Page 31 of Riding the Edge

“I’m not shaving,” I warn as her delicate fingers travel the length of it.

“Good,” she whispers. “I like it.”

Wrapping my fingers around her wrist, I drag her hand away from my beard and intertwine our fingers.

Soft as silk.

“Tomorrow,” I say giving her hand a squeeze.

She flashes me a smile and Jesus Christ that shit’s brighter than the moon.

“Good night, Al.”

Releasing my hand, she turns around and heads for the door. She doesn’t give me another look and when she’s out of my sight, I draw in a deep breath.

Apparently, Jack Parrish isn’t the only one losing his mind these days.

As always, I’m right there with him.

---