Mama’s Boy by Avery Flynn

Chapter Five

Dixon

Of all the things people had asked him, whether or not he was a murderer of any kind definitely had not come up. He couldn’t wait to tell his mom; she was going to laugh her ass off. Because they were assholes, Nash and Griff would end up getting T-shirts made that said I’m With the Serial Killer. Of course, he’d do the same if it had happened to one of them.

The woman kept her gaze steady. “No comment, huh?”

For once in his life? No.

What in the fuck had he been thinking? His plan to find the biggest bitch in Harbor City may have been sound, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t tempted to offer her a Snickers or something to take care of the hangry that had her in an obviously extra-bad mood.

Sure, she was doing her best to give off total hard-ass vibes, but the way she shoved her hands in the pockets of her jeans as if she wasn’t sure what to do with them and the flush making her cheeks pink gave it away that she wasn’t as tough as she wanted to appear. Not that it mattered. It was the sucker version of him that wanted to fix things. That guy would be just the asshole who’d lose the bet. That guy wasn’t getting out.

He took a step forward, closing the distance so they were close enough that he would have sworn she was wearing perfume that smelled like sugar cookies. She was tall, putting them eye to eye, as they had their standoff. It gave him time to take her in. Brown eyes, brown hair, freckles upon freckles crossing the bridge of her nose, and laugh lines crinkling the corners of her eyes. Someone smiled a lot more than she let on.

Not that he should notice.

Or care.

Or rethink his decision not to buy her a snack.

Breaking his silence before he gave in, he held out his hand. “Dixon Beckett, definitely not a serial killer.”

She shook his hand. “Fiona Hartigan, definitely hates dogs.”

The name rang a bell, but he was distracted by the way she said “hate”—as if she could barely believe the word was coming out of her mouth. Maybe she wasn’t all bad. And she was hot in that whole librarian/Girl-Scout-mom way. Not his usual type, but maybe he was wrong about why she was here. Maybe she thought the bio was a joke. Maybe she was looking for a guy who could make her laugh, which wouldn’t be terrible, would it?

Stop thinking with your dick and your knight-in-shining-armor-who-falls-for-people-way-too-easily complex, Beckett.

Fuck. He hated it when Griff was right.

Okay, back to the plan to win the bet.

There was nothing good about Fiona if she’d responded to his dating bio—and he didn’t want there to be. As for that can’t-shake-it feeling about her name, he’d remember eventually why he knew it. He always did.

“So you’re looking for someone who shares your hatred of dogs?” Fiona asked, breaking the handshake, flexing her fingers a bit before shoving her hands into the pockets of her jeans again.

“What I’m looking for is a woman I will definitely never fall for to go out with me on six dates for an experiment. So this isn’t about a relationship.”

Okay, that came out about as smooth as chunky peanut butter.

“Why?” She took a step back, no doubt thankful that they were meeting in such a public place.

“I have my reasons.” That was part of the deal. The first rule of winning the bet with his cousins was not talking about what the bet entailed. “It’s personal.”

Fiona lifted a brow. “Sex?”

Dixon flinched. “No, it’s not for sex.”

What kind of person would think he’d be so cold as to say he only wanted sex for six dates? Obviously someone who hated dogs.

“No.” She rolled her big brown eyes and then looked to the ceiling, as if she were asking God to give her patience. “Is sex part of the six dates?”

“Do you want it to be?” Why would you ask that?

Her eyes went wide, and she shook her head. “No.”

“Good.” He cleared his throat, his cheeks hot. “We agree.”

An awkward silence filled the space between them as people milled about, looking at the ants climbing through the colony’s tunnels. Then Fiona grinned up at him, batting her eyelashes as if she found him the most fascinating person ever.

She leaned in close, her lips nearly brushing his ear.

His heartbeat ticked up.

“What if I would have said yes?” she asked and then relaxed back away from him.

There’s a moment in every man’s life that he always remembers. The first time something completely unexpected happened that shot straight to his balls, practically shouting, Report for duty! This wasn’t that, but it was pretty damn close. In less time than it took for his brain to stall at the question, he had a million and three ideas for what his response of yes would have entailed. Many of them involved a desk for some reason. Every single one involved Fiona Hartigan, woman who hates dogs, totally naked and screaming in ecstasy.

For the love of Mike, pull yourself together.

He fisted his hands and took a deep breath. “If you’d have said yes, I would have had a headache every night.”

“Only at night?” She took another step closer as she wet her bottom lip with the tip of her pink tongue. “What are you, a Regency-era virgin?”

Right after serial killer, the next most unlikely character question had to be virgin. “Are you always this argumentative?”

“Absolutely,” she said, her gaze darting to the left.

And it almost sounded like the truth, but Dixon wasn’t so sure.

She gave him a considering look as she toyed with a gold chain with a small gold heart on it. Definitely not the kind of sentimental item he’d expect someone like her to have.

“What if we hate each other?”

God. If he could only get that lucky. “That’s kind of the plan for this…experiment. I mean, do you really hate dogs?”

She nodded, a cocky smile curling her full lips. “They’re the worst.”

“Tipping?”

She wrinkled her nose as if he’d just shoved a gym sock in her face. “Only if it’s on someone else’s dime.”

She was awful. Horrible. The worst date ever.

“You’re perfect,” he said, relief seeping through him. “Let’s do this.”

Fiona tucked dark hair behind her ear and pursed her lips together as she gave him a slow up and down. “I’ll think about it.”

His brain stopped. Think about it?

“What?” He shoved his hands through his hair, trying to figure out when he’d stopped being in control of this conversation. “No. You have to say yes. I have to go out with the first woman who responds to my ad.”

In another circumstance, the smile that curled her lips would have been a warning, but Dixon didn’t have the luxury of heeding those. He had to win this bet. Second place wasn’t an option. It never was.

“Sooooo,” Fiona said, drawing out the single syllable, an evil glint in her brown eyes. “You really want to go out with only the first person who answers your ad for six dates—and no sex?”

“It’s my cousins’ plan,” he blurted out. “All three of us cousins have to go on six dates the others plan with the first person who answers our ad.” There. That should explain the situation.

One of her eyebrows shot up, but she didn’t laugh in his face. Small favors there.

“And let me guess…your plan is to date a woman who hates dogs so you don’t accidentally fall for her.”

He nodded. “Correct.”

She didn’t say anything to that, just continued to assess him as if she were looking for the giveaway sign that he was mostly—if not all—evil. Groups of kids obviously at the museum for a field trip swerved around them as they faced off in the middle of the ant room. An elderly couple holding hands stood in front of the glass colony wall looking up at the ants as they hurried from one tunnel to the next. The unfamiliar sensation of an impending loss blew against the nape of his neck, as cold as the surprisingly cold September gusts that had hit him in the face as he ran from the coffee shop to the museum. Just as he was about to break the stalemate, Fiona opened her mouth.

“What if I fall for you?”

“I’m unavailable.” The words came out loud enough that the old couple turned to look at him, and a handful of the seventh graders started giggling.

“Totally?” Fiona asked.

He gulped. “Completely. Believe me. I’ve been down the marriage road, and I’ll never travel it again.”

She leaned in close until her lips were nearly touching his ear and whispered, “Not even a smidgen of a chance?”

Ignoring every reality-based answer to the contrary, he spoke. “Nope.”

Fiona took a step back and grinned at him, letting out a relieved sigh. “There’s nothing you could’ve said that would’ve possibly made me happier.”

“So you’ll do it?”

“I have a few conditions you’ll need to agree to.” She winked at him. “But don’t worry your virginal heart—none of them involves sex.”