“I can if your scent is still on my lips.”
“You’re a menace.”
“You like that too.”
She opened her mouth, then shut it, which I considered a win.
“Careful,” I said, letting my voice drop just enough to make her squirm. “You’re proving my point.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I should.”
“Probably.”
Her laugh came out breathless, and that sound went straight through me.
Fuck casual.
I didn’t say it. But I thought it so clearly it might as well have been carved into the dashboard.
Nothing about this woman was casual to me. Not the way she stole my coffee. Not the way she talked about her mom. Not the way she pretended wanting me was something she could put in a box and open only when convenient. Not the way she looked at my hand over hers like maybe the touch scared her because it felt better than she expected.
I’d let her have the word “benefits.”
For now.
But every mile closer to her family, every laugh she gave me, every blush I dragged out of her, every soft truth she accidentally put in my hands made the word feel more ridiculous.
This wasn’t benefits. It was strategy. Access. A door she thought she controlled because she was the one who named it.
This was me learning exactly how to get under her skin until she stopped confusing fear with common sense.
And if that made me a bastard, fine.
I’d been called worse on the ice.
Pip shifted in her seat, still trying not to smile as she took another sip of my coffee. “This is really good, by the way.”
“My coffee?”
“Our coffee.”
I glanced at her. “Our coffee?”
“You said your wardrobe belongs to me now. I assumed beverages were the same.”
“You’re expanding the agreement.”
“I’m a woman. We adapt contracts as needed.”
“That’s not how contracts work.”
“That’s how mine work.”
I smiled, squeezing her hand once. “Greedy.”
