“Is she a movie fan too?”
I tap the gas lightly, scooting a car length ahead. “Sure is. Movies were our guilty pleasure growing up. It was just the two of us, and we tried to hit all the big releases. The superhero flicks, the talking dog movies, the PG romances, the adventure tales. She made air-popped popcorn and tucked a Ziploc bag of it in her purse.”
Brooke laughs. “I love her already. Smart woman with her big-purse life hack.”
“I used to tease her that she could carry a tent in her purse, and she’d say,You think I don’t have one in there already?”
“Do you still go with her to the movies?”
“Sometimes. I try to take the twins too, when I go, though it’s tough during the season. I took them a lotduring the off-season. I can pretty much sing any song from any animated princess flick.”
“‘Let My Hair Down,’” Brooke says, firing off the signature tune from a Rapunzel remake.
I scoff, then sing the opening lines.
Brooke claps in approval. “Well done.”
“Why, thank you very much,” I say.
“Now, speaking of your mom, I have to know—does she call you Andrew a lot?” Brooke asks as we cruise along another block. “You said she was the only one who called you that, but only when you were in trouble.”
“I was a troublemaker growing up, Brooke. Don’t let this sweet face fool you.” I give her a smoldering grin that’s not at all sweet.
“Maybe you still are?” she asks with an arch in her brow and a hint of sultry in her voice.
“Maybe I am,” I say, sensing an invitation in the air between us. It crackles with the same energy as when we met.
The same energy that’s damn hard to resist.
The car in front of me slows. I try to peer around the cars ahead to get a read on the situation. But it’s kind of pointless in this city.
I turn to Brooke, and she’s nibbling on her lip again. Dirty thoughts seem to flicker across her brown eyes as she says, “How are you a troublemaker these days?”
Fuck holding back. “I want to get into all kinds oftrouble with you,” I say as I turn my gaze fully to her, my eyes roaming up and down her sexy frame. When our eyes lock, heat flares between us and I’m rumbling her name. “Brooke.”
“Drew,” she whispers, her voice threaded with desire.
“Do you like trouble?”
Her breath seems to catch, then she nods shakily. “A lot. Especially right now.”
“Same here.”
I lift my hand, reach for her face, and cup her cheek. She gasps, and before either one of us can say another word—before I can evaluate or analyze—I dip my mouth to hers and kiss those delicious lips. Her tongue darts out, and she nips me back, running her teeth along my bottom lip, and out of nowhere a quick kiss turns into a hot, dirty one.
A car horn honks behind us, and we pull apart. But the white sedan in front of me has only moved ten feet. I drive slowly, running one hand along Brooke’s leg, down to the edge of her dress. My fingers play at the hem, and she murmurs as we slink along at a snail’s pace. My eyes drift to her legs, so toned and strong. The whole look she’s working tonight is killing me.
Maybe one touch will satisfy me.
Or maybe I’m just a troublemaker.
I inch my finger under her skirt. She lets her knees fall open the slightest bit.
It’s an RSVP to trouble and I take it. “I’m not feeling friendly toward you whatsoever,” I rasp.
She’s quiet for a beat, then she whispers, “Don’t be friendly.”
And I run with it.