When I was nine, I declared I’d buy a house here one day. Yeah, well, I didn’t quite have enough money for that when I left Dallas. Although I probably would right now if I stopped spending money on shoes.

What a ridiculous idea.

Wait. What number is your house? I text him after pulling up alongside the curb.

1762, he replies within a minute.

I look at the house to my right and squint. 1780. There isn’t a car behind me, so I reverse back to see the number of the house next to it. 1782. Awesome. No awkward mid-road U-turns needed. Thankfully.

I once took the side mirror off another car trying to do that. I left a note.

I pull back onto the street and drive down it at a snail’s pace, determined not to miss Drake’s house. When I reach 1764, I go even slower until the opening to his driveway appears. Or, rather, his closed gates.

Ugh.

I get out of my car, killing the engine to be safe, and walk up to them. I can flick the thing securing them at the top over and unbolt them no problem, but my issue is the long stick things with handles making sure the gates stay in the ground. The metal poles disappear into the concrete of his driveway, an inch away from my fingertips.

Driveway gates were not made for short people.

I take a deep breath and lean right over the top of them, stretching my fingers as far as possible. I’m still not even close to grasping the poles, so I swing back down onto my feet with a huff.

Fuck tall people.

I glance at the gate again, but let’s be honest. Unless I’m wearing heels, I’m simply not reaching those damn bolts. So, instead of making a further fool of myself, I get back into my car to work.

I turn the key so the radio comes on and turn it down to a low hum. Vince Fulton stares at me from the top of Natalie’s D.O.M. agreement. I should have asked Carlton to get me some information on him earlier, but I was so wrapped up in learning about Natalie and Nick that I forgot.

Bad Noelle. Bad, bad Noelle.

I doubt even Google can help with this. Besides, I know the basics. He graduated with Devin, went straight into an apprenticeship with his old man at Fulton Builders’ Inc. and has been there ever since. His sexual preferences weren’t something I ever found myself wanting to know.

That’s the problem with this job. You find out things that are better left hidden.

Dirty little secrets are always dirty, but they rarely stay little or secrets.

I drop my head back against my seat, groaning. Once again, there are way too many people in too many places. There are too many motives and opportunities for far too little people. Not everyone should have a motive or an opportunity, but yet again in this case, they do.

Small-town living really does have its drawbacks.

“What are you doin’?”

I turn at the sound of Drake’s voice, my eyes meeting his through my window. I bring it down a little. “Waiting,” I answer.

“Why?” His lips turn up.

“I can’t, um, reach the bottom things for your gate,” I mutter, looking down.

He hears perfectly if his laugh is anything to go by. “Come on. I bought wine, too.”

“Are you attempting to get me drunk?”

“Noelle, if you and wine are in the same room, you don’t need me to help you.”

I push my door open, grab my things, and follow him to the gates. “I’d take offense to that if I could ever take offense to anything.”

“Did your soul get swallowed when you watched Harry Potter, by any chance?” He glances back at me, one eyebrow raised, then reaches over and opens the gate.

Bastard. “No, actually. I think Nonna ate my soul when I came home single, without the faintest prospect of a boyfriend, let alone the husband she expected.” I sniff and follow him up the two-car-long driveway. “I think she ate all the fucks I had, too.”

Drake laughs. The rich sound sends tingles through me. “Is she giving it back now that you’re dating?”

“Oh, this is dating? I thought we were being nice to each other.”

“And still fighting on a daily basis.”

“Did we fight yesterday?”

“I think so.”

“Crap. There goes my alternative explanation.” I sigh heavily.

He laughs again, putting his key in the door. He swings it open and steps in, glancing back at me with a small smile.

Okay. So I’m definitely curious.

Is it wrong to say mostly about his bedroom?

No. Definitely not.

I beat down that little crazy desire before it gets too loud and my brain-to-mouth filter goes on a coffee break.

“Take these,” Drake instructs, holding two pizza boxes out to me. Bottles clink in the plastic bag on his arm.

“Why?”

“So you can go and put them on the coffee table while I pour you a glass of wine?”

“You’re real lucky you followed up that order with ‘a glass of wine.’” I sniff and take the boxes into the front room.

Oh. This is pretty. Not girly pretty though. The black leather sofa is broken up by charcoal and cobalt-blue throw cushions, and the bright, fluffy rug beneath the dark, wooden coffee table matches them perfectly. A huge TV is attached to the wall above the black marble fireplace, and blue curtains with a hint of charcoal and black stripes at the top hang by the windows on either side of the room. There isn’t much furniture other than a wooden bookcase and side cupboard that match the coffee table.

Pictures sit on top of the cupboard but I don’t get to look because Drake comes into the room and sets a glass of wine down onto a coaster.

“Thank you.” I look up with a smile as he takes a seat on the sofa next to me, putting his beer on another coaster.

“I don’t know if you’ve ever thanked me before.”

“You haven’t fucked me hard enough yet.”

“Do you like cold pizza? It can be arranged.”

“Ignore me,” I tell him. Fucking filter. Where is it when I need it? Oh yeah. It saw wine and got thirsty. “I’ve had a long day and my filter is drunk off the wine fumes.”

Drake grins, one that lights up his eyes and makes my stomach flutter. “Then feed it.”

“That’s one thing it doesn’t need.” I take the box he’s handing me and open it. Cheesy, pepperoni goodness assaults my senses, and I sigh happily. Yes, this is what I need after today. After the crazy revelations by Madison.

“Did you just come?”

My lips thin, and I face him. “Do you want me to shove that beer bottle up your backside?”

“Can I finish it first?” That. Fucking. Grin.

“Sure—once I’ve tipped you upside down.”

“Now that you have to video. You’re nothin’ compared to me, cupcake. I could flick you and the only thing that’d keep you standin’ would be your attitude.”

“So my attitude is larger than life.” I pick a piece of pepperoni off my slice and raise my eyebrows. “Better than it being smaller than a single sperm.”

“Why? Because sperm can procreate?”

“Please. If my attitude were sperm, it’d be the whole thing. The one trillion little things that come out each time.”

Drake snorts. “You make ejaculation sound like it’s an ant infestation.”

“Depends if you want to get pregnant or not. Oh, and contraception. Because if it isn’t and you don’t, then you’re gonna need a super exterminator to get rid of that potential kink in the road.”

“You talk far too much when you should be eating.” He grabs my hand and shoves my slice of pizza into my mouth.

I gasp as the hot sauce coats my lips. “You bastard!”

“Is that your pet name for me?” He bites into his own pizza and chews. “Because that could be so fucking hot in the right context.”

“Like when I’m shoving your beer bottle up your ass?”

“I love it when you threaten me. It’s like my cock is keeping tally and the more you do, the harder your next fuck is.”

“Your cock keeps tally? What is it? A fucking pencil?”

“Long and hard? There’s a good chance.”