably has some trucks or toys in his baby bag.”

  Dane's phone vibrated on the island. He sighed and answered. “You guys don't know when to give up, do you?”

  He snorted at the reply while trying to juggle Jon and the phone. “Ball and chain?” He scoffed. “You're the one to talk.”

  A stone lodged in her stomach.

  Dane's gaze narrowed on her, a question clear in his eyes. His focus went back to the phone. “I can't even insult you properly. I have a toddler's ears listening in.”

  He laughed again at something Tate or Reid said. Jon reached for the phone, Dane pulled his head back and then did an abrupt handoff before walking down the hall to finish his conversation.

  Brook glanced down at the boy. His bottom lip pushed out on a small pout. “Right? We've been dismissed.”

  A month ago you would have pointed it out.

  “Dismish.”

  She shushed him having forgotten that about toddlers. They liked to repeat. “Let's go check on the cookies for no good reason.”

  “I like cookies.”

  She hugged him because his answer was so pure and honest. It sort of made sense why Naomi wasn't bitter. Yes, Brooke had seen Jon act a holy terror. When he had, she usually made the sign of the cross over her uterus. But right now, just being with a sweet kid had dulled her unease. Looking into his innocent face put into perspective why parents would grit their teeth and not break up a marriage. She wanted to say something biting to Dane for practically tossing him into her arms, but it didn't matter. There were chocolate chip cookies to stalk and the prospect of watching Jon's face when she pulled them out of the oven.

  She made her way deeper into the kitchen, with the child on her hip. The room had warmed from the oven. She flicked a switch by the back door to turn on the ceiling fan. Moving to the stove, she pushed the oven light on and looked.

  “Almost done,” she said. “You want them sort of gooey in the middle, because once they cool, they are cooked but soft.”

  He nodded as though what she said made complete sense. Dane's voice filtered through the hallway. “Hell no. You know how women are. Something like that won't stay a secret.”

  Her jaw clenched, but she sucked in a calming breath. She took another when Dane laughed hard. His voice lowered, but sounded closer than before. He poked his head into the kitchen.

  “Can you make me a sandwich?” He didn't bother to linger at the doorway before he headed back to the hallway.

  She glanced at Jon, her blood started to boil in her head. It made her dizzy trying to hold back the spurt of anger. She inhaled again, held the breath and pushed it out. Brooke told herself she was overreacting. She was being overly sensitive. She would make everyone a sandwich, because she was hungry too, and she'd forgotten to ask when was the last time Jon ate.

  You know how women are.

  A month ago, before she fancied herself falling in love, she'd have ripped him a new asshole. But now...she was swallowing it down. She took in another breath and it didn't tame her anger at herself or Dane, at all.

  *****

  Jon drooled on his shoulder, letting out small snores that were cute and made Dane feel warm. He settled deeper on the couch, stretched out his arm to touch Brooke, but she had scooted farther down the couch during the movie. His temper sparked to life.

  Dane had noticed the distinctive chill after he ended his call with Tate. He waltzed into the kitchen to see Brooke had made sandwiches for dinner. They had sat at her table like a pretend family and it would have been perfection, what most of the night should have been, if not for the strained undertone.

  The underlying tension made his shoulders tight and reminded him too much of being in the same house with his ex when she was displeased. She never bothered to say why she was pissed. He was supposed to guess or lay out a blanket apology for being an inconvenience in her life. It was a passive aggressive mind fuck that he hated.

  And that was one of the things he'd asked Brooke not to do with him.

  His phone buzzed again, and he checked the message and replied back to Tate. Brooke sent a look his way that only added fuel to the fire. As the minutes ticked by his jaw clenched tighter, but Dane was...in a relationship with Brooke. Or trying to be.

  He scrubbed a hand over his face and then put Jon down between them on the couch. Brooke's brow furrowed, but he put out his hand, motioning his thumb to the kitchen. When they made it, she crossed her arms and leaned against the island.

  He crowded her space, meeting her gaze. “The kid is asleep. Let's argue.”

  Her nostrils flared. “'You know how women are.' We're just irrational and shit.”

  He blinked so caught off guard. “That's what you're mad about?”

  “And you see absolutely nothing wrong with that statement?” She put a hand on his chest. “Move back. You're looming, now, too.”

  He stepped back, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Let me get this straight. I've sat on the couch for the last few hours—”

  He stopped. Found the right words. “I've been remembering why I left my ex. And you've been angry with me because I know you can't keep a damn secret.”

  She scoffed. “If that's what you said, then no, I wouldn't be annoyed right now. But after saying the most dick-ish thing in history you asked me to make you a sandwich. I should have—”

  “I would have made you one.” He just stared at her for a second.

  “When? Please tell me when you've offered to cook in the past few weeks since we decided to date. You haven't. It's become my job, and I've done it and thought nothing of it.”

  He could only look at her. “We're having an argument because I don't cook enough?”

  “We're having an argument because you're patting me on the head, reassuring me I can't keep secrets because no woman can. And that I shouldn't be pissed that you've said that. And you're still looming.”

  He lost his hold on his temper. “Because I'm a foot taller than you.”

  “There. Right there is the condescending bullshit that used to drive me crazy about you. I used to point it out. I used to not make excuses for you.”

  Dane's blood ran cold, because he knew where this was going. “I have nothing but respect for you.” His phone buzzed in his pocket but he ignored the text. “If I didn't, we wouldn
't be talking right now. I wouldn't care.”

  “And I'm telling you when you say stuff like that it bugs me. It reminds me of my ex, but you brush it aside. You're dismissive. You told me to tell you when you pissed me off. I am.”

  His phone buzzed again.

  She huffed. “Answer your damn phone.”

  He rolled his shoulders before checking the message and replied. He turned his phone off. Her brows rose at the action.

  He explained, “We're not done talking and it was only going to keep ringing.”

  “Or because I can't keep a secret?”

  He shook his head. “So what do you want me to do? Ask you for permission to speak, give you the gist and then wait for you to okay it? You know, just to ensure it's not a dig at womankind.”

  Her lips thinned. “Being mindful isn't that much to ask.”

  His nostrils flared. “I'm asking you to trust me. I'm saying this is one secret I know you can't keep. You should know me by now.”

  She swallowed and looked away. “I do.”

  He took another step back, stunned by her answer and all the things she wasn't saying. She didn't fill the silence with explanations so what he thought wasn't exactly what she meant.

  “Guess I'm just a misogynistic asshole to you,” he whispered.

  “Dane,” she sounded tired and defeated.

  “Brooke.” For the first time in weeks, he said her name with a note of derision.

  She flinched, and he tried to calm down, tried not to see the writing on the wall. “Brooke,” he said, softer this time. “This argument has nothing to do with what I said.”

  Her shoulders lowered and her head tilted back as though the words hurt her. “It has everything to do with it.”

  Nothing he said would be right. Nothing he'd ever do would make her trust him, make her believe that he always saw her as an equal. This wasn't about him. That's why they'd been fighting for a year, and suddenly he was just so tired of it. “I should go.”

  Her mouth thinned. “Because you don't want to be here anymore?”

  He shook his head. “Because you don't want me here.” And that truth dug into his gut. “I don't think less of you. Period. I don't think your place is in the kitchen. I don't think you should have to cater to me, because I have a dick. I'm dismissive of the fact you think I do. You should know me better.” He sighed. “You shouldn't be scared of loving me.”