Page 42 of Witchy Woman

He smiles. “I do prefer dogs, but don’t tell Belle.”

His beer is half-gone already.

I squirm under the pressure of the tension between us. It’s as thick as smog. Heat licks at the base of my spine and I drop my eyes to my half-full glass.

I can’t give in yet.

“I guess you’re smarter than everyone gives you credit for,” he says. I snap my head up to meet his gaze. “I guess that you’ve spent your entire life being underestimated as the pretty one, when really you don’t fit into any of those neat little boxes people like to put others in. You are stunningly beautiful, but you’re also quick witted and intelligent. Competitive. Caring, when you want to be. Stubborn, too.”

My mouth is dry. “How am I supposed to answer that?”

“You’re supposed to drink, Goldilocks. Those are the rules, aren’t they?”

“Only if you guessed right.”

“Exactly. Drink.”

The dominance in his tone should absolutely not cause a burn low in my belly, but I take a deep drink of wine anyway, licking the droplets from my lips.

His hand comes up, rubbing the tip of his thumb against my mouth. I lean into it for a moment—two—and pull back.

I’ve set a boundary for tonight, and I’m determined not to cross it.

“I—” my voice comes out shaky, uncertain. “I guess you own at least ten pairs of jeans.”

He snorts, scratching his chin. “Would you like to go count?”

“In your bedroom?”

His eyebrow cocks in a teasing way. “That’s where the closet is.”

That feels like a danger zone. “You don’t know how many pairs of jeans you own?”

“I haven’t counted lately, no. But I’d be willing to drink if you don’t want to go in there.”

I nod, and he polishes off his beer.

He stands. “More wine?”

I nod again, no words able to escape me as he crosses into the kitchen. At least, I assume it’s the kitchen. The room is walled off and hidden behind a wooden door.

I bet it’s a small kitchen. Something warm and homey, perfect for dinners with his dad and a few friends.

It’s all veryLittle House on the Prairiemeets Lumberjack-core.

The desire to explore without him hovering over me is strong, but I stay glued to the couch regardless. I’m hyper-aware of every action I take and it’s making me anxious.

“My turn, right?” he asks as he steps into the room. Wine and beer in hand.

I sigh. “Yes.”

“Don’t sound so excited. It was your idea to play this game.” He tops off my wine glass before setting the bottle on the coffee table.

“Patiently waiting, brute,” I reply. The nickname doesn’t fit him anymore. If I’m honest, it never did. It was just a pathetic attempt to keep him at arm’s length.

He smiles, an honest and pure thing that tugs at my own lips. “I guess you are an absolute horror to play boardgames with.”

“There may have been a few incidents that caused my old friends to decide to not play with me.” I drink. “But I’ll have you know, they were just being sore losers.”