Page 17 of Property of Azrael

“And you say I over-analyze things,” I tease. “Fruit on pizza is delicious. You should try it sometime.”

“Never.”

“That sounds like a bit of a challenge to me. If I’m paying for dinner, I think I should get to pick.”

Grabbing my phone from the bed, I ignore the dozens of missed texts from Eden. Thankfully, the message preview is off on my phone because I can only imagine what Eden has said to get her Get Hallie Laid campaign off the ground earlier. Opening up the web browser, I pull up a list of pizzerias and pick the one with the best ratings, a smile forming on my lips as I place the order. “Pizza’s ordered.”

“Please tell me you didn’t do what I think you did.”

“Guess we’ll have to see.” I wink. “It’ll be here in thirty minutes.”

Azrael groans. “I’m not eating that, even if it’s the only thing you ordered.”

“It would be rude not to eat a meal I’m buying for you.”

“Hawaiian pizza doesn’t classify as a meal. You can tell me as much as you want it is, but I’m prepared to die on that hill.”

“I guess you’ll go hungry tonight, then.”

“I can find something to keep me satisfied.”

The way he says it, sends a pang of arousal to my core. I know he didn’t mean it that way, but my brain is hard-wired to turn even the simplest of conversations into some romantic entanglement. I can thank Eden’s influence for that.

“It’s my turn to ask you a question. What’s this event you’re going to in Houston?”

I can feel the blush rising up from my neck and to my cheeks. “It’s a book signing.”

“You traveled all the way from Indiana to go to a book signing? Seems a bit extreme to travel that far for books. Don’t they have those in Indiana?”

He’s not wrong. There are book signings in every state, but how do I explain to him, a real-life biker, that he’s taking me to a biker and mafia themed book signing? Non-readers don’t understand how readers and authors alike covet signed books. My shelves at home are filled to the brim with some of my favorite authors. Books that have never been read, because signed books are for display only.

“I’m actually an attending author, and it’s my first event as one.”

“Really? What kind of books do you write?”

“I write romance.”

His brow rises in a quizzical arch. “Romance?”

“Yes, romance. Do you have a problem with that, too?” My tone is clipped, almost harsh. “Romance is a perfectly acceptable genre to write in.”

“No problem at all, Hallie,” he drawls out carefully. “Can I ask why you reacted like that, though?”

“My family doesn’t exactly see my genre or writing career as something to be proud of. Too much sex and violence for their taste.”

“Sounds like a damn good premise to me. Do you have any of your books with you? I’d love to read one.”

“I kind of scored a last-minute invite, so I had to ship the books directly from Amazon to the event. But I’d be happy to give you one tomorrow when we get there. My way of saying thank you.”

“I’d like that,” he says sincerely. “I guess that explains why you tried to drive down.”

“Yeah,” I admit sheepishly. “With the amount of money I had to dish out for books to sign and sell at my table, I couldn’t exactly splurge for a plane ticket.”

“I guess not.”

He peers down and types something into his phone. It’s not until the familiar smiling A pops up on his screen that I realize what he’s doing.

“Wait, are you looking me up on Amazon?”

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