Page 39 of First Chance

His thick fingers struggle with the tiny buttons, and the veins in his forearms strain as I blink at him.

“I only own this shirt and one tie. I wore them to my grandfather’s funeral.” He holds up a gray and black striped tie that I didn’t notice he was holding. My tongue is thick in my throat, and I can’t come up with thoughts to put intowords.

Black hair, black shirt, dark denim wranglers, and cowboy boots. He’s a tall, dark, and dangerous southern gentleman.

He’s still holding his tie, looking at me expectantly. “Jo?”

“No tie.” I throw it over the banister and fix the top button on his shirt so it hangs open just enough to show a peak of his sun-tanned skin, but not the dark chest hair hiding just beneath.

The testosterone oozing off of him is authentic and natural to his environment. He’s a man who has nothing to prove to anyone, but he’s doing what’s necessary to take care of this place that he calls home.

I’m already less nervous about how tonight will go because he’ll be with me.

“I like your haircut,” I finally admit, softly, buttoning the cuff at his wrist for him, and hiding away the ink of his tattoo just barely.

“Hayes insisted.”

“He works on cars and does haircuts?” I straighten his collar, making sure it’s creased just right, purposefully letting my fingers linger longer than necessary.

“He did my tattoos, too.”Plural.

He has more than one. That means the lightning bolt is the only one I can see.

“He does everything, then?” I tease.

“He does everything because he’s good at everything.” He huffs in an annoyingly proud big brother way. Not that I know what that’s like, but it makes me smile regardless.

“Are you nervous?” My hands smooth the imaginary wrinkles across his chest, giving me an excuse not to look him in the eyes.

“No,” he lies. I can tell. “Are you?”

“No,” I admit, truthfully. “This is your world behind these gates, but my world is out there. I can play the game with the best of them,” I smile and look at him finally, but he’s staring at me fiercely.

My hands are motionless, resting on his chest.

“Let’s go.” I clap them against him playfully, pretending that my touch was only friendly.

And, not at all curious.

Chapter Thirteen

Lochlan

Every nerve ending in my body is screaming at me to get up and hightail it out of this packed banquet hall. The noise of surface-level conversation vibrates my eardrums in a painful way.

I’ve never been in a room with this many people in it, and for good reason. Every head turned my way, or pair of eyes that catch mine makes the boulder on my chest weigh down on me further.

Most of them probably don’t know who I am, but it only takes one person to whisper a lie about me for the whole room to go abuzz with suspicion.

He’s a sex offender.

Lie.

He was in prison.

True, but they never include that I was falsely accused.

I heard he paid off a judge.

---