“What’s your last name?” he asked.
Abby smiled like she knew an inside joke. “Day.”
“Wait. Really?”
She chuckled and nodded. “We are literally Knight and Day. Why do they call you Tinker?”
He liked that she didn’t let him off the hook with his stupid answer from the first time she’d asked. “Classic case of a little boy who liked to take things apart to see how they worked. My mom called me her little tinker. It stuck.”
“She doesn’t call you that anymore?”
Tinker shifted and adjusted his jacket. “My parents died in a car crash when I was seventeen. Drunk driver.”
Abby rested her hand over his fist. “I’m so sorry. That must have been incredibly difficult for you and Dani.”
She might be the most genuine person he’d ever met. “Thank you. It was a long time ago.”
“You never get over the loss of a parent,” she said.
“Yours?” He flipped his hand palm up and held hers.
“My dad. Six years ago. Aggressive colon cancer. By the time my mom talked his stubborn ass into going to the doctor, it was too late. They gave him six months. He made it nine.”
“I’m sorry,” he said softly.
“Thank you.”
He inhaled deeply. “Well, this took a maudlin turn.”
Abby cocked her head and looked at him with a puzzled expression.
“What?”
“You’re not at all what I expected,” she said.
“Why? Because I used a word like maudlin?” He was used to people having preconceived ideas of who he should be. He usually didn’t care, but he didn’t want Abby to think he was who he projected to the outside world.
“Yes.” She shook her head. “No. Well…yes.”
He leaned closer and played with the tips of her fingers. “You expected me to be like the bikers in Sons of Anarchy, didn’t you?”
She blushed and looked at their hands. “Maybe.”
“I kind of hate that show for how it romanticized outlaw MCs. Every time someone sees me on my bike with my cut, they either look like they’re afraid I’m going to attack them, or they look at me like I’m a snack.”
The corners of her mouth tilted up. “I don’t think you mind either of those scenarios.”
He grinned. “Both situations can be useful.”
Her golden eyes stared into his. “I’m sorry I stereotyped you.”
So. Fucked.
He hooked a finger under her chin and slowly pulled her face closer. Barely brushing his lips over hers, he felt the quick intake of breath. “Thank you.”
He brushed his thumb across her bottom lip and was rewarded with her tongue darting out and licking the spot.
Throat clearing broke them apart. The waiter set their plates in front of them, and Tinker took the opportunity to give his dick, pressing painfully against his zipper, a chance to simmer down.
