Page 63 of Finding Home

“Okay…” I wait for her skittish gaze to come back to mine. “What other music do you like? Last time we were here, we were talking Nora Roberts and sexy books, so a simultaneous love for Fort Minor surprises me.”

She smiles and plays with the condensation on her glass. “I don’t like to sit in just one lane. They’re so restrictive, you know? I like romance, I like rap. I like being lazy, I like to run. I like sweet, I like savory. Maybe I’m fickle?” She scrunches her nose. “I listen to Taylor Swift, but I also listen to N.W.A. I love all sorts of music. There’s a song for every mood.” She shrugs. “It calms me.”

I twine my fingers through hers to play. “I get that. Music helps me, too. Keeps me calm. Helps me relax. Or alternatively, hypes me up for a fight.”

Her eyes snap wide with mischief. “Wait, do you have a song when entering the octagon?”

“I do, actually.” And she’s already, unknowingly, nailed it.

She wiggles in the seat with excitement. “Oh! Let me guess what it is.”

I laugh and pull her hand into my lap. “Okay, go ahead.”

“Is itFight Songby Rachel Platten?” She bites her lip in an attempt to keep a straight face, but fails miserably when she snorts at my expression. “No? Okay, is it Christina Aguilera’sFighter?”

“No, you dork. The word ‘fight’ doesn’t have to be in the title.”

“Okay, I’m sorry.” She’s not sorry at all. “Is itEye of the Tiger?”Her face turns beet red from trying to hold herself together, and the hand I was using before to trace circles on her palm, I now use to squeeze her near her knee.

She scrambles back laughing. “Don’t! I’m ticklish!” She slaps my hand away and wheezes with laughter. I file that new scrap of information away for another day – ticklish knee. Got it. “Sorry! I’m sorry, please, don’t tickle me.” She tries to catch her breath. “Okay, I have no idea. Tell me, what’s your song?”

“No, I don’t think I will. You don’t deserve to know.”

“Oh, please?” She exaggeratedly flutters her lashes. “Pretty, pretty please?”

Fuck, she’s cute. “Of course, I’ll do anything you want now.”

She snorts at my sarcasm. “No, seriously. Tell me your song?”

I look at her through narrowed eyes for a moment, but it’s futile. She can flutter her lashes, and I will, in fact, do anything she wants. “Okay fine. It’s a Fort Minor song.”

Her eyes twinkle. “Oh, I know now. This is easy. And super obvious.”

“You think so, smarty pants?”

“Yeah. You want people to remember your name, Bobby? I should’ve guessed. It’s not about the fame, it’s about the message.” When I neither confirm or deny her ridiculously accurate guess, she laughs. “Nailed it! How does it go? Something likeI’m twenty-five percent awesome with twenty-five percent skill. Fifteen percent ego, thirty-five percent I’m sexy, and a hundred percent Jimmy’s my bro.”

She’s cracking herself up, she’s one ofthosepeople, but fuck if she doesn’t have my heart throbbing just for her. “You totally nailed it. Those are the exact lyrics. It’s so cool how Jim got them to write him into their song, right?” I poke her in the ribs, which sends her yelping and scrambling further into the booth to escape. Yeah, I could definitely get used to keeping her around.

“Okay, well, you know all my deep shit.” She still giggles with residual laughter. But sobering, she looks up from under her lashes. “Tell me some of your secrets? Make me feel less weird with all my family drama.”

I pause with a frown. What to tell her?

“Boxers or briefs?” she supplies seriously, but with a laugh, she shakes her head. “No seriously, tell me about your mom?”

I nod thoughtfully. “Both… Briefs for training. Boxers the rest of the time.” She laughs at my answer. “Though I wear nothing while I sleep. I’m wearing boxers right now.” I don’t even attempt to hide my grin when her face turns warm and her eyes drop to my crotch. I wait till she can meet my gaze again, and I lean in. “What do you wear to bed?”

Her eyes grow wide with scandal. “I can’t tell you that!”

Aww, she’s shy.

“So you sleep naked, then? That’s hot.” I sit back with closed eyes and rest my head against the wall. “Just give me a second.”

“Bobby?” she whispers. “What are you doing?”

“Shhh, I’m imagining you naked.”

“Bobby!” She slaps my leg. “Don’t do that! Jesus.”

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