Page 17 of Jayce

“Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should. I’ll never dishonor you just because you are capable.”

She tosses her hands up. “Fine.”

“Put that lip back in before I kiss it until it’s swollen and satisfied.”

I snap the seatbelt in place, making sure it’s not too snug across her chest. She doesn’t fight me, but her frustration is tangible. If she keeps it up, my lips will consume hers before the night ends.

Chapter 13

Shay

Why can’t he be mine? How am I going to love another man after being loved by this man?

He doesn’t have to say it for me to comprehend that he believes he’s in love with me.

“Where are we going?”

“Do you like po’boys?”

“You mean, we’re not just going to Twins?”

“Is that where you’d prefer dinner?”

“I kind of assumed it was the only place you ever ate at.”

He sighs. “I thought it might be nice to get to know each other without the interruptions.”

“You mean your sweet butts.”

“Sweet butts?”

I roll my eyes. “I know that’s not what you call them, but you’ve got to admit Circe, Daphne, and the others all act like sweet butts.”

“I don’t understand. What is a sweet butt?”

“I know you’ve never read a motorcycle club romance, but are you telling me you’ve never seen Sons of Anarchy?”

He shrugs. “I watch little TV.”

“How can you not watch TV?”

“I never think about it. At the end of the workday, I train in the evening. After a shower, I head over to the bar to unwind. And before the night ended, well, you know.”

“What about since you met me?” I ask without looking at him.

“I’m finally getting eight hours of sleep.” He adds that damn wink.

Jayce pulls into a parking space at a hole-in-the-wall place called Off the Hook in Thibodeaux.

“Is this okay, or do you want to go into New Orleans where there’re more choices?”

I open my door without answering him before he can jump out and make me wait for him to do it.

We race to the door of the restaurant. His long legs will beat me every time, but I won’t surrender to the outdated practice without a fight.

Inside, I’m dreading not grabbing my favorite chunky cardigan. The thermostat on the wall reads sixty-one. What the frick?

I read the menu at the counter, chattering my teeth. At least the food sounds amazing.

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