Free Kiss in the Dark by Marcia Lynn McClure Page B

seem to like any of the other flavors. Now…I occasionally enjoy a root beer–flavored Dum Dum. But let’s be honest, what’s the point of a Dum Dum? They’re like the size of a dime…and there’s nothing in the center…and they don’t come in chocolate. But sometimes, like at the bank—you know how they give them out at the counter and stuff—sometimes I can eat a Dum Dum…but only the root beer ones.”
    “Got it,” he said, smiling—obviously amused. “Lions, no leopards—just leopard-skin pajamas and underwear. Tootsie Pops, but only chocolate. And no Dum Dums, except maybe at the bank, and even then, only root beer–flavored.”
    “You should know I have a tendency to talk too much,” Boston told him. She could feel the hot crimson of a blush on her cheeks. Actually, she felt too warm all over. She figured even her toes were blushing. For Pete’s sake, he knew what color her underwear was!
    “Not at all,” he said. “This is important stuff to know.”
    “Oh yeah, details of profound value,” Boston giggled.
    “Do you want something to drink?” he said as he turned and sauntered toward the fridge.
    “No, I’m fine.” Boston glanced around the room. She smiled when she saw the TV was on, muted, but tuned to the Animal Planet channel. “ Animal Cops , eh?” she asked, delighted with his programming choice. “I guess the real COPS isn’t on yet?”
    “Dude! This is Animal Cops: Detroit ,” he explained, retrieving a carton of orange juice from the refrigerator and returning to where Boston stood. “It’s my favorite city for Animal Cops .”
    “Is that so?” Boston teased. He was so funny! Just his random choices of TV programming made her feel giggly inside.
    “Oh yeah,” he confirmed. “Though I will say this…I’m watching way too much TV here. Work just wears me out. Then until I’m ready for my evening run, I just feel like sitting on the couch and doing nothing. I’m a pig since I moved in here.”
    Boston bit her lip to keep from laughing as she watched him drain the orange juice carton by drinking straight from it. He wadded the carton up and eyed the garbage can in the kitchen. Boston watched and admired his perfect follow-through as he free-throw-shot the carton into the garbage can.
    “Ooo, swish!” she said, nodding at him with admiration.
    “That’s right,” he said, proud of his basketball—rather, basketcarton—skills. “Danielle’s not home yet,” he announced, taking a seat on the sofa.
    Instantly, Boston was unsettled. Danielle wasn’t home? She was alone with Vance in the apartment?
    “I’m sure she’ll be here soon,” he continued. He must’ve sensed her discomfort because he smiled and added, “But don’t worry…I only hit on girls who wear, like, pink, glittery underwear…so you’re safe.”
    “Oh well…whew…I guess!” Boston teased.
    “Here, sit down,” he said, tossing a throw pillow off the sofa and patting the cushion next to him. “We can watch something else if you want.”
    “No, I wouldn’t want you to miss the animal cops rescuing a litter of neglected kittens…being that you are a cat person,” she said playfully.
    “Big cat person,” he corrected.
    “Oh, sorry.”
    “I met your friend Dempsey,” he stated. It was not only a very quick subject change but an odd one.
    “Really?” Boston asked, taking a seat beside him. Again she was struck by his intoxicating allure. Still, she pushed the fact to the back of her mind—willed her body to fight off any goose bumps that might be threatening to appear on her arms. “And what did you think of him?”
    “I think he’s cool,” he answered. He looked at her then, his eyes narrowing a bit as he said, “And you and I both know how important that is…don’t we?”
    “Important how?” Boston asked. What did he mean? Of course it was important that Dempsey was cool. He was their friend—at least hers and Danielle’s. Surely he couldn’t be implying what she