Page 14 of Piston

"Good choice." I resumed my work, the snick of the shears the only sound in the empty salon.

But even in the silence, I could feel the unspoken questions hanging between us. The tension that had been simmering for weeks, ready to boil over.

I needed to get him out of here before I did something stupid. Before I let myself believe that night had meant anything to him.

Before I admitted how much I wanted it to.

The haircut was over too soon and not soon enough. I brushed the stray clippings from Piston's broad shoulders, ignoring the heat of his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt.

"All done," I announced, my voice too loud in the charged silence.

Piston stood, his boots heavy on the linoleum floor. He turned to face me, his expression unreadable. "Jenny—"

I held up a hand. "Don't. Just...don't."

His brow furrowed. "You don't even know what I was gonna say."

"I can guess." I crossed my arms, a flimsy shield against the intensity of his gaze. "And I'm not interested."

Piston took a step closer, invading my space. The scent of him—leather and smoke and something uniquely him—filled my lungs, making my head spin.

"Even if I was gonna apologize for being an ass?"

I blinked, thrown off balance. "What?"

"I'm sorry, Jenny. For the other night. For..." He scrubbed a hand over his freshly shorn hair. "For a lot of things."

I stared at him, searching for any hint of deception. But all I saw was raw sincerity and something that looked a hell of a lot like regret.

Damn him for making this hard.

"Okay," I said slowly. "You're sorry. Is that supposed to fix everything?"

"No. But it's a start." He took another step, close enough now that I could feel the heat radiating off his body. "Let me make it up to you. Dinner, tonight. Anywhere you want."

I laughed, the sound harsh and brittle. "You seriously think dinner is gonna magically erase what happened?"

"No. But it's a chance for us to talk. To figure this"—he gestured between us—"out."

I wanted to tell him there was nothing to figure out. That whatever "this" was, it was a mistake. A moment of weakness I couldn't afford to repeat.

But looking at him now, seeing the hope and the hunger in his eyes, I felt my resolve crumbling.

God help me, I wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe that this could be more than just a fleeting, adrenaline-fueled fling.

Even if my head knew better, my traitorous heart couldn't seem to resist the lure of Piston Brooks.

"Fine," I heard myself say. "Dinner. But that's it. Don't go getting any ideas."

A slow, devastating smile spread across his face. "Wouldn't dream of it, darlin'."

"Just friends, huh? You two looked pretty cozy at the bar the other night."

I snipped at Piston's hair a little harder than necessary. "Not that it's any of your business, but yeah. Dagger and I are just friends. Period."

My words came out sharp as razors. I was in no mood for Piston's possessive bullshit, not after the stunt he pulled with that blonde bimbo. Who the hell did he think he was, anyway? First he tries to get in my pants, then acts like he owns me. Men.

Piston's eyes met mine in the mirror. "Look, I know I've been an ass. A grade-A jackass."

---