Page 24 of A Little Broken

“Check.”

“Motorcycle ride.”

“Check.”

“Dinner with a rockstar.”

“Check.”

“Hmm.” I take another bite, surprised by the buzzing beneath my skin as Pax stares at me from across the table. “I guess I could always let you cash in on those other perks you mentioned.”

“Such as?”

“Me,” I offer. “Although, in return, I expect a solid orgasm or two. Does that sound achievable to you?”

“Two?”

“What? Too vanilla?” I quip, glancing at the untouched shake on the edge of the table.

Intrigued, he shifts closer and drops his voice low. “And you saying I’m the one with expectations?”

“If we’re gonna point fingers, you’re the one who asked what else I want for my birthday since you kidnapped me and all.” I kick him softly beneath the table. “So what do you say? Are you turning me down, Mr. Security?”

“I should,” he counters dryly. “It might be good for you to be told no every once in a while.”

“Who says I’m never told no?”

“Pretty faces like yours are used to getting what they want,” he murmurs. “But you’re right. After the whole kidnapping thing, I guess I can put out.”

I laugh even harder. “So selfless.”

“You have no idea.” His elbows hit the table, and he shifts forward. “Are we talking dirty bathroom sex, or a little hand play beneath the table,ora quick trip to your hotel before Rory gets there?”

Well damn. I mean, I know I’m the one who suggested hooking up in the first place, but bathroom sex? Hand play under the table? Way to take things to a new level, Mr. Security. I don’t know if I should be proud or a little scared. Not that he’ll hurt me or something, but that he has no issue going head-to-head with a girl like me. I’m not used to being the one knocked off kilter. Usually, it’s the other way around. I kind of like it, though. Being on the other side. The one volleying back instead of serving, so to speak.

His lips curve up on one side as he waits for my answer while refusing to back down or play off his suggestion like it’s a joke.

Who is this guy?

“Is that a dare?” I challenge.

“Just a question.”

“Mm-hmm. Call me crazy, but you don’t seem like someone who asks…”—I lift my hand and do air quotes—“just a question.”

“One game of Rock, Paper, Scissors, and you think you already have me pegged.” He pops another fry into his mouth then shifts back in his seat again and crosses his arms over his chest, playing the bad boy rockstar part like he was made for it.

“Sorry, but pegging isn’t my thing. Or at least, not on the first date,” I add, letting him jump to whatever conclusion he wants by my not-so-thinly-veiled innuendo, er, in-his-end-o.

Snorting, he nearly chokes on his french fry before covering his mouth with the back of his hand and forcing the salty potato down his throat. Once he’s safe from asphyxiation, he wipes his mouth with a napkin and reaches for the untouched shake, conceding, “All right, you win. I’ll eat the vanilla.”

I grin as he shoves an overfilled spoonful of ice cream into his mouth to wash down what’s left of the deadly french fry.

“How’s it taste?” I tease.

“Like victory.”

“Pretty sure you lost.”

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