Page 101 of King of Pain
Nothing.
His hand flies off when the door refuses to budge. “Hey, Ant, it’s still locked.”
I feign confusion, raising the fob again and making an exaggerated clicking motion. “There ya go.”
Chance tries again. Still nothing.
He furrows his brows, glancing over the car at me. “Still locked.”
“Huh. Weird.” I lift the fob again, miming the button press once again.
When he tries the handle for the third time with the same result, he whips his head toward me, eyes narrowing. His gaze sharpens when he sees my body convulsing, and then— “Are you laughing? Oh my God, you’refuckingwith me!”
I break.
Doubling over, hands braced on my knees, laughter tears through me. Chance hauls around the car, marching toward me with purpose.
“Pacini,” he warns, standing over me as I try to breathe. “Open these doors right now.”
Still laughing, my sides aching, I shake my head through tears. “Why? You in a rush to get somewhere?”
Chance glares at me, then wrestles the key fob out of my hand. “Go. Get in the passenger seat. I don’t trust you to not go five miles an hour the whole way home.”
I’m still wheezing when I slide into the passenger seat, my chest shaking with leftover giggles as Chance starts the car.
We get on the road, and I waste no time getting my hand back where it belongs—resting on his thigh. His warmth seeps into my palm, and I feel him look over at me before cocking a brow.
“You love my thighs, don’t you?”
I sigh, rubbing a slow, appreciative circle with my thumb. “Ireally, reallydo.”
Chance smirks, grabbing my hand and giving it a squeeze as we head home.
When we arrive back at the complex, there’s a silent understanding. We don’t stop at Lexi’s to pick up Little G. Not yet.
Instead, Chance unlocks our door, moves inside, and flicks on the lamp, casting the living room in a soft, golden glow.
“You want a beer?” he asks.
“Yeah, sure,” I say, wiping my palms on my pants. My breath is shorter than it should be, my chest a little constricted, but I push through it.
I want this.
I chose him. I know that. So why am I so nervous?
Chance walks in from the kitchen, handing me a beer. His eyes scan my face. “You okay?”
I take a breath and nod. “Yeah, actually. I’m more than good.”
Chance sets his beer on the coffee table, and pulls his phone from his pocket, placing it beside the bottle. Then he plucksmybeer from my hand and sets it next to his.
He reaches for me, grabbing both my hands in his. His touch is warm, grounding. “I just wanted to say thank you for this incredible day. Once again, your thoughtfulness has knocked me on my ass.”
I give him a crooked smile, fighting through my nerves with humor. “Well, there’s plenty of padding—”
Chance barks out a loud, rich laugh before I can finish, and I love the sound of it.
His hands slide up my arms, tracing my biceps before cupping my face. His palms are firm, steady, and when I meet his gaze, I see something there—something so intense it’s both painful and impossible to look away from at the same time.
