Chapter Twelve
“I’m not sleeping with you, Mark,” Billy Jo said.
She didn’t miss the twitch of his lips in reply. He had the lid of an old propane barbecue open and fired up on his deck, and she hadn’t realized she was so hungry as she listened to the sizzle and breathed in the aroma of the two burgers he’d insisted on cooking.
“Look, I’m just feeding you. Don’t read something more into it.” He flipped a burger over on the grill, and the flames flickered. The dog was curled up on the deck at her feet, asleep, and she held a glass of red wine that Mark had poured for her and handed her without even asking. That was the worst thing, that he knew exactly what she liked.
“You sure this isn’t about Sybil? You know, Mark, one of the things I’m very aware of is how much I’m not your type. Rem
