Waiving the fondue fork over the vegetables in the tiny bowls, I smirked at Mel. “Keep ’em closed.” 

We’d been playing this game since we arrived at the Melting Pot, the fondue joint we finally agreed on for dinner.

Agreed being the operative word. I’m sure it was easier negotiating the Treaty of Versailles. And once we’d arrived, prying any personal information out of Mel was a battle unto itself. So I issued a challenge: if she guessed the right blend of cheese and the vegetable or meat, I’d answer any question she posed. And vice versa. 

Mel took a sip of her iced tea, rolling her eyes. “Try not to burn me this time, okay?” 

“Didn’t your mama ever teach you to blow on something hot before you put it in your mouth?”

Her gaze turned wistful and she shook her head. “Must’ve missed that lesson.”

I paused, my foot finding hers under the table. I’d known the girl for less than a minute, but I could tell that the comment hit a nerve. Why I cared, I didn’t know. 

Breaking the awkward silence, her lids fluttered closed. “Do your best,” she said with a sigh.

Watching Mel while I skewered a piece of broccoli, I dipped it in the Alpine cheese mix. She looked so fucking cute with her mouth open and that pink little tongue sticking out.

“Okay . . . try this.” I blew the steam off the morsel before lifting the fork to her lips.

A smile curved her mouth at the gesture. “You didn’t have to do that. I can blow myself.”

All the blood rushed from my head and the utensil slipped from my grasp, splattering cheese everywhere.

“Shit. Mel . . . I’m sorry.”

Grabbing my napkin, I reached across the table. My hand landed on her breast as I tried to clean the goopy mess.

Her eyes widened, either from my groping or the stain spreading across her blouse.

“Give me that.” Snatching the checkered cloth, she glared at me. “What are you, sixteen? Get your mind out of the gutter. I’m a woman. I can’t possibly blow myself.”

Mel was crazy if she thought that’s where my mind went. It was her pouty lips wrapped around my dick that had me squirming in my seat.

What the hell? I wasn’t that guy. Maybe Logan was rubbing off on me.

Banishing the thought, I averted my gaze while Mel cleaned up. When I turned back, spotting the outline of her nipple peeking through the fabric where the oily glob had been, my mouth went dry.

Kill me now.

“You’re the one with your mind in the gutter,” I lied, my eyes glued to her face. “The fork slipped.”

I almost forgot about our little game until she picked up the chunk of broccoli. She examined the tidbit thoroughly before popping it into her mouth.

“Broccoli and Alpine.” She smiled as she chewed. “I win.”

The chick was competitive in a way that usually turned me off. But anything that came out of that smartass mouth had the opposite effect.

Lacing my fingers behind my head, I reclined in the booth. “Fine. Ask away.” I smiled coyly. “Anything goes.”

Pondering, her eyes drifted to the window in the front of the restaurant where my brand new Ford F250 truck sat parked next to her old Jeep.

“What’s it like to get everything you ever dreamed of?”

Locked in her gaze, I brushed my thumb over a spot of cheese clinging to her cheek.

“What makes you think I get everything I want?” Unable to pull away, my hand lingered on her smooth skin. “Nobody gets everything they want, angel.”

I realized I’d been had when her lips quirked.

“So you’re not going to answer?” Her smile turned triumphant. “Cool, I win again. Close your eyes—my turn.”

Contemplating her next choice, her fork hovered over the half-empty melting pot.

“There’s no way to answer that question,” I groused, but did as she asked. “So, you didn’t really win.”

Humming to herself, she slipped a piece of food between my lips. 

“Shit!” I spit the wad in my napkin. “What the fuck was that?”

The picture of innocence, Mel blinked at me. “If you can’t guess, then technically . . .”

“I lose, right?” I grabbed her legs under the table and she yelped. “That was dark chocolate and cheddar cheese on sourdough.” I swallowed hard at the aftertaste. “So, I didn’t lose…and this question is going to be a doozy.”

Leaning back, she kept her knees between my legs. “Shoot.”

“What kind of protein are you studying and why?”

Mel’s smile fell away. “That’s two questions.”

“Okay . . . what kind of protein are you studying?”

When the waiter appeared at our table to fill our glasses, Mel sealed her lips tight, her knees bobbing steadily.

Watching his retreating back, she said quietly, “Right now I’m concentrating on Tau protein.”

Keeping up on the latest medical technology was a secret passion of mine, but the name was unfamiliar. “Tau?”

Nodding, she reached for her glass of iced tea. Her eyes widened as she took a swallow. Searching the room, she zeroed in on our waiter.

Confused, I squeezed her leg. “Mel, what is it?”

Ignoring my question, she called the kid over. He scurried to the table, his mouth falling into a frown at Mel’s scornful expression. 

“Is this sweet tea?” she demanded, tension lines etching the corners of her mouth.

“I believe so,” the server stammered. “I—”

“Take it,” she snapped. “I ordered unsweetened.” Softening her tone at his stunned expression, she handed him the glass. “Please . . . if you wouldn’t mind.”

I waited until the kid scrambled for the kitchen to say, “Easy there, guns. It’s just a little sugar.”

Her brows drew together. “Sugar kills.”

“Don’t you think you’re overreacting just a bit?”

She lifted a shoulder and stared into her lap. “Maybe,” she said softly.

Mumbling an apology when the waiter returned, Mel didn’t look up until he left.

“Sorry about that,” she said to me sheepishly. “Free question—anything you want to know.”

I raised a brow. “Anything?”

Nodding, her lip disappeared between her teeth as my hand slid higher on her leg.

“Eggs or pancakes?”

She cocked her head. “You mean . . . in general?”

“I mean specifically.” Tracing circles on her jean-clad thigh with my thumb, I smiled. “I’d really like to know what you want me to make you for breakfast in the morning.”