Page 6 of Tangled in Red

Crap. My hair. Wind had tousled his red strands into what probably resembled a bird’s nest. He tried to smooth it down as best he could as they headed for the window but doubted that it had done any good.

“Just remembering how to use my legs.” The scent of frying chicken and spices hung heavy in the humid air, making Brett’s stomach growl loud enough for them to hear. He inhaled deeply, his eyelids fluttering. “I don’t think I’ve ever smelled anything so amazing.”

“Best kept secret in town.” Diablo guided him toward the outdoor seating area with a light touch at the small of his back. “Owner’s from Louisiana. Makes chicken so good you’ll want to slap somebody.”

“Hence the name.” Brett grinned.

Picnic tables dotted the area in front of the shack, each topped with a faded umbrella. A handful of other diners occupied some of the tables, most nursing tall glasses of sweet tea alongside heaping plates of food. At the far end, one guy was seated alone, methodically stripping chicken bones clean.

Brett was led to a table near the edge of the patio, farthest from the other customers. Diablo wanted privacy. The thought sent a flutter through his chest.

“I’ll order at the window,” Diablo said, nodding toward the takeout counter where a guy wearing flipflops chatted animatedly with a customer. “What do you want?”

Brett scanned the chalkboard menu, prices mercifully reasonable for his tight budget. “Chicken sandwich? And maybe fries?”

“Spicy or regular?” Diablo asked, hovering close.

“Regular. My taste buds are kind of pathetic.” Even pepper was too spicy for him.

He didn’t understand the look Diablo gave him, but it made heat shoot up his neck. Brett stared back, feeling a sense of safety in those dark brown eyes.

Brett wasn’t naïve. He knew Diablo lived a complicated life, was a part of some biker club, and had probably done things that should’ve landed him in prison. But somehow, Brett knew that Diablo would never turn that violence on him.

Did that make him an idiot? Probably. But he didn’t care. For the first time in his life, Brett felt seen, felt heard, like Diablo actually cared what he had to say.

So, if falling for someone who had the devil’s name made him an idiot, Brett would own that title.

Chapter Two

Diablo frowned at his pajarito. Brett looked ready to either faint or burst into flames. Diablo had forgotten how much he enjoyed watching the man’s blush turn a deep shade of red.

On his way to the window to order their food, he made a mental note to grab a big bottle of water. Just in case Brett needed cooling down.

There were a couple of people in front of him, ordering what sounded like a ridiculous amount of food.

As he waited, Diablo had time to think about how Brett had flinched when he’d touched his arm.

Diablo doubted the excuse the male had given him. He had his suspicions but couldn’t be entirely sure. Pressing Brett too hard could either make him shut down or distance himself from Diablo.

Both outcomes were a no-go for him. After all the bullshit he’d been through, Brett was the spark in his life he didn’t want to extinguish.

What had started as just a plan to get the guy in bed had evolved into something much deeper. Diablo didn’t see Brett as just a casual hookup anymore. He found himself looking forward to their connection. Like clockwork, Brett called him every morning, their conversations filled with laughter and warmth, brightening Diablo’s entire day as he stood outside of Sin’s, sipping his coffee at the ass crack of dawn.

Just Brett’s soft, smiling voice and the rising sun. No problems to deal with. No enforcer obligations. No beasts clawing to break free. Diablo noticed from the very first call how Brett’s voice had a calming effect on his animals and eased the self-destruction he’d embraced since his wolf and lycanthrope were trapped inside him. He no longer wanted to stare death in the face, uncaring if he lived or died.

All because of his little redhead who lit up like a blazing inferno anytime Diablo looked his way. It was a powerful feeling to know you affected someone like that.

“What’re we ordering?” Brett asked when he popped up beside him. Diablo liked to think the guy couldn’t resist being near him, because he felt the same way.

He curled his arm around Brett’s waist, resting his hand on his hip. “Not sure yet. Too many amazing smells to choose from. Why, got a craving for something specific, cariño?”

That goddamn blush.

He gazed up at Diablo, those dark green eyes lingering for a few heartbeats before darting to the menu.

“Yes,” Brett said a little breathlessly. “I haven’t had fried chicken in forever.”

His fingers gave Brett’s hip a little squeeze. Standing together made their size difference more noticeable. It also made Diablo feel more protective of the guy.

---