Page 44 of The Break Down

He grins—slow and sinful.

“You need to eat. I think we need to talk. To be together.”

“So, no fingering me behind another snack shed?”

“Damn it, Red,” he growls and adjusts himself.

“What? I just want to prepare myself.”

I shrug, playing like this is nonchalant for me. It isn’t. he knows it isn’t.

“I need to be with you, Red. Dinner first. We’ll see what happens after. Call it a compromise.”

“I suppose we do have to eat. Keep up our strength.”

He hisses a slow breath, and I laugh.

Something inside of me loosens.

And just like that, my answer is yes.

Sure, I may not know exactly where this thing is going.

But I know exactly where I want to be.

With him.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN-FINLEY

We snagged a two-seater table on the balcony of a historic Creole restaurant overlooking Royal Street.

Below us, the French Quarter hums—laughter and jazz weaving through the air, clinking glasses and brass horns rising like a heartbeat.

The streetlamps are just flickering on, casting that warm gold glow that makes everything feel like a dream.

Koa tears into a basket of beignets like he’s never eaten and I can’t help but grin.

“Careful,” I warn, licking powdered sugar off my thumb. “Those things are loaded with sugar and unspoken regrets.”

He glances at me, powdered sugar dusting his lips. “Sweet, messy, and addictive? Sounds familiar.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “Are you seriously comparing me to fried dough?”

He leans in, voice low and intimate. “I’d never disrespect you like that.”

“Oh?”

His eyes darken. “Dough can’t make me hard just by looking at me.”

I choke on my drink.

Koa grins and reaches for his napkin, gently dabbing the corner of my mouth. His thumb lingers a second too long.

“You’re impossible,” I mutter, feeling my skin go molten.

“And yet,” he says, leaning back in his chair like he’s perfectly satisfied with himself, “you said yes. Didn’t you, Red?”

“Yes, to eating,” I clarify.

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