Page 88 of Trigger Happy

“I know you think my brain’s the size of a raisin, but I can memorize a hair dye color.”

“I don’t think your brain is raisin-sized,” she admits.

“Grape, then?”

Two weeks ago that comment would’ve gotten me a flat-lipped scowl, so her light chuckle hits me square in the chest.

“No, I actually think you’re pretty smart,” she says.

Sabrina’s got one of the most chipper laughs I’ve heard, which I find hilarious considering she once told a man who liked his women a lot too young she’d cut off his favorite appendage and serve it to him hotdog-style.

I forgot what it feels like to get someone to laugh like that. It used to come second-nature to me when Walker was alive. We’d shoot so much shit, our abs would be sore by the end of the day from laughing, but after he died, there wasn’t much I found funny. Hearing her like that makes me want to do it again and again—even if she’d never admit I’m hilarious.

Crossing my arms, I lean against the wall. “So, we should probably talk about what happened, huh?”

“Yes. Bobbi and Arch are definitely hiding something, but we still need hard evidence to tie them to the body in the hot spring. I’m thinking we—”

“No,” I say. They’re clearly head-shaving criminals. We don’t need to talk about that. “I meant last night.”

“What? The intense eye contact we made?” She scowls, settling back into the pillows. “ ‘Nothing happened,’ as you so eloquently pointed out on the phone.”

All right, I deserved that. “I rubbed you down in a way that would be illegal in most massage places. I think it was more than intense eye contact.”

She fluffs another pillow, one-handed. “Okay, fine. We had a moment, and now that moment has passed.”

“Passed? Like hell it’s passed. You’re acting like showering together is the equivalent of sharing a burrito.”

“At least a burrito would’ve made me moan for real, instead of having to fake it.”

“Really?” I roll my eyes. “You want to play that game? ’Cause I’ll go down on you right now just to prove a point. Don’t tempt me.”

Her lips part, but then she frowns. “What a selfless offer, but I’ll pass. Once was enough for me.”

She thinks this was a one-time thing? No chance. I bark a laugh. “Sure it was.”

“What?” she says. “You think you’re so good in bed that a woman just can’t resist you?”

I smirk.

She rolls her eyes.

Making a woman feel good is easy when you know what she wants. All you have to do is pay attention. Figure out what she likes, and if you don’t know, then ask. That’s the secret to being good in bed—asking questions. How’s my tongue feel here? Do you like this?

She flicks a piece of lint off the bed. “Well, I went almost three years without sex before you, so I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“Three years?” I blurt.

Her neck reddens. “I know that’s probably difficult for you to comprehend, with the grape-brain and all, but I don’t do this.”

“Do what?”

“This. Casual sex. At least, not anymore. What happened between us was a mistake, so you can keep your tongue in your mouth for the foreseeable future.”

My eyes go wide. Not because I’m shocked she doesn’t, but because she’s telling me. “Why not?”

She shrugs. “It’s just not for me. It’s hard to relax in bed when I’ve only known the guy for a couple of hours and I’m lying about my name.”

That’s all she gives me, but admitting that says more than she ever could. She doesn’t usually offer up her feelings, so I figure I owe her the same honesty.