Her eyes are glazed, her posture slumped, and she’s been running on caffeine and adrenaline since before sunrise.
“Fine,” she relents, stretching her arms over her head—and sweet fuck, I almost cancel the lunch run and drag her to the nearest flat surface.“But I want Korean BBQ.”
There’s a beat of silence.
She doesn’t meet my gaze.
Which meansshe thinks we don’t have that here.
“You serious?”I ask, tone low and amused.
She shrugs, but I catch the corner of her mouth twitching.
“You gonna tell me tiny, cursed towns in central Texas have authentic Korean BBQ?”she asks, folding her arms across that perfect chest like she doesn’t already know I’d move mountains to feed her.
I slide an arm around her waist, tug her in tight, and drop a slow, lingering kiss just below her temple—right where her pulse jumps for me.
“Woman,” I murmur against her warm skin, dragging my nose along the edge of her jaw, “I’m about to take you to the finest damn Korean BBQ you’ve ever had.Real deal.Table grills.Kimchi that bites harder than your sarcasm.Andsojustrong enough to knock your cute Jersey accent into next week.”
She hums, leaning into me just enough to let me know she’s loving every second of this.
“You know I love kimchi?”she asks, tone teasing.
I nod, letting my fingers trail dangerously low on her back.
“Don’t ask me how.I just do.”
She squints at me, that fake-suspicious glint in her eye.
“Is that another secret Shifter thing I’m not allowed to question?”
“Yup,” I say, popping the p with a grin.“Filed right next to how I know exactly how you like your coffee and which panties you’re wearing right now.”
She smacks my chest, but her cheeks are pink and her lips twitch.
“Let me guess,” she says.“The chef’s a Tiger.”
“Wrong again.Bear shifter.Big bastard.Name’s Jun.Been slow-roasting the best dang short ribs this side of Texas since the last time the Cowboys won the Super Bowl.Man’s a food prophet.But fair warning—he will weep if you don’t moan at least once when you eat his bulgogi.”
“Oh, so you’re bringing me somewhere with expectations,” she says, narrowing her eyes like she’s pretending to be offended.
“I mean, I have expectations,” I whisper, leaning in to nip at the shell of her ear.“But I plan to meet all of yours first.”
She gasps softly, and I swear I feel her knees go a little weak.
Victory.
Her eyes flick to mine—bright, playful, and full of fire.“You’re a menace.”
“Only to your willpower.”
I press my palm to the small of her back and guide her toward the truck, letting it linger, letting her feel exactly how much I love touching her.
How much I plan to touch her—again, and again, and again.
“If this place isn’t as good as you say, I’m demanding dessert.”
“You’ll get dessert,” I growl, helping her into the passenger seat.“Just maybe not the kind they serve on plates.”
