Page 28 of Chasing Sparks

I shoot Zane a stern gaze. “Nice try. Hands off.”

“Yeah, I think she’s already been claimed,” Braden chimes in, giving Ori a high-five before snatching a sandwich from the bag.

“I’ll leave you guys to fight over the food. Have a good afternoon. Don’t have too much fun with the whiskey.” Ori winks at me, flashing a glorious smile before strolling toward the exit.

“Like I said,” Braden murmurs, grabbing me around the neck, “you’re a fucking idiot if you let her go.”

I brush off my brother’s comment, but deep down, I know he’s right.

Women like Ori don’t come along every day and she deserves the best of everything—all the romance, all the trappings.

And sadly, that’s something I can’t give her.

Thanks to Ori saving our asses—and stomachs—the rest of the day passes without a hitch. Before I know it, the world is dark, and our final customers have vacated the premises.

Time for that after-hours treat.

I stroll to the water cooler and grab three cups, but my gaze lands on a Maybach parked on the opposite side of the now-empty street. The only reason I notice it?

He was there earlier today, too. My money says this car belongs to the asshole in Ori’s store this morning.

But her store sits locked up tight, so why is he still here?

Time to shut this situation down, even if it’s all in my head.

I unlock the front door and step onto the sidewalk, crossing my arms and pulling myself to my full height. My gaze locks on his vehicle, making it clear I’m onto him.

Sure enough, the engine turns over seconds later, and he pulls onto the street. But he’s in no hurry, barely crawling along at ten miles an hour.

When he’s parallel to me, the window lowers a crack—just enough for me to glimpse his beady eyes. Then he revs the engine and guns it down the street.

“Asshole,” I mutter, shaking my head as I retreat to the warmth ofBlack Lotus.

I grab a cup of whiskey, my gaze drifting to the darkened interior of One More Page.

Ori is gone for the day. Judging by the hour, she’s probably asleep by now.

I wonder what she’d do if I dropped by her place.

Then it hits me—I have no idea where she lives. She owns the Dean Estate, but it’s uninhabitable. For some reason, not knowing where she calls home doesn’t sit well with me.

What if she needs help? Or someone to reach a box on a top shelf?

What if she’s lying there right now, thinking of me, hoping I’ll make a midnight visit?

What the hell is wrong with me?

Scrubbing my face, I take another sip of whiskey. Have to hand it to the woman—she’s got great taste in single malt.

Then again, she’s got great taste in everything.

Retreating to my office, I settle in to work on a custom design, but my mind keeps drifting to Ori, curled up in bed, her naked curves begging to be explored.

A woman with the tightest pussy and sweetest taste on the planet.

Get a fucking grip, man. She may be hot, wicked smart and a goddess in bed, but she’s still just a woman.

Nope, I don’t believe me, either.

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