Page 78 of Never You

“What?!” I yelp, gaping. “You wouldn’t get away with it.”

He chuckles, bringing his hands back to the wheel.

“Pfft, I’m the son of Asher Jensen. I’m pretty sure I would.”

“Oh, sonowyou wanna pull themy-daddy-is-a-politiciancard?” I quirk up an eyebrow.

“Are you kidding me? That's theonlytime I’m gonna pull that one.”

“To get away with murder?” I deadpan, folding my arms in front of my body. I press my lips together while inside, I’m smiling like that damn Cheshire cat again.

I love how our bickering changed to bantering.

I love how our aggravation turned to flirting.

And most of all, I love how it all feels normal.

“Hell yeah, what else would I need it for?”

“You’re the worst.”

The worst thing I could want.

23

The knowledge that he lived here, someone that had such an impact on our modern-day society, still makes the hairs in the back of my head stand up, even though it's a warm summer day.

“Did you know he was the youngest Nobel prize winner at the time?” Jensen asks as we stand in front of Martin Luther King Jr.’s birth home.

The house looks like an ordinary southern home, with yellow paint and brown shutters. “Really? How do you know that?”

“I paid attention in history class.”

I turn my head, the disbelief dripping off my face. It’s hard picturing the bad boy of the NHL as a model student. Actually, it’s impossible.

“What?” He chuckles.

“Nothing,” I tell him. “Just didn’t take you for a history nerd.”

He wraps his arms around my waist, spinning me so that I’m facing him, then dips his chin.

“I said I paid attention. Not that I was a history nerd.” He takes my sunglasses off my face, placing them on top of my hair, while his other arm keeps me tight against his chest.

“What are you doing?”

“I want to look into your eyes when you are being a pain in my ass.”

“Isn’t that always?”

“Actually, yeah.” He brings his hands to cup my cheeks, giving me a sweet affectionate kiss that has me moaning against his lips. “Come on, let's grab some food. Bodi will join us later.”

He takes my hand in his, leading us out of the park. It’s scary how normal it all feels. Holding his hand as we stroll down the street, like I’m his. How he kisses me every chance he gets, like I’m his. How I love this feeling he’s giving me, like I’m his.

“So, what are you in the mood for?” I ask as we walk down Edgewood Avenue.

He pulls me closer before wrapping an arm around my neck. “That depends. Are you on the menu?”

“Just for dessert.” I seductively bite my lip.

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