Page 34 of Mess With Me

But just then, the server appears with a giant platter of food. “Eggs over easy and…lightly fried? Plus all the rest as you wanted, hon.”

When Sasha looks up, she smiles, but it’s wobbly, and the server sets the plate down with a clunk, rounding on me.

Her eyes shoot daggers. “Is there a problem here?”

Jesus. She thinks I’ve made her cry.

But before I can say anything, Sasha says, “Oh!” Then reaches across the table and takes my hand.

I know I look stunned, because Sasha laughs again.

“It’s not him.” She wipes at her eyes with the heel of her other hand, that yellow thing still wrapped in her fingers. “I swear. My brother’s been an asshole lately, and he’s…whisking me away from his assholery.”

The woman looks between the two of us. “Is that right?”

“That’s right,” Sasha says, meeting my eyes. There’s gratitude there. And strangely, something like hope. All I feel is inadequacy—like I’m in the presence of a goddamned angel who’s dared to drop down from heaven to sit with me.

The woman instantly softens. “Would you look at you two? He’s a regular hero, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” Sasha says at the same time I say, “No.”

The woman lingers a moment, smiling, until I clear my throat. She titters before heading off.

The minute she’s gone, Sasha shovels food into her mouth like it’s her first meal in weeks. “Oh God,” she says around a mouthful of eggs. “This is the best food I’ve ever eaten.”

To my astonishment, she downs nearly the entire contents of her plate in what I’m pretty sure is under five minutes, then holds a hand over her mouth, presumably to hide a burp.

“You good?” I ask, working hard to hide the laughter in my voice.

“My mother would kill me if she saw me do that. She always wanted me to be a proper lady.”

“Aren’t you?” She looks pretty fucking ladylike to me. Well, maybe except the food-shoveling, but I liked that part.

Sasha breaks out into a kind of wicked grin. “I only look proper.”

Well, fuck if that doesn’t make my lower half stir to life. I clear my throat, downing the last of my coffee. We should get going, even though I want to sit in this anonymous greasy spoon for a year, learning everything there is to know about Sasha Macklin. Specifically how she turned out so night and day different from her brother.

But I don’t need to know any of that right now. I check the time—we need to get going.

As we climb back on the bike ten minutes later, I try to ignore how good Sasha’s arms feel around my waist and how much I love the little squeeze she gives me as I kick the starter and the bike roars to life.

“Your place is going to be safe, right?” Sasha asks through the speaker. Her voice is tentative, like she feels embarrassed to be asking that.

“Yes. The people after you don’t know me, and that’s on purpose. They won’t be able to find me, so they won’t be able to find you. It’s the safest place for you right now.”

I pull onto the highway, taking the bike up to speed.

“And after that?”

“After that, we’ll make a plan. But I’m not leaving you alone until this is all done. I hope that’s okay with you.”

I think I hear the hitch of her breath or her voice through the speaker, but it’s hard to tell with the rushing wind and roaring engine. “That’s okay with me,” she says softly.

CHAPTER9

Griffin

By the time we get to my place, it’s close to midnight. My arm is cramped from holding hers against my chest—I spent the last hour panicking she was going to fall off the bike, and I kept having to ask her questions to keep her awake. I’m not a great conversationalist to begin with, so things got a little weird.

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