Page 5 of Edge
She obediently took another sip, then emptied her cup with a last swallow.
I slid my chair back and stood. The room went a little quieter, as if the space had to adjust to another body taking up the air. I reached for her tote before she could, slung it over my shoulder, then helped her up from her seat.
When she stepped around the table, we were close enough that her shoulder brushed my chest. She froze and glanced up, the storm-glass blue piercing through me and sending bolts of want shooting through my veins.
She was going to be trouble. The very best kind.
We pushed out into the night, and the stifling hot air had cooled slightly. A soft breeze carried the scent of brine and the faint thud of bass from a bar down the block. I bent and lifted her ruined bike with one hand like it weighed nothing, then adjusted it on my shoulder and nodded the way she’d been going before the raccoon decided to test her reflexes.
“Which way?” I asked.
She pointed. “Just a couple of blocks. Sorry you have to carry it.”
“I’ve hauled worse,” I told her with a grin. “And heavier.”
“Like what?” she challenged, falling into step beside me.
“Bad decisions.” Her laugh came out startled and so fucking pretty. “Furniture for friends who swear they only own two boxes. A drunk Kane. That one time Nitro tried to carry an engine block solo and proved physics wrong for eight seconds.”
Her eyes crinkled. “Is Nitro a real name?”
“It’s a real problem,” I muttered, deadpan. “Nah. It’s his road name. Like mine is Edge. You’ll meet him if you hang around long enough.”
“That sounds ominous.” Her tone sounded unsure, as if she didn’t want to assume I was joking and be wrong.
I winked and teased, “Only if you’re on the wrong side.”
“And which side am I on?” she queried, her soft voice sizzling along my nerve endings.
I glanced at her, memorizing how the lamplight threw tiny gold flecks into the deep color of her eyes.
“Mine.” There was a wealth of meaning in that one word, but I doubted she’d pick up on it yet.
Her place wasn’t far—a column of white stucco, black iron railings curling like notes of music, potted ferns drooping on a second-floor balcony. It was one of the many apartment buildings the club owned, but everything was done through a management company, so not all of the tenants were aware of who their rent went to.
Callie dug in her tote for keys that had apparently chosen to perform a vanishing act, muttering at the bag as if it had betrayed her. Then she went searching in her pockets.
“Here,” I said, plucking the ring from one she hadn’t tried yet and dropping it into her palm.
She stared down at the keys, then up at me, blinking. “Did you just pickpocket my life?”
“Rescued,” I clarified with a smirk. “Security through competence.”
“That sounds like something a thief would say.”
“My dad would agree with you,” I returned. “I certainly stole his keys enough over the years.”
She looked at me with curiosity, but those were stories for another day, so I added, “Sometimes I specialize in particular acquisitions. Today: keys. Tomorrow: Another date with you.”
She sniffed. “You’re awfully confident.”
“You denying I’m gonna get what I want?”
Her mouth broke into a smile she couldn’t stop, and her face turned pink. “No.”
She turned to the door and slid the key in. The lock clicked, but she didn’t open it.
Silence pressed close and easy. The street noise thinned. Somewhere, a dog barked once and went quiet.
