Page 134 of Till The Sun Dies (Checkmate 2)

Her eyes meet mine. “Um… It’s just something that is expected of women sometimes. We’re supposed to be demure creatures. We live on water, lettuce, and sunshine, and with that diet, we never get fat and ugly, ya know?”

“No.” And Graham feeding her that bullshit pisses me the fuck off. “Eat whatever you want, Laine. Because you know what?”

Her wary eyes follow my every move. “What?”

“You think that’s a rule for the women? That you have to look elegant while you pick at your lettuce. Most men hate that, because then we feel like slobs when we order a steak or a burger. Girls sit across the table and eat like a rabbit, so then we feel bad, because we know you’re hungry, and we feel fat and useless, because we just ate a ten-pound burger and maybe spilled ketchup on our jeans.” Her lips quiver with the ghost of a smile. “So how about you eat whatever the fuck you wanna eat, and I’ll order a ten-pound burger, then when we get back to the room, you don’t make a big deal about the ketchup I have to wash out of my jeans in the bathroom sink.”

Closing the menu, she sits back and smirks. “I’ll help you wash your jeans if you want.”

“You can’t help me, because that’s making a big deal.” I sit back with a smile when a different server delivers our drinks. A tall beer in front of me, and a green concoction with leaves in front of Laine. “Is there a reason you have fruit and grass in your drink?”

“Can I take your order?”

I ignore Laine’s laughter and look to the still empty chairs that Kane and Jess should have already filled, then I look back to Laine and fall a little bit more in love with the way her cheeks push her eyes up. “Yeah, can I get a burger?” I know it’s a fancy restaurant, but everyone has a burger, right? “And fries. And gravy.”

Laine snorts, but covers it with her napkin. When the server turns to her, she sits taller. “Can I have a burger, too? Gravy on the side?”

* * *

“No,stop! You’re making it worse!”

Laine fights me at the bathroom sink. In tiny little sleep shorts and the peach tank top, she fights me over who gets to wash their clothes first. My jeans are now decorated with a wet spot right over the crotch like I pissed myself at dinner, and Laine’s pale thigh has a red mark from where she dropped her gravy, and now that she has the dress off, she’s working to clean the gravy out so it doesn’t ruin the fabric.

I don’t give a shit about my jeans, but her silly giggles and body slamming is worth a thousand days of walking around with a wet crotch.

Two mojitos, one burger, and an elevator ride that ended with her biting her lip so hard I was tempted to give it a go myself, ends with us basically in our underwear in the opulent bathroom while we fight over one sink…

When we both know there’s a second sink just a foot away.

I won’t be a wolf knocking at her door.

I won’t be a wolf knocking at her door.

I won’t be a wolf knocking at her door.

“Angelo! Stop!”

“No, you said you’d help me with my jeans.”

“That was before my dress was ruined.” She slams her elbow against my ribs and jockeys me back. “I only brought one fancy dress, and now it looks like I crapped myself.”

“It’s black fabric! You can’t see anything.” Gentler,muchgentler than she is, I push my elbow against her ribs and move her back. “You’re being dramatic. I’ve got brown stains on my jeans, looks like I pissed shit.”

“Pissed shit.” She braces her hands on the edge of the sink and gives a little snort that can only be the result of too much rum. “You got problems if you’ve got crap coming out of your dick, Angelo. You should see a doctor about it.”

“Shush, and move.”And don’t talk about my dick anymore.

I shove my jeans under the warm water and laugh when she tries to push me aside. Two hands on my ribs, her feet planted, she tries to push, but I’m much heavier than her, and I really love this playfulness, so I’m gonna stand my ground and let her push me around some more.

I won’t be a wolf knocking at her door.

But I might let her knock at mine a little.

“Here! Just let me do it.” She snatches the denim from my hands and hip bumps me aside. Pumping soap into her hands, she works the denim in a way that has my dirty, beer-addled brain short circuiting.

She scrubs the crotch. She leans in close to inspect, and poking her tongue between her teeth to help her concentrate, she scrubs some more.

Fuckkkkk me.

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