Page 109 of Ace of Spades

He reaches back to grab something before opening his door and jumping down. It’s an umbrella. He pops it open, and holds it high over his head, making his way toward me.

“It’s barely raining, Levi.”

“My girl doesn’t walk in the rain if I can help it,” he says sternly.

My girl. God, I love the sound of that.

He holds the umbrella over me and leads me to the passenger door of his truck, opening it for me and holding a hand out to help me up.

“Thank you,” I say, batting my lashes.

“Careful. You do that too much and I might just take you into the backseat,” he warns, before shutting the door and walking over to the driver’s side.

I look back into the backseat. It’s impeccable. Like it hardly get’s used. It wouldn’t be a bad place to hook up, if we were in a pinch.

He shuts the door and tosses the umbrella to the back, eyes catching on my own as I’m still turned and looking at it.

He grins. “You’re thinking about what I’d do to you in that back seat, aren’t you?”

I scoff. “Please, what do you think I am a nympho?”

He puts the truck in reverse, eyes still watching me.

“Could’ve fooled me last night,” he says, teasingly.

“Maybe you’re the insatiable one, Mr. Steele.”

He shakes his head. “Oh no, baby. That was all you.”

I smile and buckle my seatbelt. Taking in the feeling of this moment. Just the two of us. No one around to interrupt. No one giving us looks.

It’s nice.

My heart’s still doing cartwheels from this morning, from his invitation to come to breakfast with him and Josie like it’s the most natural thing in the world for us to do together.

We drive in easy silence for a few minutes, the wipers humming across the windshield, the world gray and still waking up around us.

It’s peaceful. Almost too peaceful for the buzz in my chest.

I glance over at him, hand on the wheel, bicep flexed, as he rubs his chin in thought. My eyes glide over the swirl of ink he has that starts at his hands and goes all the way up his arm disappearing into his sleeve.

It’s beautiful, like the man that wears them.

Then I remember the name. The one on his rib that I saw last night.

"The tattoo on your side," I say, voice soft as it breaks the silence in the cab.

Levi’s knuckles tighten just slightly around the steering wheel. "Yeah."

"Is it… someone you lost?" I ask, because somehow I already know the answer.

He doesn’t speak for a second, just exhales low.

"Yeah," he says. "Tripp Dalton. We served together in Iraq and Afghanistan. Was like a brother in every way that mattered.”

He looks over at me. “Your dad knew him, too.”

"What happened to him?" I ask gently.

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