Page 18 of Poker
Let me take care of you, protect you, be whatever it is you need in a man.
“And how exactly would you help me with this situation?”
I arch a brow. “Babe, I’m a Soulless King. If someone is giving you shit or threatening you, I’d show them in horrific detail exactly why that’s the dumbest thing they could do.”
Meri swallows, but her nostrils flare. “You say that like I’m yours to protect.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her she is, but I wisely keep that to myself. “You’re my friend. Enough said.”
“Can we just drop it, please? I really want to finish up here and get home.”
I heave a sigh. I’m being a pushy asshole, and I hate it. “Yeah, sure.”
We spend the next hour in silence. Once Meri declares the state of the warehouse ‘as clean as it’s gonna get’, I help her carry the trash to the dumpster out back. After she locks up, she turns away from the building to face me.
“Thanks for your help.”
“No problem.”
She stares at me for a long moment before taking a deep breath and blurting, “How do you feel about gardening?”
“Um…”
“Never mind,” she mutters and tries to step around me.
Again, I grab her wrist, and the softness of her skin sends shockwaves straight to my cock. “Why do you ask?”
She lifts her eyes to mine. “I’m going to work on my garden when I get home and then I’m gonna make some spaghetti. I always make too much so…” Her unfinished question hangs in the air.
“Are you asking me if I want to come to your place?”
“I…” Meri squares her shoulders. “Yeah, I guess. But it’s stupid. Of course, you don’t like to garden. And I’m sure you’d much rather have steak than spaghetti.”
I grin at her nervousness. Meri is a confident woman, and I kinda love that I’m throwing her off balance.
“You’re right about the steak,” I admit. “How ‘bout I grab a couple at the store and meet you at your place? We can garden, and then I’ll grill out.” I tilt my head. “You do have a grill, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Then it’s settled.”
She nods once. “Okay. I, um… Give me your phone.”
I reach into my cut and grab it to hand to her.
“What’s your passcode?” she asks.
“Six three seven four,” I reply with zero hesitation.
She taps on the screen a few times. I move to stand and look over her shoulder. Watching her navigate to my contacts and enter her own information makes my heart beat double time.
“There,” she says as she hands the cell back to me. “Now you’ve got my address.”
“Right.”
“I’m gonna head home, so I’ll see you when you get there.”
“Okay. Need anything else at the store while I’m there?”
