Page 8 of His Innocent Mate

“I hope you like braised chicken thighs,” I say, failing to smile. It’s like my damn lips forgot how to.

“Anything is good,” she deadpans, her eyes trained on the table.

I plate our food and pull her chair out, gesturing for her to take a seat.

“So, ah, what’s your name?” I ask, taking my place across from her.

“Lyra,” she replies, staring down at her food.

“I’m Brock.”

I cannot overstate how unsettling her silence is.

“Would you like a glass of wine? I picked a chardonnay, but there are plenty of others to choose from.”

“I’m not old enough to drink.”

My gut twists with anger at the revelation. “Just how old are you?”

“Eighteen.”

Shit…I didn’t expect her to be so goddamn young. Not that it matters.

“I don’t think there’s been an alcohol age restriction since the government fell.”

“My parents…” She frowns. “Never mind.”

Fuck, it feels like everything is going sideways, but I haven’t done anything wrong.

I pick up my utensils and start carving into the chicken. She follows my lead, and if I’m not mistaken, her eyes squeeze with satisfaction as she eats her first bite.

At least I got one thing right.

We eat in silence for a time, her eyes never leaving her plate. I should be thrilled that she’s so damn pretty, but it would almost be easier if she weren’t. Give me a broken, used chick that realizes how good she has it here.

Lyra looks utterly defeated.

If I had to guess, I’d say she misses someone back home. A girl like her has her pick of men, and there was probably someone she was sweet on. Being forced to make a life with me is probably torture.

But chances are, whatever pipsqueak she was seeing before wasn't as experienced as I am with how to please a woman. So I have that going for me. I might not be the man she chose, but I can be the one that makes her lose her damn mind.

As we finish our meal in silence, I play out how the rest of the night will go.

The situation is what it is. I’m not her Romeo and she’ll never be my Juliet. I just gotta get to fucking her, because it’s my damn job.

And with the raging boner I’m sporting, it shouldn’t be too hard.

But the worried look on her face gives me pause.

It’s best to be blunt.

I clear my throat. “I think we both know what’s on the table, and I’m not meaning food.”

A panicked look lights her dazzling green eyes.

“Do you want to back out of the arrangement?”

She shakes her head. “No…that wouldn’t be ideal.”

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