Page 49 of Dash

“You left yourself short of money to make dinner for me?” He sounds pissed.

“Okay, when you say it like that it sounds kind of lame.”

“It’s not lame, but you don’t leave yourself with nothing again, understand?”

I’m pretty sure my face is on fucking fire. It’s more burned than the sad lasagna I left at home. “I mean… it’s not like I have nothing. I can pick up a couple of extra shifts.”

I really regretting starting this conversation because the way he’s looking at me is making me squirm.

“What do you need to get through the month?”

The lump in my throat is so big I can hardly swallow. “I’m not taking your money, Dash.”

His reply is cut off by the waitress coming over. His eyes don’t leave mine, but I avert my gaze, focusing anywhere but on him.

I feel shame. Like a failure that I can’t manage my business.

“Hey Dash,” she says with a smile that is instantly warming. “You guys ready to order?”

“Your brother in today?”

She shakes her head. “He’s gone to a rally in Scotland. He’ll be pissed he missed you.”

“We’ll be back another time,” he says.We. Me and him? He turns to me. “What do you want?”

I shred the edge of the napkin in front of me. “I’m good.”

His fingers pressed against my thigh. “I didn’t ask if you’re good, Dayna. I asked what you want to eat.”

The waitress shifts on her feet and I’m pretty sure my face is so red right now.

“I’ll give you guys another couple of minutes.”

Since she walks away, and Dash dips his head close. “I need you to understand something. You don’t pay for shit. If I put you on the back of my bike and take you somewhere, I’m covering it. And you sure as fuck never pay for me. I take care of you, babe.”

Is he serious?“Wow. You just took women’s rights back around fifty years with a little speech,” I quip, but he’s not laughing. He’s not even twitching his lips into something that could be a smile.

“I’m fucking happy women have rights, Dayna, but that has nothing to do with me taking care of my girl.”

I think I stop breathing. The possessiveness in his voice should fucking scare me, but it doesn’t. It makes me feel cherish, looked after.

His girl.

Fuck, I like that.

But my pride forces me to speak.

“It’s not fair for you to do that.” I say quietly, still not looking at him.

“I’m not trying to be fair.” He shoves the menu back under my nose. “Pick something or I’ll order for you.”

“This isn’t how I expected today to go. I was supposed to be the essence of domesticity.”

He snorts. “You think that’s what I want from you? A good little housewife? Dayna…” He takes my chin between his finger and thumb, tilting my head back, forcing me to look at him. “I want that smart fucking mouth of yours. I want your fire. I want that rambling shit you do when you’re nervous. I want the woman who wakes up on my chest, hair tangled, wild and mine.”

He kisses me, like he needs to show me with his mouth what he means. And because my body is a complete whore for him,my fingers tangle in his shirt. His fingers end up in my hair, and I don’t even care that this kiss is not appropriate for public viewing.

I forget what I was avoiding. I forget everything but the feel of his lips against mine.

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