I'd maybe chewed three times before two thoughts hit me simultaneously. I was eating a black bean burger because his sisters had found out I was a vegetarian. And Dex's hand was still on my thigh.

Chapter Twenty-Three

“You’re kind of a nerd.”

I shifted on the couch, deepening my cross-legged position on one end to look at Dex better. He was sitting with his ass in the opposite corner in loose basketball shorts, one leg extended straight out so that his bare foot was just a few inches from nudging my knee. His other foot was perpendicular to it, and he had a bottle of water squished between him and the couch.

Had I mentioned how attractive Dex’s feet were?

Maybe I’d been expecting athlete’s foot or a serious fungal infection and overgrown toenails to explain why I was so entranced by his long feet and neatly trimmed toenails. Even his freaking Morton’s toe was kind of endearing.

What was wrong with me?

Everything. That was the truth.

After a long afternoon at the lake, in the sun, I didn’t have a doubt my hair was in a million different directions and I might have a slight sunburn on my nose. We'd left after Hannah opened her presents, both of us hugging his mom goodbye while I just waved at his sisters and the other MC members. Neither one of us had talked much after eating—and by eating I meant that I'd thoughtlessly chewed while staring at the ink-stained fingers on my thigh the entire time.

“I don’t know if that’s a compliment or an insult,” I told him.

He tossed his head back. Yeah, he was definitely attractive. Smoking hot, level one million attractive. “Babe, you go to the library, you read romance books with a big ass smile on your face. You still say cool, and I just heard you recitin’ each line from the movie.”

“It’s a good movie,” I tried to justify it. I’d seen all of the boy wizard’s movies at least three times each.

Dex smiled, his smoky, intent gaze smug. “Babe, you’re the cutest f**kin’ nerd I’ve ever met.”

My chest did this thing...I don’t even know how to describe it, it was like a seizure-type thing...for all of a split second before I squashed it down. The cute-ground was somewhere I didn't need to go. No, siree. No way. “You like Firefly. That’s pretty nerdy.” I learned this after going through his DVDs while he made tacos. Another major anomaly in his armor. I mean, seriously? He seemed like the type to try and beat up the nerdy kids that liked those types of shows.

“It’s good,” he shrugged. “But you're still a little dork.”

“You have a Captain America shield tattooed on your chest.” He didn’t need to know I actually found that incredibly hot. I gave him an obnoxious wink. "You win."

Oh bloody hell. I was flirting, wasn’t I?

“He’s the shit,” he answered simply, completely unfazed by my claims to his nerd-dom and the dreamy look I worried had funelled its way onto my heart—and face, unfortunately.

I was full of crap but I wasn't going to do down without at least a fight. “Next thing I know you’re going to tell me you have a comic book collection."

"I do." Without any hesitation, he hooked his thumb to his left. “In my spare bedroom.”

Was he joking? “You’re lying.”

Dex shook his head, returning my earlier smile. When this man was in a good mood...God. It was unfair. Totally, completely unfair to be around him. “Wanna see?”

And it was that question, that had me in his underused spare bedroom minutes later.

I'd read too many books where men had that secret bedroom that seconded as a play room for the kinky, or hell, an operations room for some secret society they belonged to. So when Dex opened the closed door to the room I'd yet to see, it wasn't at all what I was expecting.

There were bright, pure white light bulbs in the ceiling fan, lamps in two corners of the room flooding the space with illumination. A drafting desk very similar to the one back at Pins was pushed up against the wall with the windows. There were large bookshelves filled with books and pristine plastic wrapped comic books. Vintage action figures were settled on shelves that dotted all of the walls where there wasn't posters or more framed artwork. Artwork that looked like Dex's heavy-handed style on kohl.

The frame closest to me looked like an original dark superhero. A black cape billowed behind a massive, muscular man with eyes that looked haunted.

"Did you do this one?" I asked him.

"Mmhmm," he answered right before I felt the warm length of his body just behind me. "That's one of my earliest drawings."

"It's so good," I told him honestly, taking in the sweep of heavy lines around the character. I wanted to turn around but he was too close, and it was easier to play opossum than to face Dex Locke. "You should start your own comic book."

"Thanks, babe." He paused. "I used to want to back when I was a kid, but... shit doesn't always work out that way, you know?" There were no truer words that could have been said for me to understand completely.

"Oh, I know." I blew out a breath. "Stuff happens."

"Shit happens," he laughed darkly.

I tried to look at him out of the corner of my eye but I couldn't. "And here you are, a successful business man."

Dex snorted but it wasn't exactly in amusement. "If my juvie parole officer could see me now."

"You got in trouble when you were young, too?" I don't know why I asked. Like so many other things, this was Dex. It made more sense than not.

"’Course I did. Spent six months in boot camp when I was seventeen," he sounded a little too proud of it.

I smiled even though he couldn't see it. "For what?"

"What do you think?"

"Jaywalking?" I laughed.

"No."

I turned my head to look at him over my shoulder. “Indecent exposure?”

All he did was stare at me for the longest moment in history in response. When I snickered, he blinked, one side of his mouth tipping up just barely.

“I don’t think I’ve ever let anybody gimme as much grief as you do.”

“Thank you?”

He grunted.

“Okay, no g*y prostituting for you. What else then? Were you shanking freshman in school?” I really had no idea. I wouldn’t be surprised to hear about him getting into fistfights with a teacher.

The other side of his mouth tipped up high right before he snorted, the sound was so close to my ear I could feel the heat of his lips and skin. "Graffiti."

"Oh." The teenage graffiti artist who turned into a tattoo artist? Perfect. As I did the math in my head, I realized that his dad's crap must have been almost immediately after he'd gotten in trouble. "And then?"

He shrugged. "Nothin’ much. I was still a shit when I got out."

Like that wasn't still the case. Ha.

"I got in trouble again almost right after I got out. That's why I got stuck with the whole five year sentence at county."

And at some point between that period of time, the tiger had changed his stripes but it'd been a little too late. From graffiti to assault. I couldn't have been attracted to a man that had gone to jail for unpaid traffic fines—and once I thought about it, that seemed really lame. Who would want to have feelings for a guy like that?