Page 50 of Leashed

Sage knew herbouncing knee was shaking the table, but the amount of caffeine in her system wouldn’t allow her to still it while she sat. “It has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with permanence,” she said, staunchly defending her decision to remain tattoo-free. “I mean, I’ve thought of it, but I just don’t want to.”

Bo took another swig of his coffee. “It’d be weird to see one on you,” he mused. “It would interrupt the whole vibe you have going on. But I’m saying if you were to get one, like, had to get one to save the world kind of thing, what would it be?”

“I have no idea,” she laughed. “How about a book?”

“Where?”

She rolled her eyes. “My ankle.”

“Open or closed?”

Shaking her head as the server offered her a refill, she handed him a wad of cash for the tab and sat back. “Closed. You analyzing this or something?”

He shrugged. “Buddy-boy like tattoos?”

Her face hardened at the mention of Nixon. “He doesn’t get an opinion tonight,” she muttered, wincing as she spoke aloud. “Nixon has reserved tastes and likes things unadorned.”

“Problems?”

There was no malice in his voice, no crowing. He almost sounded concerned.

And she needed to unleash a little.

She pulled her purse onto her lap and hugged it. “I’ve been busting my tail between work and school for nine years, doing everything double time so I can pay tuition and don’t graduate with a million-dollar loan over my head. And I get that the library and the lounge don’t pay great, and they aren’t something he can show off, but he never asks about work. Or school. Unless it’s to find out if my schedule will interfere with his.” When Bo didn’t react with anything more than the slight lift of his brows, she leaned forward. “I’m so close to moving on to the next stage of my life, I can taste it, and he doesn’t acknowledge it. Ever. The past two months, it’s like it’s tangible, like the stars have aligned and everything is just waiting for my move.” Shaking her head, she sat back. “Two exams today, and all he sent me was his flight schedule. It’s not that hard to text a ‘good luck,’ right? Yesterday, he got cranky with me because I was studying and distracted. He’s been to school. He knows how tough exam week is. But he did it all on scholarship while living in a dorm his dad paid for. So right now, I’m…” She ran her hand through her hair, guilt starting to settle in. “I’m unfairly unloading really personal stuff on someone who definitely shouldn’t be hearing this.”

He sat back and stretched his arms across the back of the bench. “You tell him?”

“No,” she huffed. “Nix doesn’t like complaining. Which is why this conversation needs to be over and forgotten.”

His eyes went completely blank. “Nix doesn’t like complaining,” he echoed. “You ever listen to yourself when you talk about him? Nixon likes, Nixon doesn’t like, Nixon thinks.” He shook his hair out, letting it fall loose. “Would you get his name tattooed on your ass if he asked?”

“Why do you always go total jerk whenever Nixon is involved?” she snarled, zipping up her laptop bag and shoving her wallet back into her purse.

“Total jerk? So, what, I’m half-assing it the rest of the time?” he goaded, completely unfazed by her growing ire. “Sage. The guy’s a dick. And I’m trying real hard to understand why the hell it is you stay with him. He seems to think it’s for money, but I don’t get that vibe from you. Sure as hell isn’t the company, since he’s never around. Or the conversation, since I’ve heard him talk. And no way it’s for the sex, because I know his type. And his type isn’t in it for anyone’s enjoyment but his own.”

She could feel her cheeks flushing with a combination of anger over his words and her mortification over his unabashed assessment of her sex life. “You are such a jerk.”

One brow rose. “I thought I was a sunshine.”

“Screw. You.”

She stood up to walk away, jamming her hand into her purse for her keys.

“Sage,” Bo called out behind her. When she turned toward him, he braced his hands on the table. “Maybe you should,” he said, his voice quieter as his eyes took on a predatory look and he slowly rose to his feet. “Screw me. Fuck me, I mean. Might make you realize some of what you’re missing out on when you settle for a guy like him.”

She took a step closer to him, her temper leveling into a focused calm as she filtered out the din of the restaurant. “You love doing this, don’t you? Just going for the shock value and the low blows any chance you get.”

“What I love,” he snarled back, “is when you fight back instead of apologizing and bowing. Why is that, Little Mouse? Why am I the only one you kick back against?” His voice dropped. “Aren’t you sorry, Mouse? Or do you just reserve that for people who walk all over you, ignore you, or use you?”

“Sorry for what?” she hissed. “You deserve everything I’ve said, and I’m not apologizing for it.”

“Good. Because I’m not apologizing for this.” He shoved his hands in his back pockets and leaned down to her, his lips a fraction from hers, the heat of his body radiating through her clothes. “Tell me to screw off now, Sage.”

She froze, latching on to the tiny voice in the back of her head telling her this was wrong while every other part of her swayed toward him.

*

Tell me toscrew off.

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