Page 21 of What We Broke

He raises an eyebrow at me, skeptically. “Is this you conceding?”

“I’m compromising,” I correct. “You have twenty-four hours to change my mind.”

His mouth stretches ridiculously wide, and I can’t help but mirror his smile.

It’s unprecedented how badly I want to please this man. To be the guy he sees, be the guy worth chasing.

“If that’s the case”—he quickly picks up his drink off the table and finishes it—“we need to get to my place sooner rather than later.”

“Oh, so you do want to fuck me?” I tease.

“I told you,” he says, rising up off his chair, sliding his wallet out of his back pocket and throwing down a handful of bills. “I’m going to feed you first.”

“A true romantic,” I joke. “I could’ve paid, you know.”

Ignoring me, he extends his arm out and I take his hand, choosing to leave every single reservation behind in this dingy diner.

We don’t hold hands as we head to the exit, but the proximity of his body to mine leaves no doubt in my mind that our physical chemistry is not the thing in question.

We walk back to the front of the club and Jesse guides us to the line of cabs waiting to take the crowd of people home at the end of the night.

Lowering his head, he looks into an open window and either asks the cab driver if he can take us or tells him his address. When he waves his hands over to me, I know it was the latter.

“It’s only a short drive,” he tells me, opening the back door of the yellow sedan. Tucking myself in, I slide across the back seat and watch Jesse and his thick thighs and long legs climb in. “I usually like driving everywhere,” he continues. “But I was supposed to get shitfaced with my best friend Zara for her birthday.”

“You bailed on your best friend’s birthday?” I ask, a little shocked. “I hate to tell you, but you’re a shit best friend.”

He laughs, loud and rich. “She would agree with you, but lucky for me, she puts up with me, and I’m almost certain she won’t be too upset when I tell her why. She’s always on my case, telling me I need to meet someone.”

“You don’t look like someone who needs assistance in that department,” I compliment.

“I’m not,” he answers confidently. “But I’m picky.”

“Do you live by yourself?” I ask him, moving the conversation far away from me.

“Yes,” he answers. “It’s not too big, but it’s close to work and Zara and my daughter.”

I turn my head to look at him, the shock on my face clear. “You have a daughter?”

“I do,” he says cautiously. His eyes search my face before adding, “Is that a problem?”

“No.” I shake my head vehemently. And it isn’t. It isn’t like we’re playing house and she’s going to call me Dad. “How old is she?”

“She’s ten.”

My brows furrow as I try and fail at math. “How old are you?”

“I’m twenty-six,” he offers. He must see the concentration on my face when he adds, “Yes, I had her in my freshman year of high school.”

“Holy shit,” I breathe out. “I couldn’t imagine raising a baby in high school.”

“It was definitely an experience,” he admits.

“She’s not home now, is she?”

“My daughter? No.” He chuckles. “She’s staying at my parents’ place tonight.”

“Not with her mom?” I ask.

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