Page 98 of King of Pain

“Alright, time to get ready,” I announce, standing abruptly.

Chance chuckles as he stands and stretches, his shirt riding up just enough to flash that deep-cut V—the one I’ve becomeobsessedwith. I force myself to look away, barely resisting the urge to groan.

We each hop in the shower, and by the time I step out of the hall bathroom fully dressed, Chance is just emerging from his room.

My stomach flips, and all rational thought leaves my brain.

He’s wearing a lavender dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up just enough to show off his forearms, the color making his dark tattoos pop. The fabric hugs his broad chest, and his jet-black hair isfrustratinglyperfect—messy in just the right way.And those pants—Jesus Christ, those pants.Black, tight as fuck, especially over his thick thighs and that shapely ass.

I’m convinced he does squats in his sleep.

Chance catches me staring. “What?”

I blink, clearing my throat. “Nothing. You look incredible, birthday boy.”

His gaze drags slowly down my body and back up again, his lips parting slightly.

“Oh my God,” he whispers.

I smirk, fully aware that the tight black button-down and fitted gray pants are doingexactlywhat I intended—highlightingeverythingin just the right way. And yeah, my bulge isdefinitelyon display, but hey, special occasions and all.

“You ready?” he asks, visibly gulping.

Oh yeah. The pantsdid their job.

“Yep. Let’s go,” I tell him. “I can’t wait for you to experience this. It’s my favorite restaurant in Arizona.”

Chance raises an eyebrow. “That’s high praise coming from you. Are you going to tell me what restaurant it is?”

“Nope.”

“Didn’t think so.” He shakes his head. “Shall we?”

Thirty minutes later, we pull up to a sleek, modern building,Viscontishining in elegant lettering above the entrance.

“No way!” Chance exclaims. “I’ve heard of this place. Some girls in art class were talking about it.”

I grin. “It’s an Italian seafood and steakhouse concept. They have the best arancini.”

“Ooh, that’s the fried balls of cheese and risotto, right?”

I nod, and Chance groans dramatically. “My mouth is watering already.”

We step up to the hostess stand, and I see her eyes sweep up and down Chance’s body, her gaze lingering way too long.

Oh hell no.

She smiles a little too brightly. “Checking in?”

“Pacini, party of two,” I grit out, restraining my irritation.

She looks at the screen, then says, “Let me just check on your table.”

As she walks away, I turn to find Chance watching me, amused.

“What?” I ask.

He smirks. “If you clench your jaw any tighter, you’re going to crack a molar. Also, I’m pretty sure if you could shoot lasers out of your eyes, her face would be a pile of goo on the floor.”