Page 41 of When I Accidentally Snagged a Serial Killer

“What the fuck?”

I blow across the tip of the gun and return it to its cradle. “Congratulations. You’re cut off and rinsed off.”

The bouncers “escort” him toward the exit—his keys will stay with security until somebody sober comes for him.

I glance at Gage. He raises his vodka tonic in solemn salute, then looks toward the three men beside him. “Well, boys, I wouldn’t want to fuck with her.” His glass touches his mouth before he adds, “But next time, maybe make it unnecessary first.”

One of them scoffs. “What? She your girlfriend?”

“Why should that matter?” Gage sets his drink down, shoulders pulling back. “She’s someone.”

The guy snorts dismissively. “She handled it.”

“She did.” Gage stabs a finger at them. “Doesn’t mean the rest of you had to sit there and enjoy the show. Man up next time.”

One straightens. “Why didn’t you?” he challenges.

“Because she told me not to.” Gage takes a slow drink. “Difference is, I was paying attention.”

Oh. Fuck. Somewhere between like and love gets extremely crowded.

The guys suddenly get very quiet and preoccupied with their drinks.

At first, I’m shell-shocked. But when I make it back to him, he’s still enjoying himself. “That was the hottest application of carbonated water I have ever witnessed.”

I plant my hands on my hips. “That was the hottest display of positive masculinity I’ve ever witnessed.”

He blows a fuming breath through his nostrils. “You risk your body and your safety every day, Jubilee. The least I can do is risk the social inconvenience of speaking up.”

I think my brain just had an orgasm. And my heart.

Don’t melt. Don’t melt. Don’t melt.

Three women descend on him before I can recover. The first one gasps. “Oh, my God. You’re Gage Cannon.”

Oh. Right. Sometimes I forget I’m dating the internet’s communal pastry husband.

One already has her phone out. “I subscribe to your channel.”

Gage greets them with an easy smile. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

“We literally watched your funnel cake video before we came out.”

Of course, you did. And I was at work. And my hand has somehow found the soda gun again. Coincidence.

One of the women draws closer to him. She’s gorgeous. Naturally gorgeous, which feels unnecessarily hostile of the universe. “Do you want to dance?”

I grip the handle harder. I am not jealous. Jealousy requires insecurity. I’m simply paying attention. Very close, very aggressive attention.

Gage presses a hand to his chest. “Flattered, ladies. Truly. Unfortunately, while I am a master pastry chef and accomplished cat daddy, I have two left feet. But I’m available for a selfie.”

They cheer, phones appear, and I get a front-row seat to his signature head-tilt pose. “Thank you!” one of them squeals.

“You’re welcome.” He blows them a kiss.

My grip tightens again. I could accidentally discharge this thing. Accidents happen.

The women disappear into the crowd, giggling, and Gage turns back toward me. He checks out my hand wrapped around the soda gun, then works his way slowly up to my face. His grin widens. “Everything okay over there?”