Page 336 of Bitter’s Sweet

Bitter knocks on the guest-room door.

I am still using the funeral-home room some nights. Other nights I sleep upstairs with him. We have not officially moved in together, and I have not officially decided whether I want to.

Bitter has not asked every six minutes.

Again, sexy.

I open the door.

He is wearing the clean button-up.

Black, of course.

His cut is over it because apparently biker formal means adding leather.

He looks at me.

Then keeps looking.

“Words.”

He blinks. “Working on it.”

“Take your time.”

“Fuck.”

I smile.

“There.”

“You look…”

“Yes?”

His gaze moves over me.

“Like I might have to kill somebody.”

I cross my arms. “We discussed this.”

“Right.”

He clears his throat.

“You look beautiful.”

“Better.”

“Still might kill somebody.”

“Bitter.”

“Responsible choices.”

“Excellent.”

He holds out his hand.