“You’re insane.”
“I’m alsoright,” she yells, throwing one of her plush pillows at me.
I dodge the plush pillow, without responding, and turn to walk toward the bathroom, because I need a cool shower after being so worked up around Nitro for so long.
Holy mother of mercy!
Chapter Seven
NITRO
Three Days Later
Three days after breakfast at Sage’s place, I’m standing outside The Grind Coffee Shop, opposite Marley’s work, waiting for her to finish for the day.
I’ve memorized her schedule.
Monday through Friday, she grabs coffee at seven a.m. before heading to that toxic hellhole she calls a workplace. She finishes around five-thirty, sometimes later if that dickhead Derek is making her stay. And today, I’m done pretending this is casual.
I’m done pretending I don’t think about Marley every fucking second of the day.
When she pushes through the glass doors, her red hair catches the late afternoon sun like fire, and everything in me goes still. She’s wearing fitted black pants and a cream-colored blouse that hugs her curves in a way that makes my mouth go dry, and those quirky glasses are sliding down her nose as she juggles her phone, her bag, and a travel mug.
She doesn’t see me at first.
But when she does, her entire face lights up as if I’m the best thing she’s seen all day.
“Nitro?” She stops dead on the sidewalk, nearly dropping her phone. “What are you doing here?”
I push off the wall I’ve been leaning against, shoving my hands in my pockets to keep from reaching for her. “Thought you might want to grab dinner.”
Her eyes widen behind those sexy as fuck glasses. “Like… right now?”
“Like right now.”
“I’m a mess.” She gestures vaguely at herself, and I see nothing wrong—she looks stunning as always. “I’ve been at work all day, and I probably smell like recycled air conditioning and—”
“You look perfect, Small Town.” The words come out rougher than I intend, and I watch color spread across her cheeks.
She bites her bottom lip, and Christ, that shouldn’t be as distracting as it is. “Are you asking me on a date, Nitro?”
“Yeah, I am.”
There’s a beat of silence where she just stares at me, and I wonder if I’ve completely fucked this up, moved too fast, pushed too hard, and scared her off before we even got started.
But then she smiles.
Not just any smile.
The kind that reaches her eyes and makes them crinkle at the corners. The kind that hits me straight in the chest and makes it hard to breathe.
“Okay,” she says softly. “Let’s go.”
I lead her to my Honda, open the door, and she slides in. I have already made the booking, hoping she would agree. Marley said she would think about us doing this fake-dating thing, but I haven’t heard back from her. So I thought with the gala approaching, I needed to take action. So I drive us to Rosetti’s, a small Italian place tucked away in a quiet corner of the city where the lighting is warm and low, the tables are intimate, and nobody knows me as anything other than a regular customer.
Here, I’mnotNitro, VP of the Las Vegas Defiance MC.
I’mnotDamon Blackwell, a man hiding from his inheritance.
