Size Matters (Handcuffs and Happily Ever Afters) by Robyn Peterman Page B
Authors: Robyn Peterman
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screaming Danger!, but my body wanted to crawl across the table through the lo mein and tackle him.
“Kind of,” I murmured. “I thought I might have scared you too, or possibly scared you off.”
“You terrify me.” He gave me a lopsided grin and my tummy flipped. “So how about this: you tell me everything I need to know about you and I’ll do the same. It’ll be like we’ve been dating for three months, and then we can go out to my car and make out like horny teenagers.”
My heart and my girlie parts sang with delight. “I think I like that idea.”
“You first,” he said, taking my hand. A little zing flew up my arm in response to his touch.
“Okay,” I said, running my free hand through my hair and taking a deep breath. My heart was pounding so hard in my chest, I was sure he could hear it. “I’m an only child. My mom is retired and lives in Arizona. My grandma, who I worshipped, died a month ago and left me her sewing shop. I can’t stand abuse of any kind, which is why I opened the women’s shelter. Graduated from the U with a degree in social work and did my grad work in psychology. I live and die by the Vikings, winning season or no. I’d sell my soul to protect the people I love and for black raspberry chip ice cream. I think women deserve the same pay as men and I’m a very loyal friend. I’m trying to quit swearing, but my favorite word is still fucktard . Also, I think you have the most amazing butt I’ve ever seen.” I slapped my hand over my mouth. “Sorry,” I muttered. “That last part probably should have gone in a different conversation.”
He couldn’t control his burst of laughter. Damnity damn, he was hot when he laughed. Gorgeous blue eyes that matched the shirt he’d chosen sparkled. Instead of feeling silly, I was bizarrely happy that I made him laugh. What was that about?
“My turn?” he asked.
“Your turn,” I said, gripping the table so I wouldn’t lunge across it. My body had detached itself from my brain and was being ruled by my inner horny-monster.
“I was born in Appleton, Minnesota. My parents still live there. Went to Marquette and majored in computer science and Spanish. It’s also where I met Jack. My blood is purple and gold, no matter where I live. Favorite colors are your eyes and your hair. I’ll never say no to pizza and my shameful secret is that I TiVo American Idol . I’m tone deaf and I love to sing. I’ve been all over the country and trained at the FBI Academy in Quantico, Virginia.” He paused for a moment; his eyes lost their glow and hardened. “I have four sisters, but one died when I was in tenth grade.”
“God, I’m so sorry,” I said, reaching for his hand.
“It was a long time ago.” He shrugged and gave me a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Some asshole was dealing drugs to high school kids and my sister got hooked.” He blew out a long breath and ran his thumb over my knuckles. “I’m sorry. That was probably a little much for a first date.”
I smiled and squeezed his hand. “I’d say we’re at least two months in. Maybe even two and a half since I mentioned fucktard .”
He chuckled and I felt better. I’d always wanted to absorb everyone else’s pain; it’s what put me in therapy . . . But his? I wanted to erase it. I was in big trouble here. In a matter of days, I’d gone from wanting to avoid him till hell froze over, to wanting to grab his ass and choke him with my tongue, to wanting to take care of him forever . . . Crapmonkeys.
“That’s why I became a DEA agent,” he said quietly, watching me with those beautiful icy blue eyes.
“If we’re going really deep,” I said hesitantly . . . Was I really going to tell him this? Yes, I was . . . “I wasn’t completely straight with you about why I opened the shelter . . . My real reason for opening the shelter was because of my mom. I didn’t mention my dad, because as far as I’m concerned . . . I don’t have one. He wasn’t a
“Kind of,” I murmured. “I thought I might have scared you too, or possibly scared you off.”
“You terrify me.” He gave me a lopsided grin and my tummy flipped. “So how about this: you tell me everything I need to know about you and I’ll do the same. It’ll be like we’ve been dating for three months, and then we can go out to my car and make out like horny teenagers.”
My heart and my girlie parts sang with delight. “I think I like that idea.”
“You first,” he said, taking my hand. A little zing flew up my arm in response to his touch.
“Okay,” I said, running my free hand through my hair and taking a deep breath. My heart was pounding so hard in my chest, I was sure he could hear it. “I’m an only child. My mom is retired and lives in Arizona. My grandma, who I worshipped, died a month ago and left me her sewing shop. I can’t stand abuse of any kind, which is why I opened the women’s shelter. Graduated from the U with a degree in social work and did my grad work in psychology. I live and die by the Vikings, winning season or no. I’d sell my soul to protect the people I love and for black raspberry chip ice cream. I think women deserve the same pay as men and I’m a very loyal friend. I’m trying to quit swearing, but my favorite word is still fucktard . Also, I think you have the most amazing butt I’ve ever seen.” I slapped my hand over my mouth. “Sorry,” I muttered. “That last part probably should have gone in a different conversation.”
He couldn’t control his burst of laughter. Damnity damn, he was hot when he laughed. Gorgeous blue eyes that matched the shirt he’d chosen sparkled. Instead of feeling silly, I was bizarrely happy that I made him laugh. What was that about?
“My turn?” he asked.
“Your turn,” I said, gripping the table so I wouldn’t lunge across it. My body had detached itself from my brain and was being ruled by my inner horny-monster.
“I was born in Appleton, Minnesota. My parents still live there. Went to Marquette and majored in computer science and Spanish. It’s also where I met Jack. My blood is purple and gold, no matter where I live. Favorite colors are your eyes and your hair. I’ll never say no to pizza and my shameful secret is that I TiVo American Idol . I’m tone deaf and I love to sing. I’ve been all over the country and trained at the FBI Academy in Quantico, Virginia.” He paused for a moment; his eyes lost their glow and hardened. “I have four sisters, but one died when I was in tenth grade.”
“God, I’m so sorry,” I said, reaching for his hand.
“It was a long time ago.” He shrugged and gave me a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Some asshole was dealing drugs to high school kids and my sister got hooked.” He blew out a long breath and ran his thumb over my knuckles. “I’m sorry. That was probably a little much for a first date.”
I smiled and squeezed his hand. “I’d say we’re at least two months in. Maybe even two and a half since I mentioned fucktard .”
He chuckled and I felt better. I’d always wanted to absorb everyone else’s pain; it’s what put me in therapy . . . But his? I wanted to erase it. I was in big trouble here. In a matter of days, I’d gone from wanting to avoid him till hell froze over, to wanting to grab his ass and choke him with my tongue, to wanting to take care of him forever . . . Crapmonkeys.
“That’s why I became a DEA agent,” he said quietly, watching me with those beautiful icy blue eyes.
“If we’re going really deep,” I said hesitantly . . . Was I really going to tell him this? Yes, I was . . . “I wasn’t completely straight with you about why I opened the shelter . . . My real reason for opening the shelter was because of my mom. I didn’t mention my dad, because as far as I’m concerned . . . I don’t have one. He wasn’t a
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