Page 45 of The Break Down

His gaze drags over me. From my neck to my lips, my breasts, and my lap, lingering there before traveling back up again.

“Sure. I like eating. Let’s go with that.”

I stab a piece of blackened catfish—because yeah, we are eating our meal and dessert in one go—and dramatically chew it while flipping him off under the table.

He catches it, of course.

"Is that your Jersey girl flirting technique?” he asks, dipping his fry in remoulade. “Obscene hand gestures? Because if you want to do more than eat, I can arrange that.”

“It’s calledsubtlety.”

I mock scowl.

He gives me a look.

“There is nothing subtle about you, Red.”

“Is that supposed to be an insult?”

“Hell no.” His voice drops. “That’s the thing I like most.”

My pulse skips.

He takes a slow sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving mine.

“Besides,” he says, licking a drop from the rim of his glass, “if I wanted subtle, I wouldn’t be sitting here picturing you riding me in that dress. The bodice pulled down and those gorgeous tits of yours, bouncing around?—”

My fork clatters against the plate.

“Koa!”

He just smirks, like he lives to make me squirm.

“Relax, Red. I’ll wait ‘til dessert.”

I stare at him, heat pooling low in my belly. “I thought this was just dinner.”

His smile softens, just slightly. “Thisis.”

Then his hand brushes mine on the table, gentle, grounding.

“But someday soon, Red, I’d like dessert to involve you screaming my name. You good with that?”

I should say something snarky. I should regain control of the conversation.

But all I can do is nod—flushed, breathless, and completely undone.

And he knows it.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN-KOA

It’s our first friendly against the NOLA Casters.

The kind of match that shouldn’t be this big of a deal.

Just a warm-up, an exhibition. But for me?

My head’s a fucking war zone.

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