Smokin' Seventeen by Janet Evanovich

middle of the night.”
    “Yeah, but you could go to the landfill and there’s never anyone there.”
    “They installed security cameras at the landfill,” Dave said. “And besides, you have to drive the body to the landfill and then you get DNA traces in the trunk of your car. I guess you could steal a car.”
    “I see you’ve thought this through,” I said to Dave.
    Dave helped himself to the wine. “My cousin got a ticket for dumping toxic waste. They caught him on video. And everything I know about DNA I learned from CSI . I’ve been watching a lot of television since I moved home.”
    An hour later, I pushed back from the table and took a deep breath. The lasagna had been way too good, and I’d eaten way too much. And I almost had an orgasm eating the cake. My jeans were uncomfortably tight. My thoughts were conflicted. Possibly it was the three glasses of wine I’d chugged, but I was thinking it wouldn’t be so bad to have a husband who loved to cook. Heck, I could even get involved. I could do the chopping, and he could throw it all into a wok or whatever. And I could buy some candlesticks, and we could have a dinner party.
    I plugged Ranger into the picture, and I could see him as an expert chef, because Ranger is good at everything. I couldn’t see him at the dinner party. Two people is a party for Ranger. Morelli would be good at the dinner party, but he’d burn all the food if a ball game was on. Dave was a perfect fit in the kitchen and at the dinner party, but I wasn’t especially attracted to him. He felt bland compared to Ranger and Morelli.
    • • •
    I was asleep on the couch when Morelli slipped his arm around me, and Bob gave me a lick on the cheek with his giant tongue.
    “Who? What?” I said, disoriented on waking.
    Morelli clicked through channels on the television. “You must have had a hard day. It’s only nine o’clock.”
    “I ate too much at dinner. Lasagna and chocolate cake at my parents’ house. It’s going to take me days to digest it.” I looked down at my jeans. The top snap was open and there was no hope of closing it. “I brought a piece of cake home for you. It’s in the kitchen.”
    He kissed me on the top of my head, went to the kitchen, and returned with his cake. He forked some into his mouth and nodded approval. “This is really good.”
    “It’s the icing.”
    “Yeah. It’s like fudge.”
    “Dave Brewer made it. Turns out he likes to cook.”
    “I’m missing something. How did you get Dave Brewer to make you a cake?”
    “My mom met Dave’s mom in Giovichinni’s, and they decided I should be his girlfriend. So I’ve gotten sucked into two dinners with him. One of which he made.”
    “And?”
    “And what?”
    Morelli ate the last piece. “Are you going to be his girlfriend?”
    “No. He makes great cake, but I’m sticking with you.”
    “Just checking. Nice to know I don’t have to beat the crap out of him.”
    “You can’t smack him around anyway. We’re supposed to have an open relationship, right? Were you and Dave friends in high school?”
    “He was a year younger than me and a world away. I was the screwup with the bad reputation, and he was the football hero. He was dating Julie Barkalowski, the pom-pom queen.”
    “How about you? Did you ever date Julie Barkalowski?”
    “I dated every girl in that school. I was a horn dog back then.”
    “And now?”
    Morelli put his plate down and wrapped his arms around me. “And now I’m your horn dog.”
    “Lucky me.”
    He clicked the television off, slipped his hands under my T-shirt, and kissed me. Minutes later we were in bed, we were naked, and Morelli was doing a demo for me on the various ways I was lucky. He found the way I was most lucky and just as I was moments away from scoring a home run, a vision of Dave Brewer in an apron popped into my head and broke my concentration.
    “Damn!” I said through clenched teeth.
    Morelli picked his head up and looked at me. “Is