C8 The ONE

“This next guy better be good. She owes me after the last one.”

“What happened with these guys?” he asked in a mildly interested tone.

“Well, one guy was a local guitar legend. Think total urban lumberjack type. I don’t know where she found him, but let’s just say the only honest thing I wrote about was his eye color.”

“That bad, huh? What did he do? Take you to the forest and chop wood?” he teased.

“Ha, nope. That I could have handled. He took me to his urban farm. Key word. Urban. The cherry was when he asked me if I wanted to pet his cocks.”

Kirby coughed twice then turned to me. “You’re shitting me. Cocks? Plural?”

“Yup. Then he introduced me to his two Rhode Island Red roosters and six hens.”

“Ah… Cocks. Roosters. I get it. Weird, but I get it.” He shifted his shoulders as if totally uncomfortable with the topic.

“He tried to get me to kiss one — I kid you not — and when he handed one to me, it flapped wildly and I let it go, naturally. And did you know chickens could fly?”

“Uh, actually I rather assumed they could, at least a little bit.”

“They can. And when you have a chicken farm on the top of a twenty story building…”

“Damn.”

“You could say that. Of course, the date ended with him sobbing over a mutilated chicken carcass, and you know what?”

“I — no. Do I want to know?”

I grinned as he gave me a wary expression drawing his dark brows together over his blue eyes. “All I could think was KFC, and how good a bucket of extra crispy would taste about then.” I lifted one shoulder and let it fall. “Naturally, I didn’t suggest we go get one.”

“Wise. Since he was in mourning and all.”

“Exactly. Needless to say, the last time I saw him, I was slowly backing away while he held the chicken in his arms, pressed against his flannel shirt, his beard brushing the feathers as the tears rolled.”

“No way.”

“You can’t make this stuff up.” I held up my hands.

“Was that the worst? How many of these guys have you, uh… researched?”

“Dated,” I corrected, shuffling my feet to keep from squirming in my seat. “I’ve had to actually date these guys. You know, at first, Roxi made it sound almost interesting. Fun and sexy. This is not sexy. Chickens? Not sexy. The Jock? Yeah, he was the best of the group, but he still had me checking my phone every few minutes to see if I could duck out.” I rolled my eyes. “The alpha male? Yeah, it’s not what it’s cracked up to be.” I shuddered, thinking of Kurt.

His soft chuckle filled the suddenly too-small SUV. “I don’t look so bad now, do I?”

“Let’s just say you’re fitting right in,” I shot back.

“Kitten’s got claws. Too bad you won’t get to use them.” He blew me a kiss.

“Yeah, that’s always been a fantasy of mine. Oh, how you read through me,” I spoke with bored sarcasm. “Alas, Kirby! How long I have waited for this moment—”

“Shit, you have to stop calling me that,” he muttered, gripping the steering wheel tighter.

“Huh?” I dropped the hand I had strategically placed to my forehead like the damsel in distress.

“Kirby. No one. And I mean no one calls me that. Ever.”

“Why?”

He glared at me as if to say, ‘must you ask?’

“Just asking!” I held up my hands in surrender.

“I hate that name. As soon as I moved I told everyone my name was Kirk. Then when I got to the university they started to call me Church, since Kirk is actually another name for a church—”

“Yeah I get that… but… Church?” I studied him. He didn’t actually look like a Kirby… but Church? I’d never really thought of that as a name. It didn’t quite fit. “I don’t think I can call you Church. You look anything but holy.”

“Believe me, I’m not.” He sent me a smoldering look then flicked his gaze back to the road.

Damn if it didn’t make my stomach tighten with awareness. I could easily imagine all the ways he was sinful. But that was last thing I needed him to know.

“I think I’ll stick with Kirby.”

He closed his eyes for a moment and leaned his head back on the car headrest. It was just a short moment, but I gripped the seat even as he glared toward the road once again. “No. You cain’t.”

“Yes, I cain,” I replied with an attempt at the Scottish Brogue.

“That was bad… don’t try that again. It’s an insult to my language.”

“You’re language is English.”

“Which you Americans butcher.”

“Which you Scottish—”

“Ah, nope. Stop right there. Remember you’re at my mercy. I’d tread carefully.” He gave me a dangerous grin.

“Not afraid. I have way too much dirt on you… Kirby. Just remember that.” I grinned mischievously and then turned to look out the window.

“Shiza.”

“Swearing in Dutch?” I tisked my tongue. “Aren’t you impressive.”

“Aren’t you a pain in my arse, and I’ve only been around you for twenty minutes,” he spoke through clenched teeth.

“Believe me, the feeling is mutual.”

As we passed through far too narrow streets, I scanned through my e-mail, and a text showed up from the millionaire bachelor.

“Hello,” I whispered, scanning his short message.

“Talking to yourself? That lonely, Merry?” Kirby asked.

“Ignoring you.”

“Answering me is not ignoring me.”

“Grow up.”

“You first.”

I sighed and re-read the text.

Hello! How about we meet at the Conan Doyal? 8pm, tomorrow?

“What do you know about the Conan Doyal?” I asked Kirby.

“Decent pub, middle of the New Edinburgh. Why?”

“Millionaire wants me to meet him there.”

“Not bad. Pretty good whisky.”

“Ah… that’s right! Scotch Whisky! I need to try that while I’m here.” I spoke mostly to myself.

“Can you hold your whisky?” he asked with a challenging tone.

“You’ll never know.”

“Pity,” he spoke so softly I almost missed it. Then pretended to, because I didn’t want to explore just what that could mean.

Because behind the smoldering gaze, solid shoulders, nice ass, and killer smile, was my nemesis. And as much as I was tempted to look past it, history reminded me to never let my guard down.

Ever.

“I’m meeting him tomorrow at eight.” I sent off a text that confirmed everything.

“Don’t waste any time, eh?”

“Nope, I’m all about getting this done. Like a band-aid. Rip it off.”

“Romantic.”