Page 33 of Shockproof

“Plus, hedoesusually ride shotgun like a co-pilot should.”

“You hate to let anyone else fucking drive!”

“And I damn sure would hate to let anyone else fly my Millennium Falcon if I had one.”

“I’d make your horn play ‘The Imperial March’ every time you honked it.”

“Do we really think the Millennium Falconhasa horn?” Aviva ponders out loud. “Like was that subject ever covered in any of the movies?” She adjusts her grip on the old fashioned she’s drinking. “They’re all so long that I don’t think I’ve ever fully finished one without having sex or a nap in the middle of it. Oh! That gold bikini costume for role playing iswayoverpriced, by the way. Had Khar not begged and pleaded and promised to let me lick honey off his nipples I don’t think I would’ve splurged for it.”

The corners of his lips curl upward on a halfhearted shrug. “What can I say? I’m a man willing to compromise.”

“Can we compromise by endin’ this conversation?” I impishly grumble prior to pressing my lips against my bottle.

Chuckles leave the three of them as I allow myself another small sip.

Technically, I’m here on assignment.

An assignment I could’ve easily left Arley at the penthouse while conducting.

Getting an information drop from McPherson in a public location, that’s easy to write off as a coincidence, doesn’t exactly require a Daniel Craig level of finesse, but it does call for some face time in a social environment. One in which it would be hard for people to eavesdrop in and be less suspicious of us having to be so close to talk. For instance, if it was a loud, overcrowded country bar downtown. Which is where we are. Having a “date night” out at The Doubble Barrell to further cultivate the fairytale that we’re an actual couple.

Although, it’s not a fairy tale.

Our relationship is real.

Very. Fucking. Real.

It’s so real that I may have called her dad in Hawaii last night under the pretense to talk shop about hockey, yet really used it to discuss marrying his only daughter.

I didn’t have to ask, but I know Angel Cake.

She’d want his blessing.

Hell, she’s gonna wantallof her family’s blessings.

Truthfully, her parents and Monte are the easy ones while Morris will come around with a simple man to man chat over steak and whiskey. Now, T on the other hand? I’m not so sure. Yeah, he likes me as her best friend, her protector, the man who’d rip out his own kidney with his bare hands to give it to her, but as the man who wants to marry her until death pries her out of my hands?

Something tells me that’s gonna be a different story.

After their laughter fades, Arley wiggles the hot pink earplug around in her ear, prompting me to investigate, “You doin’ okay, Angel Cake?”

She offers me a bashful grin and a small nod. “I’m good, Cowboy.”

“They helpin’?”

“A lot, actually.”

“Perfect.”

I’m more than familiar with her ability to get easily overwhelmed in a crowd – hence why she wears a pair when we go to the rodeo each year – but wasn’t sure if the trick would work the same at a bar. She gets a little self-conscious about it then, so I expected the same now. Part of me thinks she’s just putting on a brave face in front of our friends. And if that’s the case I fucking hate it.

I would never ask her to be something she’s not.

Not for me.

Not for anything.

The other part of me hopes she’s stretching her comfort zones because shewantsto.

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