Page 32 of Reckless

I fold my arms across my chest. “I don’t believe that’s accurate.”

“It really is.” She finishes wrapping the bouquet and slides it across the counter.

White, cream, and soft green. Nothing loud. Nothing trying too hard.

I glance down and nod. “They suit her.”

She shrugs like it’s nothing. “They do.”

I pay while Penny watches me with entirely too much amusement. “I’m going to tell Millie.” I look up. “And Millie…” she continues cheerfully, “… will spill to Marley, who will definitely be excited to tell Victoria.”

“I suspected as much.”

She continues, “Victoria will tell Ro.”

“Probably.”

“And by dinner every woman attached to this club will know you bought Sage flowers.”

I pick up the bouquet, suddenly feeling as though this is a terrible mistake.

“I’ve made a tactical error coming here, haven’t I?”

She jumps up on her toes, smiling so fucking wide I suddenly feel like I want to puke. “You absolutely have.” She grins. “I’m still not sorry.”

I raise the flowers in my way of saying thank you, say nothing, and turn, walking out with Penny giggling like a fucking schoolgirl behind me.

Fuck my life!

By the time I reach Sage’s apartment, the afternoon has settled into that familiar Vegas heat that clings to the concrete long after the sun has started dropping toward the skyline. The flowers rest against my forearm while I knock. Movement carries through the apartment before the lock clicks and the door opens, then Sage fills the doorway.

She shouldn’t have this much presence. She’s barely five-foot-nothing, all stubbornness and opinions packed into a body that looks like a strong gust of wind should be enough to knock her sideways. But she’s strong enough to withstand anything.

Her hair falls in loose blonde waves around her shoulders, like she’s spent the afternoon chasing the sun instead of sitting behind a desk. Her skin still carries that warm, sun-kissed glow that makes me wonder if she’s ever had a bad day at the beach. Then she looks at me.

Those eyes…

Christ.

Somewhere along the line, I’d convinced myself it was the arguments that got under my skin. The way she’d stand in my den and refuse to back down. The way she’d challenge me just enough to make me want to prove her wrong.

I was lying to myself.

It was always her eyes.

She looks at me like she’s been trying to figure me out from the moment we met. As if she sees something worth waiting for behind walls I’ve spent years making sure nobody got through.

I don’t know when that started mattering.

I just know it does.

The smile that spreads across her face the second she sees me finishes the job.

Fuck me.

Then her eyes find the flowers, and the smile slips into something else. Surprise.

She wasn’t expecting this.