Page 41 of A Boy Is a Gun: Part II
My pulse jumps, but I keep my voice even.“Taylor asked you to watch her overnight?”
“She didn’t ask,” Jamie says, all too pleased with herself.“I offered.”The smirk widens as she goes in for the kill.“If you’re allowed to fuck other women and gloat in her face about it....why can’t I do the same?”She leaves it there, hanging between us like smoke.
I let her have the last word this time.But as soon as she turns and walks out, my jaw tightens, my hands curl into fists under the desk.She thinks this is a game.She thinks I’m going to letanyone—Ethan, Jiro, whoever the hell else—play house with Taylor and Mia.
Not a chance.
Seven
Taylor
Dinner wasn’t anywhereI’d been before.The kind of place where the lighting was warm but sharp enough to make diamonds wink, where every glass shone like it belonged in a magazine spread.Crisp white linens.Silverware that probably cost more than my monthly rent.
The staff didn’t ask for his name—they greeted him with it.Smiles, bows, wine already breathing on the table like they’d been waiting for him.
I sank into the leather chair, trying not to look like I was in over my head.“So, what do you do?”I asked, curiosity slipping past my guard.
“Tech,” he said simply, swirling the wine as if he had all the time in the world.“Start-ups, software solutions...that kind of thing.”
I smiled, because I’d already guessed it.The vibe screamed money, brains, control.But the quiet security tucked in the corners?The way staff kept their eyes lowered, their movements precise?That was familiar in a way that scraped down my spine.Cameron-familiar.
Not enough to scare me off.But enough to make me wonder what kind of man sat across from me.
He leaned forward, resting his forearm on the table, dragon tattoos flexing beneath the fabric of his shirt.“You look like someone who doesn’t ask questions unless she really wants the answers.”
“Maybe I don’t,” I said, lifting my glass.
His lips curved slow, deliberate.“Then I’ll make sure the answers are worth it.”
The food arrived in courses I couldn’t even pronounce, but he narrated each one like a story, feeding me bites across the table.At first, I laughed awkwardly, cheeks burning.Then I laughed for real.He was funny.Quick.The kind of man who could slide under your skin before you realized he was already there.
By the time dessert came, I was gone.Not drunk—tipsy maybe—but gone in the way his laugh sat warm in my chest.The way his eyes lingered like he was memorizing me.He fed me a spoonful of something silky and rich—chocolate, espresso, heaven—and when I licked my lips, his gaze dipped for just a second too long.
The air between us changed.Shifted.Like the restaurant dimmed the lights just for us.
I should’ve leaned back.Kept it casual.But instead, I leaned in.
