I grin, guiding her toward the line, my hand settling at the small of her back like it belongs there.
“Yeah? Then why haven’t you gone on one in forever?”
She shrugs, biting her lip.
And just like that—I know.
There’s something there she doesn’t want to say.
My Tiger goes still.
Alert.
Waiting.
So I do what I do best.
I wait for her to tell me.
Just let it happen.
Patient.
Steady.
My hand shifts from her back to her hip as the line moves forward, grounding her, letting her feel me there without pushing.
She looks so damn pretty in a flirty little pink dress with polka dots on it.
It’s kinda hard to concentrate. But I do my best.
Even though I swear I drool every time I see a glimpse of her soft tanned thighs when she walks.
After a beat, she exhales.
“My ex hated them,” she says finally. “He was afraid of heights.”
I cut my Tiger’s growl off before she can hear it.
And then I make myself answer her because she deserves someone who listens.
“That’s a shame.”
She huffs a soft laugh, but there’s something else in it too.
“Actually,” she adds, quieter now, “he just didn’t seem to like any of the things I did.”
That does it.
My jaw tightens.
My Tiger bares his teeth.
“I don’t mean to sound rough, but your ex sounds like a real asshole.”
She laughs—really laughs this time—and I feel some of that tension ease out of her.
“Yeah,” she says. “He’s an asshole, alright.”
