Page 46 of Wicked

“Not when one of them misled me. How long has Brett been going to Gio’s?”

“A year.”

“He knew all along about you and Shephard?”

“Yes.”

“Did he ever approach you?”

“Not inside the gym. I’m off-limits. A guy has to get Shephard’s permission to speak with me.”

“That so?” He leans his hip on the counter. Crosses his arms. “The owner is okay with this arrangement? Doesn’t his assery scare off the customers?”

“The opposite. Women like his overprotectiveness. They pay for private boxing lessons with him.”

“Either way, his rule is fucked up.”

“For a newcomer seeing the situation with fresh eyes, maybe. But Shephard and I have been doing this since we moved here my freshman year.”

“Yet he doesn’t live with you.”

“I—”

The doorbell stops me from explaining that part of Shephard’s and my unconventional relationship. Giving me a look that we’re not through with our conversation, Ryker pays for our food. The kids stop what they’re doing and gather around the kitchen table. Suddenly, I realize the table seats ALL of us.

“Thank you,” I say out the side of my mouth, taking small bites of my pizza.

“What for?” He gnaws on a piece of baked chicken, his side order. I don’t miss him eyeing the pizzas longingly. Poor guy.

“For buying a table that fits our group.”

“Our group. I like that.” His gaze drops to my mouth. Not missing a beat, he swipes a napkin from the table and dabs at the corner of my lips. “Pizza sauce.” He leans in and says low in my ear, “If the kids weren’t here, I’d lick and suck it off before I lick and suck off other places. Private places.”

Heat creeps up my neck and fans across my face. Goodness. I finish my meal in silence, liking the noises the kids make with their loud voices and laughter. After they’re done eating, the kids return to the other room, giving Ryker and I privacy.

“How long do we have the kids for?” Ryker pitches the pizza boxes in the garbage can.

I glance at the time on my cell and do math in my head. It’s Friday night and the parents are out on their respective dates.

Pete has a hot date too, and I want to make sure he has the time to win her over. He works too hard. Pours his heart and soul either into the homicide cases he’s working or into April, the little star in his life. No wonder he has little energy left over outside of work and family for romance.

“Three hours. Is it okay for their parents to pick them up here rather than meeting at the skating rink?”

We met there and divided the group. He took four in his truck, and four kids rode with me in my car.

“Hell yeah. You won’t have to drive the kids back. You can stay here with me. We’ll get alone time.”

He picks up his chair and scoots it close. When he sits, his knees touch my thigh.

“You coming to tomorrow’s home game?”

His large hand slips inside my back pocket. Thick fingers stroke my butt through my denim. My heartbeat quickens. My breathing too.

“I can’t,” I say, breathless.

Clearly understanding his effect on me, he leans in close. “Are you working?” His breath coasts over my ear, and his nose presses into my hair.

“I-I’m flying out to Chicago,” I stammer. “Sunday is my father’s birthday. I’m visiting his gravesite.”

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