It reminds me that he’s not just muscle and rage. He’s restraint. Control. A man whochoosesnot to destroy everything he touches.
And that’s worse.
Because it makes me remember all the nights I imagined this exact moment. Walking into something beautiful with him at my side. Being chosen openly. Claimed without fear.
I wanted him to want me when it was easy. When nothing was broken. When loving me didn’t feel like penance.
Now he looks at me like I’m already his, and I don’t know what to do with that.
Because wanting Tank has never been my problem.
Trusting that he won’t leave me standing alone again?
That’s the part I can’t seem to master.
Tank’s eyes meet mine, just for a second.
He doesn’t smile.
He just looks… steady.
Like he’s bracing himself.
Like he knows tonight matters more than he’s letting on.
And suddenly, I’m terrified.
Not of giving in…that’s inevitable at some point…but of how badly I want to.
If I hand myself over completely to this man and he changes his mind, it won’t just hurt.
It will ruin me.
“Pretty boy,” Skip drawls, yanking me out of my spiral. “I need you to stop eye-fucking my brothers and turn those big orbs over here.”
I blink, startled, then glance at Eli and promptly lose it.
Maverick, Spike, Max, Bones, and Tank are standing together like some terrifying, overdressed version of bikers. Maverick, Max, and Spike are talking quietly about something, Bones looks like he’d rather fistfight a lion than attend a ballet, and Tank…Tank is facing me, smiling.
Eli, meanwhile, is frozen in place, mouth hanging open, dramatically fanning himself like he’s moments away from catching fire. When he makes no move to do as his man demanded, Skip steps in front of him, blocking the view.
“See something you like, baby?” Skip asks, voice low and territorial.
Eli grins and very deliberately wipes an imaginary line of drool from the corner of his mouth.
Skip actually growls.
I clamp a hand over my mouth to keep from laughing too loudly, but when I risk another glance at Tank, my amusement fades just a little.
He’s still watching me.
Not possessive…Not smug.
Just… patient.
“You look handsome,” I say, proud of myself for not admitting that I really think he looks so freaking sexy. “Have you ever been to a ballet?”
“Can’t say I have,” he replies smoothly. “But with a beautiful woman to escort, I don’t think I’ll hate it.”
