“I got this one for you,” she said. “I think you’ll like it.”
“The Mafia Don’s Pretty Little Plaything,” he read aloud. “Well, I’m sold.”
She laughed.
“You don’t even know what it’s about yet.”
Dash shrugged.
“My wife recommended it. I’ve learned from first-hand experience that she has excellent taste in literature.”
He dipped his head to kiss Sierra’s neck. A pleased blush colored her cheeks and she slipped her hand inside his jacket, tugging him closer.
Jealousy coiled in my stomach. Sierra had waited a long time for someone like Dash. Her dating life had been nothing but heartbreak for years, until she met him. I was genuinely happy for her. She deserved a man who adored her the way he did.
But it was bittersweet to witness—seeing her deeply, madly in love. My meaningless flirtations paled in comparison. I hoped I could experience a love like that for myself one day.
“What about you?” Dean said, gesturing to the loaded basket on my arm. “Let’s see what titles have piqued your interest—”
I shoved my basket behind my back.
“Hasn’t anyone told you that it’s impolite to snoop through a lady’s private reading material?”
Dean snorted and reached around me easily, plucking a book from my basket at random. He arched an eyebrow at the cover.
“Stalked by the Possessive Biker,” he read. “Does your daddy know you read stuff like this, honeybee?”
“I’m an adult,” I protested. “I can read whatever I want.”
Dean met my gaze in complete silence for several agonizing seconds. I shifted in place and lifted my chin defiantly.
“Besides, Dad stopped asking what I’m reading ages ago. He found a historical romance bodice ripper in my backpack one day after school. You’d think the damn thing was infected with cooties from how fast he dropped it.”
Dean huffed a laugh and flipped the book open, scanning the text. My heart skipped a beat.
“What are you doing?” I demanded.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” Dean countered, turning another page. “I’m skipping to the sexy parts. I don’t care about anything else.”
“Dean! You can’t just—” I protested.
“Tread carefully, brother,” Dash warned in a friendly tone. “These girls might look like angels. But their minds are filthy as fuck. Take my word for it.”
Dean’s gaze flicked away from the book and settled on me. Sliding over my body from head to toe. My skin felt tingly and too-tight. The memory of his lips at my ear, his hot breath, and those whispered words, still haunted me.
If a good dicking down is what you’re after, that kid would be a piss-poor choice.
I bit the inside of my cheek, swallowing hard. Dean slotted one finger between the pages, holding his place, and edged closer. I took a step back, bumping against the shelf. My brain went fuzzy with static at his close proximity, his broad shoulders blocking my view of the shop, and his scent—fuck. He smelled so damn good that a whimper rose in my throat.
Dean placed a hand on the shelf near my head, turning the book cover to face me.
“This is a biker romance, honeybee,” he said.
I lifted my chin, attempting to summon some defiance despite feeling completely flustered.
“What’s your point?”
“I would have thought you’d be into elves and fairies and all that fantasy shit. Or some college drama with a football jock who’s an insufferably arrogant asshole.”
