Page 41 of Tarnished Hands

Stepping closer to me, she leans down, and I look up at her. “Dinner?”

“Are you asking me out?” I can’t help the twitch of my lips.

“Yes. But no sex. One date with no sex,” Piper says.

“But I like the way you taste. The way your cunt?—”

“I’ll message you where and when,” she says, cutting me off, and trying to fight a smile, but loses.

I sit there and watch as she walks out to her car.

Who knew she would be the one to ask me on a date?

My spicy little hellcat.

Chapter Twenty-Three

PIPER

I wore a dress for him.

And it’s not black.

I think that’s a big step.

I’m sitting, waiting for Ezra to arrive. I picked an outdoor location where I knew we couldn’t get into too much trouble with hands sliding into places they shouldn’t be in public. I arrived early, nerves taking hold of me and not wanting to let go. When it gets closer to the time I told him to meet me, I start to think he won’t come, and that maybe he decided it was better not to be around me. I would understand, on some level, anyway. My life is not normal. Though neither is his, yes, some aspects are, but only this week, he dealt with a dead body in one of the cars.

That’s not normal unless you’re in a different field of work.

My phone buzzes, and I glance at it to see his name pop up. Opening the message, I note it is a photograph of me sitting at the table. I glance around, holding the phone and wondering where he is.

Looking back down, I type out a message.

Me: Where are you?

Bubbles appear, indicating he is texting me back.

Ezra: Spread those legs just a little, and slide your hand up your thigh. For me.

I scrunch my nose up at his words.

Me: No.

Ezra: Do it.

He’s always so demanding.

I uncross my legs and drop my hand to my thighs, which are exposed thanks to my short dress. I look around again, trying to find him, but I don’t see him anywhere. My hand pauses at the hem of my dress, and I sit there and wait.

“You are the most stunningly dangerous thing I have ever encountered.” Ezra’s words come from behind me. I turn slightly in my seat to look at him, and his lips touch mine as I open my mouth. My hand moves from my thigh, and his hand grips my face as he kisses me back, stealing my breath. He pulls away, and his thumb wipes the lipstick off my lips before he walks around and sits opposite me at the table.

My eyes can’t help but trace him up and down. He looks good, but he always does, even when he’s covered in grease.

“You were early,” he states, our knees brushing under the table.

“I was.”

“Are you nervous?”

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