Page 9 of Force a Date

“No.”

“Do you know how to say more than one word in a five-minute span, or is that something they didn’t teach you in school?” I solicit, really allowing my irritation to shine through now. “I mean, back during the war and stuff.” He raises a brow, and I’m not an idiot. He’s not that old.

“I dunno, I’m gonna need you to slow down,” he rebuffs. “My hearing aid is running out of battery.”

I roll my eyes and avert them to the Metallica poster behind his desk.

Anything but him.

“I’m going to need more than coffee, and you’re gonna need a lesson in how to wash my bike if I even consider it.”

“I can wash a bike,” I grind out.

“I’m going to need it waxed, too. Off the clock. Every two days.”

Two days?

What does he do, ride the damn thing through ponds? I don’t know how to wax, but I’ll google it.

This time, he waits for me to answer, but I don’t respond, giving him a piece of his own medicine at how nerve-racking he is.

Not only is he a wall of tattoos that blend into others, but he’s also intimidating as hell. A man of so many words, so you’re always wondering what he’s thinking…or not.

“I want breakfast, lunch, and dinner. On your dime, of course.” I clench my teeth together because this is becoming too expensive just to shut my mom up. “If I need a favor, you’re doing it no matter what it is. You’re my bitch for the month.”

My eyes fly back to him. “No.”

“No?” He has the audacity to lift his entire face as if I don’t have the damn right to.

“No,” I repeat. “That’s—” Too gray. “Thanks anyway, I’ll pass. Was there anything else you’d like to speak to me about besides the fake boyfriend thing and nonexistent flirting you just accused me of?”

I don’t know if he hesitates or is just thinking about what we’ve already discussed, but he finally gives me his nodding approval, and it takes me no time to get the hell out of there.

What a hot douchebag.

But right when I believe I’m in the clear with my hand on the doorknob, he hands me over a warning.

“This is your one and final warning, Opie,” he says through a deep growl. “I find you talkin’ shit about us dating or takin’ up my guys’ time, and I’ll throw you out on your ass.”

I stare at the door, my heart flying a million miles a second. But I still answer with, “Yes, sir.”

And leave the room.

three

. . .

HUDSON

“Is that a kink, or are you really a dad?”

I don’t pull my attention from the tattoo I’m designing and at the annoying-as-fuck blonde with her ass currently up in my chair.

She’d be more attractive if she kept her mouth shut, but everyone around here seems to like talking, and it’s just the industry, I guess.

So are dumbass, meaningless tattoos of flowers on hips, but who the fuck am I?

“Dad,” I reply, shading in the petals of the pink daises I’m doing. She jolts a bit, almost fucking me up, then adjusts herself on the leather seat.

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