Page 61 of Bitter’s Sweet

“Sweet!” Mercy calls from across the lot. “If you’re done making Bitter look constipated, I need you at the demonstration table.”

I look at him. “Were you looking constipated?”

“I was looking protective.”

“That’s not better.”

“It is from my side.”

I tuck my phone back into my pocket. “Thank you for Skibidi.”

“Don’t thank me for basic sense.”

“Fine. Thank you for the basic sense, which you delivered in an alarming tone.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And I’ll let you or Mercy walk me to my car later after CSI checks it.”

“No.”

My smile dies. “No?”

“You’re not driving home alone.”

“I didn’t agree to that.”

“I noticed.”

“I’m not sleeping at your clubhouse.”

His eyes drop to my mouth, then back up. “Didn’t ask.”

Heat rushes up my neck. “That is not what I meant.”

“Sounded like you thought about it.”

“I think about a lot of things.”

His smile turns wicked. “Careful.”

There is that word again. Careful. Like he has any idea how much care I am already using just to stand this close to him and not lean in. One step would do it. One stupid little step and my chest would meet his cut, his beard would scrape my cheek, and I would find out whether that mouth is as dangerous as the rest of him.

I need distance before curiosity starts making decisions.

“I need to work.”

“Then work.”

“You’re blocking my path.”

“No, I’m standing in it.”

“That is the definition of blocking.”

He steps aside, but only barely, forcing me to pass close enough that my arm brushes his cut. Leather grazes bare skin, and the tiny contact goes through me like a spark. My nipples tighten under my dress so fast I’m suddenly grateful for the apron, and the thought of him noticing sends another pulse of heat low in my belly.

He notices something.