They stared at each other.

Surprisingly, Deacon broke eye contact first. He said, “Fine,” and kissed her.

But it was hard to maintain the kiss when she couldn’t stop smiling.

•   •   •

DEACON took her to a hole-in-the-wall Mexican joint.

He scooted into the booth so she could sit next to him. Then he stretched his arm behind her and played with her hair.

After they ordered, she said, “The staff seems to know you.”

“I eat here once a week. It’s the only place in Denver that serves Tex-Mex.”

“Mexican food is different in Texas?”

“Yep.”

“Do you miss the Lone Star State?”

“Sometimes.”

“Do you miss your family?”

“Nope.”

“How often do you go home?”

“Rarely.”

“Don’t get along with them?”

“Nope.”

Molly decided to stop asking questions that could be answered with one word. She jokingly said, “So I guess that means you won’t be taking me home to Texas to meet the family.”

He scowled. “I don’t do family shit, so no.”

She slid out of the booth and moved across from him, folding her arms on the table. “If you keep scowling like that, your face will freeze that way.”

Deacon finally smiled. “Good one.”

“First-date rule. Tell me something about yourself that you’ve never told another woman.”

A momentary look of panic crossed his face. Then the mask settled in place again. “I don’t like to answer a bunch of questions.”

“Ha! I’ll bet that’s standard answer with you. Not new, so try again.”

“I hate this shit.”

“I know. But that also doesn’t count as an answer. Tell me a secret.”

“I like to watch skating on TV.”

“Men’s or women’s or pairs?”

“Hockey.”

Molly leaned forward. “Hockey is not figure skating, Deacon.”

“I didn’t say figure skating. I said skating. Hockey players are the shit on the ice. So hockey counts as skating. Just a rougher version. Your turn.” He lifted his beer to hide his smirk.

You asked for this, smart-ass. “Sometimes I fantasize about a rougher version of sex.”

Deacon choked on his beer. “What the hell, Molly? Why would you . . . ?” His eyes narrowed. “You’re fucking with me.”

“Not yet,” she said sweetly. “And no more than you were when you said you liked to watch skating on TV.”

“I was telling the truth.” He sighed. “I changed it to hockey at the last second because I thought it might make me sound like a pussy, all right?”

She didn’t believe him. “So you really like figure skating?”

“To the point I fucking DVR’d the world championships and the Olympics.” He pointed at her with his beer bottle. “And if you tell anyone that, I’ll lie.”

“I believe you. Anything you tell me, I’d never tell anyone else.”

“Good. Back to your answer. Do you really like it rough?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never had it that way, which is why I said I fantasize about it.”

“Jesus, woman.”

“What? Men don’t look at me and imagine pushing me up against a wall and fucking me, pulling my hair as I’m being fucked, or just taking me fast and hard in the heat of the moment.” When Molly looked up at him, her stomach cartwheeled at seeing the hunger in his eyes.

“You toss that out there? Expect I’ll pick it up and run with it. Because, babe, I can do rough.”

“Good. That’s what I want.”

“Then that’s what you’ll get,” he said softly. “But sometimes you’re gonna get it sweet from me too.”

Chills skittered down Molly’s arms from his first declaration, and her heart went mushy at his second. “I can deal with that.”

The waitress dropped off their food.

Molly eyed the two grilled chicken breasts topped with sliced avocado, the cup of whole black beans, and the pile of plain rice on his plate.

Deacon caught her looking at his meal. “What?”

“That’s Tex-Mex?”

“A healthier version of Tex-Mex.” He shoveled a scoop of rice and beans into his mouth.

“Do you always eat like this?”

He held up his hand while he chewed and swallowed. “Five days a week. Two weeks before a fight, the warden switches me to bread and water.”

“Seriously?”