“Of course you’re not. You don’t make music like you do without having some depth beneath the shallowness.”
He chuckled and slid his palm down to cup the back of my neck. “You’re a dick.”
I grinned. “Sometimes I am.”
He shook his head, a far off look in his eyes. “Why the hell do I like that side of you too?”
“Probably because you’ve gotten used to being given the royal treatment, so it’s refreshing. Will you even like me if you win me over?”
His hand was hot on my skin, almost as hot as I was between my legs. Maybe it was the vodka making me think crazy thoughts, but I was softening toward this man in a way I hadn’t toward any man in forever.
“You’re not a challenge to me. When you asked if I ever turned off, the answer is no. But you make me feel like I can say whatever, and yeah, you’ll give me shit for it, but you won’t detract points from my cool meter or run to the press. Am I right about that?” He had that same guileless look in his eyes. I’d call it a puppy dog look if he weren’t so damn sexy.
“You’re right, Moses.” My nails scratch a path along the back of his neck, making his eyelids lower halfway. “I don’t think you’re cool, so the meter is already empty.”
He tossed his head back and laughed so hard, it filtered from his chest to mine, then he curled around me, pulling me into a tight hug. And I...let him.
“You’re such a dick, Michaela.”
That made me grin wider than I had in a long ass time.
What a weird, weird night.