“You spill it on my couch, babe, just sayin’…” he stopped.

“What?”

His neck bent and his face got close to mine. “I really don’t give a f**k. My couch is shit.”

It took me by surprise, starting in my belly then my body shook with it and finally I dropped my forehead to his chest and let the laughter escape my lips.

As I laughed I felt his arm give me a squeeze and his lips kiss the crown of my head.

I stopped laughing and turned my cheek to rest on his chest and my eyes to rest on the TV. We both watched the muted TV for awhile and then Tate’s arm dropped from my shoulders so his hand could pull my shirt up at the back and then his fingers trailed random patterns against the skin at its small. This felt nice and I relaxed deeper into him.

That was, I relaxed deeper into him until his legs and h*ps shifted and he muttered, “Fuck.”

My head came up and I looked at him to see his eyes were beyond me, staring in the vicinity of our legs and there was an expression on his face I couldn’t read.

“What?” I asked, pulling slightly away only to have his hand flatten on the skin of my back and hold me still. “Are you uncomfortable?”

His eyes went from our legs to my face.

“Yeah and no,” he answered.

“Sorry?” I asked.

“Babe, sittin’ here lookin’ at your legs thinkin’ of this mornin’ and just lookin’ at your legs, thinkin’ of this mornin’, them wrapped tight around my back, I started gettin’ hard. Just lookin’ at your f**kin’ legs. Christ,” he bit off the last word.

That fear that went away came back, it was different and it was mostly about not understanding why he looked suddenly annoyed. To me, this was all good, really good, happy good. To him, it seemed the opposite.

“Um… isn’t that kind of…” I hesitated. “Good?”

He stared at me then stated, “I ain’t fifteen.”

“No,” I agreed because he wasn’t. I still didn’t know how old he was but he wasn’t fifteen, I was sure of that.

“Fifteen year old kids get hard like that. Men…” He shook his head.

I tipped mine to the side, suddenly finding this conversation very interesting.

“They don’t?” I asked.

“Nope,” he answered.

“Really?” I asked and his eyes grew intense on my face.

“Okay, I’ve no f**kin’ clue so let me rephrase, I don’t.”

He didn’t.

So this meant Neeta who could work her body and blow kisses to hotel clerks and laugh so loud it rang in the air didn’t make him start to get hard just looking at her legs.

But I did.

I dipped my chin but obviously didn’t hide my smile because my face was captured with his hand at my jaw and forced back up.

He didn’t speak when his eyes locked on my mouth but his face changed again and I couldn’t read it but his eyes got dark in a way that was both sinister and exciting.

“Tate?” I called and his gaze lifted to my eyes.

“Now your f**kin’ sexy little smile is makin’ me hard,” he growled, sounding more than slightly perturbed.

I felt my smile deepen, decided to change the subject and leaned my face close to his. “How old are you?”

“Forty-four.”

I leaned back.

“What?” I asked.

“Forty-four,” he answered.

“You are not,” I stated and his head gave a small jerk.

“Babe, I am.”

“Aren’t.”

His brows drew together. “You swipin’ your Dad’s meds? What’s the deal?”

“No forty-four year old man has your body,” I informed him.

“Well, I do.”

Light dawned. “You know how old I am,” I stated.

“Yeah, Ace, read your application. Though, I’ll point out, Kites wasn’t on it.”

I decided to ignore the fact that I fibbed by omission on my application so Krystal wouldn’t eject me bodily from Bubba’s and stayed on my chosen subject.

“So you’re saying you’re forty-four so you won’t make me feel badly for being older than you.”

“Lauren, I am older than you.”

“You aren’t.”

He stared at me.

Then he burst out laughing, his head going back with it and his arms both came around me and pulled me to him, then up his chest and very close.

“I’m not seeing anything funny,” I muttered into his neck.

“How old do you think I am?” he asked my ear.

I pulled my head back, examined his face and guessed, “Thirty-six?”

He grinned. “You want, you can go with that. I don’t mind.”

“Tate –”

He cut me off. “But I’m forty-four.”

“Tate –”

“Though, it’s okay with me my old lady looks older than me.”

“Tate!” I snapped.

“Or thinks she does,” he continued.

I glared at him. He kept grinning.

Mack, Caroline and Mom entered the room; I heard them and slid off Tate’s chest to look their way.

“Hey,” I greeted when I saw them all looking at us, Mack’s lips twitching, Mom out and out smiling and Carrie giving me a look that said she thought I was in the middle of full on leaping without checking first where I might land.

“Hey,” Carrie replied as I felt Tate’s body get tight against mine.

“Mack, turn that up,” he ordered, straightening and taking his feet from the table, effectively taking my feet and body with his.

“What?” Mack asked.

“TV, turn it up,” Tate reiterated and he was pulling us both to our feet.

When I gained my feet, my head tipped back and I saw his eyes were glued to the television screen so my head turned and my eyes went there as well.

There was a male newsreader on the TV and I could barely hear him talking but I could see the words “May December Murderer” in a graphic behind him.

“Oh my God,” I breathed and Mack turned the TV volume up.

“…victim yesterday,” the newsreader said. “The police of Chantelle, Colorado think this latest murder is the victim of what is known in police circles as the ‘May December Murderer’.”

“Chantelle,” I whispered.

“Our f**kin’ backyard,” Tate growled and I felt that dark energy radiating from him but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the TV.