Page 23 of Worshiping Faith

“Kind?” He grimaces like I just insulted him. “That’s new. A little out of my wheelhouse.”

I laugh. Wheelhouse. He’s smart, plays like he’s not, like he’s just a dopey nutjob, but I’m not buying it. “Sweet even,” I add, watching him carefully.

There. A tiny flicker of something, shock? Amusement? Uncertainty?

I threw him. It’s hilarious.

“Dax say we could knock boots?” he asks abruptly.

I grin. “I haven’t decided if I like you enough for that yet.”

His hands go to his chest, fake-wounded. “You are so savage.”

Then, suddenly, he stops walking and strikes a pose, one foot forward, chin tilted, hands on his hips. “What’s not to like? I’m stunning. Admit it.”

I about die. I fold my arms, pretending to assess him. “You’re cute, I guess. A little too pretty for my taste.”

And now I’m standing at the end of the goddamn world, joking with a psychopath about having sex.

“Pretty,” he repeats, mock-offended. “Now you’re just being mean.” He steps closer, dropping his voice just a fraction. “Is it ‘cause I’m not inked? That it?” He leans in, all smirk and mischief. “I can have Trip ink your name on my ass like a little tramp stamp.”

Chapter Six

Zachs

Shit on a shingle.

The way she’s looking at me.

I’m fucked.

She’s fucked.

We’re all fucked.

“On your ass?” she asks, eyes full of mischief. “Are you ashamed? I want it on your neck. Your forehead.”

I smirk. “How about my wrist? You can see it every time I stab a motherfucker for looking at you.”

“Looking at mewrong?” she teases.

“Looking at you.” I walk her backward, stepping into a room, and kick the door shut behind us.

I have to know. If this is real. If she’s really in this, if she wants me like I want her, because once I go there, once she’s mine, there’s no fucking walking it back.

She doesn’t move for the door.

Her hand doesn’t twitch for her gun or her knife.

Perfect.

Her lips have a perfect fucking bow, soft and parted slightly, like she’s already thinking about kissing me.

Christ.

“Zachs, you haven’t really asked me anything,” she says, voice quiet. “What do you want to know about me?”

I blink. What?