Page 16 of My Three Billionaire Rockstars

I cross my arms. “That a problem?”

“No.” There’s a beat. Then, rougher around the edges in a way I absolutely don’t need to hear, “You look hot.”

I stare at him.

Lara makes a tiny choking sound that I will choose to interpret as a cough if she values our friendship.

I blink once. “I look like I smell like hash browns.”

“You do.” His gaze drifts over me again, unhurried. “Still hot.”

My cheeks warm. “Your standards are concerning.”

“They’re specific.”

That’s somehow worse.

I grab my bag from under the counter before this gets any more humiliating. “I’m only going because I’m hungry.”

Xander takes one step back, making room for me to come around the counter. “You say that like I care what excuse you use.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

Lara leans one hip against the pie case, smiling like this is better than television. “Have fun, kids.”

I point at her as I pass. “You’re dead to me.”

“Call me tomorrow,” she sings after me. “Or tonight, if he turns out to be secretly married.”

Xander holds the diner door open for me.

The evening is cool enough to feel good after the heat inside. My skin still holds the day, the rush of tables and hot plates and too much movement, and the sudden quiet outside makes me feel oddly aware of everything. My ponytail brushing my neck, the ache in my lower back, the fact that Xander is right beside me and very much real.

His car is parked at the curb, black and expensive and exactly what I expect a man like him to drive.

He opens the passenger door. I stop and look at him. “You know I can get in a car by myself.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you standing there like I’m a duchess in a period drama?”

His hand stays on the door. “Get in, Willow.”

There it is again.

That voice. That infuriating way he turns everything into an order without ever raising it.

I slide into the seat because arguing on the sidewalk feels like giving the town free entertainment. He closes the door, walks around the front of the car, and gets in beside me.

The inside smells like leather and cedar and him.

That last part is the problem.

He pulls away from the curb, one hand loose on the wheel, and for a minute I watch the town pass through the window in silence. The square is mostly dark now except for the bookstore café and the lights at Bennett’s.

“You always this suspicious?” he asks.