“Are you offering… advice? Encouragement? Should I be shocked or flattered?”
He chuckled. “Fuck off.”
“Just so… Mr. Rogers of you. Then again, you are my neighbor,” she teased. “I’m buying you a cardigan for Christmas.”
That earned her a baleful look.
On bacon strip number three, she asked, “What do we need to discuss?” She was both leery and excited, but mostly leery. Lord knows what she spouted off while under the influence.
Mac jerked his chin toward Fred. “Our dog.”
“Our…?” She gaped, blindsided. “What do you mean,ourdog?”
“Said it yourself last night.”
“I did not!”
He challenged, “Tell me what you didn’t say.”
Cassidy snatched up her fork and waved it at him. “Oh no, no. Whatever I said, you can’t hold me to it. I was wasted. But there is no way I was so wasted I gave away my dog.”
“Didn’t give him away.”
“See?”
“Acknowledged I’m good for him.”
Cassidy stared, unconvinced.
“I told you you’d regret saying it. So, I move for half.”
“Why do I feel like we’ve had this conversation before?”
“I have more of a case now.”
Cassidy watched him as he continued to eat, for all outward appearances removed from the subject, stating facts, but there was a slight lift to his lips and a gleam in his eyes. He was playing with her. Mac Boyer wasteasingher and enjoying himself in doing it.
There was a mischievous side to him that had nothing to do with innuendo, and this realization—this glimpse—thrilled her. She had to control herself not to react to the rush of emotion sweeping through her. At this moment, he reminded her of a little boy who really, really just wanted a dog.
She forced out a scoff, “No witnesses, no case.” She picked up her fork and stabbed at a fried egg.
Mac looked around. “Fred should get a say.”
Fred, who’d been lounging in the corner, eyes on them and the table, lifted his head.
“Secret code between you two?” she asked suspiciously.
“That we have one should tell you something.”
“That you’ve tried to steal my dog. I know all of this, Boyer.”
“Like I’ve said: there for the taking.” His glance back at her held the heat and innuendo she’d grown accustomed to seeing.
Sweet Jesus. It was possible she was still intoxicated. Even as her body responded eagerly to his look, she pointed her fork at him. “I’m not agreeing with you.”
He smiled knowingly in anticipation.
“And I am not giving you half of my dog…”