Page 12 of Rush the Edge

I feel like I’m encroaching on the scene.

Like, shouldn’t they get a room?

“This burger tastes like shit.” River shoves his plate away and looks at Kane for a response.

I roll my eyes. Of course it does! Kane didn’t come here for their spectacular burgers. He came here to make me uncomfortable.

Another glance at the live sex scene in front of us, and yep, I’m uncomfortable.

“Yeah.” Out of the corner of my eye, Kane leans farther back into the booth, seemingly relaxed. “It was better the last time I ate it.”

“Probably not the only thing you ate,” I mutter.

River laughs at my quiet joke, but Kane doesn’t. Instead, he leans forward and places his forearms on the table that separates us. “You’re right about that.”

I turn and meet his eye, unable to hide the disgust on my face. “Being a man-whore isn’t the flex you think it is when you’re whoring around a strip club, Kane.”

River blows a breath out. “Damn, sis. You're on fire with the comebacks tonight.”

Kane’s annoyingly hot mouth turns up on the side, and something tightens in my stomach. “You sound jealous.”

I scoff. “Jealous?”

The only thing I’m jealous of is that burger on his plate. Even if it tastes like shit, my mouth still waters at the sight of it.

River decides right then to get up and go to the bathroom, leaving me and Kane all alone.

Thanks, big bro.

I look onto the floor and watch the girls earn some serious tips while pretending Kane isn’t breathing down my freaking neck. The booth cushion bends when he scoots closer to me, but I continue to pretend he doesn’t exist.

“Yeah…jealous,” he repeats. “When was the last time anyoneateyou?”

My cheeks burn.

“The summer before I left for the juniors?”

He didnotjust go there.

Unable to stop myself, I turn and meet him face to face. My belly fills with heat when I stare into his ocean eyes. His features are so much more defined since the last time I saw him—a steely jaw and high cheekbones with the same faint scar right above his left eyebrow from being hit in the face with a hockey stick in the tenth grade.

I won’t admit it out loud, but god, he aged well.

The longer we stare at one another, the more uneasy I become. My thoughts spin, and everything blurs.

“Well?” he asks. “Am I right?”

“What?” I think I just blacked out.

A sly smile slides onto his face. “Summer…before I left?”

My nostrils flare with irritation as my traitorous eyes drop to his mouth. That sharp tongue of his slips out past his lips to wet them, and I grow warm. He knows I’m well aware of what he’s referring to, but I can only pray that my face remains unreadable.

I shake my head and lean a little closer to him. He stays in the same spot, not backing away even an inch. “You really think the last time I had a man’s tongue in between my legs was that summer night years ago? Withyou?”

One long blink is all I get in response.

He’s so hard to read. Too much time has passed.

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