Page 24 of Ronen (Sweet Alps Legacy #1)

In those few moments, watching him lean against his bike waiting for me to slap him with a speeding ticket, like he had not a care in the world, I realized I wanted to know both sides of Ronen.

I wanted to know all of Ronen.

I wanted Ronen.

Tearing off the ticket when it printed, I held it out as I walked back over to him.

His lips curved up in the briefest of smiles as he took the ticket from me, his eyes dancing .

“Have a good night,” I told him, walking away. “And slow the fuck down.”

“Mason.”

The soft way he called my name caused a shiver of need to snake up my spine, as I turned slowly to face him.

When I didn’t speak, he jostled his helmet from one hand to the other. Finally, he asked, “How are the kids?”

My mind went blank trying to decipher what the fuck he was talking about.

When I still didn’t speak, he asked, “Do they have their teeth yet? I read baby goats get their teeth at about a week old, and they’re two weeks, right? A few days older?”

I guess we were going to make small talk now? About my goats?

Taking a few steps to close the distance between us, I stared down at his upturned face, my eyes glued to his oh-so-kissable pink lips. “They do. Have their teeth, I mean. Fritter nipped my fingers this morning, little bugger.”

Ronen’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “Fritter? You named one of them Fritter? What kind of name is that?”

Headlights illuminated the road, and a black BMW crawled by, then honked when Ronen tossed them his middle finger.

Giving him a questioning look, he shrugged. “It was my cousin, Logan,”

Rolling his eyes, he sighed, “At least he won’t go tattle to his dads, who then would tattle to my dads.

I swear, I can’t do anything in this town without someone in my family finding out.

Logan will keep his mouth shut though. Anyway, back to this abhorrent name for this poor little goat. Explain. ”

It wasn’t an ideal place to have a conversation, but if Ronen was going to actually speak to me, I’d take it. It was better than nothing.

Running a hand through my hair, I told him, “Mama’s name is Cinnamon Bun, Cinnamon or Cin, for short. The two kids are Kruller and Fritter. Apple Fritter technically, but Fritter works.”

He stared at me, blinked, then sighed wistfully. “And now I want a pastry.”

“All my animals are named after desserts,” Grinning, I shyly admitted. My family teased me endlessly about it.

He tilted his head and went back to staring at me, until I felt heat creep across my face, and I scuffed one toe in the dirt. “How many animals have you named after something in my Uncle Quinn’s bakery?”

“Let’s see, there’s three chickens, a donkey, the goats, a couple milk cows, a barn cat, a dog, a couple horses…that’s it for the time being.”

“The time being?”

I gave him another shrug, not bothering to elaborate.

“Well,” Ronen bounced his helmet off his thigh lightly, straightening from leaning against his bike, “I want to see this menagerie of yours.”

“What?” He was making my head spin, and not just from his sweet scent. Ronen was one moody omega. “Now?”

“Yes, now. What else are you doing?”

Tossing my hands up, I reminded him, “I’m on duty.”

Pushing up the cuff of his jacket, he glanced at the silver watch adorning his wrist. “You’re off in ten minutes. I’ll meet you at your place. ”

Planting the helmet on his head, he gracefully swung one shapely, leather clad leg over his bike and I pretended like I wasn’t staring at his round ass in those tight pants. Fucking hell, those things should be illegal.

And how the hell did he know when I was off duty? Did he have mad, creepy, I know everything skills like his dad?

“Ronen?” I called.

Flipping the visor up, he gave me a questioning look.

“You can’t just barge into my night, into my life, demanding things.”

He sure as fuck can , my dragon puffed out his chest, he’s our mate. He can do whatever he wants.

Ronen laughed, the sound tinkling in the night air, “Can’t I? I just did. Are you going to turn me down?”

He had me there, but dammit, he couldn’t just…just…yeah, he could, and he did.

“I want something from you then,” I said softly.

He started the bike with ease, the motor humming, the sound filling the air. “Another blow job? To fuck me again?”

Gripping his arm lightly, I stopped his movements while he fiddled with his bike, and he stared at me with his intense green eyes. The laughter from a few minutes ago was replaced with heat, hunger, a need that strummed between us.

“I want us to have a real conversation about this thing between us, about us being fated, and not have you sneak out in the dead of night.”

Eyes locked together, his tongue came out and licked his bottom lip. Following the movement, my breath hitched in my chest.

Finally, he gave a short nod, balancing the bike between his legs as it rumbled beneath him. “Okay, we can do that. ”

“You’ll be at my place when I get there?”

He blew out a puff of air, “I said I would. I want to see all these animals of yours, that you have given hideous names to.”

Pointing down the road, I started to give him directions, and he just shook his head at me. “Mason, I know where you live, remember?”

“You remember how to get there? It can be tricky in the dark.”

“I know where it is.” He popped the visor of his helmet down, revved his engine, and took off in a flurry of dirt and rocks.

Speeding away like I just hadn’t handed him a ticket for doing just that.

As I hurried back to my truck, I swore I heard him laughing, but it had to be a trick of my mind.