Page 19

Chapter nine

Hazel

“But you’re supposed to open my car door.”

I flick my gaze between Gage and the motorcycle.

“Well, if we take this, then I don’t have to.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m not sure I trust you not to get us both killed on this thing. Plus, if we find something at the thrift store for the apartment, how are we supposed to bring it home?”

He steps closer to me, tipping my chin up with his fingers so I have no choice but to look into his striking green eyes—the same ones that shamelessly took in every inch of my body when I walked out of my room in my black romper, ready for our date.

“I would never let anything happen to you on my bike, all right, Spitfire?”

The sound of that nickname coming off his lips is beginning to do sinful things to my lady bits, along with the way he’s commanding my attention right now.

If any other man had tried what he just did, I’d be punching him in the junk, but it seems I’m out of my element around Gage—something I’m becoming increasingly aware of.

“I’m sure you say that to all the girls,” I mutter.

He chuckles. “Not that it’s any of your business, but you’d be the first girl to ride on the back of this bike.”

“Wh-what?” That news has me stuttering.

He hands me a helmet. “Just trust me. This is going to be a lot more fun than taking your car. And I’ve technically already opened a car door for you when we went to your nephew’s birthday party, so…”

Trying not to overthink his confession, I slowly slide the helmet on, silently cursing the time it took to get my hair to look like this before messing it up. Gage swings his leg over the bike and motions for me to get on behind him.

As I slide up against his back and wrap my arms around his waist, I immediately regret every life choice that led me here.

I can feel his rock-hard abs contracting beneath my grip, and the heat of his body burns through his simple black T-shirt.

God, I want to count the ridges of his stomach with my tongue.

I have yet to even see him shirtless, and I hate how disappointed I am by that.

“Hold on tight,” he says before revving the bike to life, the sound roaring in the parking lot of my apartment complex. I can already hear Ms. Higgins complaining about the noise at next week’s tenant meeting, but I push that thought aside and tighten my grip on Gage.

My breasts are pressed against his back and my nails are digging into his stomach, but as soon as he pulls out onto the road and we begin to coast, the anxiety begins to melt away.

The past month with Gage has been…uneventful.

After Michael’s birthday party, I could tell he retreated a bit, preferring solitude to spending time with me…which is fine. The less we have to see each other, the better.

Alt hough, those nights when it’s just the two of us in the apartment, talking on the couch after long days have started to become something I look forward to.

For years it’s just been me, alone in that apartment, day in and day out. I barely had a chance to adjust to having Blueberry around before Gage entered the space. But having him there, having someone else to think about, has been interesting.

I catch myself noticing things. What food he likes, what soda he drinks, whether he’s changed his laundry over or not. It’s a shift I didn’t expect to get used to so quickly.

I knew this second letter was coming, though.

And as Gage cruises toward Catch & Release, I prepare myself to be cordial to this man for the next few hours.

Our repartee has been lively, which I enjoy more than I should.

Selfishly, I’m glad he’s not one of those men that just lays down, rolls over, and does everything I say.

I don’t want a pushover for a husband. I need someone who will push me back.

But he’s not your real husband, remember, Hazel?

“Ugh,” I groan out loud. Luckily, Gage can’t hear it over the bike.

I hate how these convoluted thoughts slip into my mind at the most inappropriate times.

I hate that I have to remind myself that this whole relationship isn’t real.

And I really hate that, even though I can tell Gage is trying to keep his distance, there’s a part of me that doesn’t want him to—a part of me that wants to get to know him better.

That part of me needs to be smothered with a pillow.

Gage pulls into the parking lot of Catch & Release, finding a spot with ease before shutting off the engine. He pats my hands, silently directing me to climb off first.

After I whip off the helmet and fluff my hair, I catch him watching me.

“What?”

He clears his throat, eyes flicking away as he removes his helmet as well. “Nothing.” When he lifts his gaze to mine again, he asks, “So, how’d you like it?”

“The breeze flowing through my romper was nice. Helped air everything out, you know?” I joke.

He laughs. “Glad to help you out with that.”

“It wasn’t too bad, actually.”

Gage rubs his hand over the body of the machine that was just purring between my legs. “When you’re on a long ride, and it’s just you and the open road, there’s no feeling like it.”

I take a step back and arch a brow. “Would you like me to leave you alone with your bike for a minute so you can write it a love poem?”

Gage shakes his head, reaching for my helmet and putting them both in the satchel on the side of the bike. “I told you, Hazel. There will be no poetry on this date.”

“Fair enough.” I start to head toward the restaurant, but he tugs me back by the hand. “What are you doing?”

“Holding your hand,” he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Why?”

“Because that’s what the letter said to do.” He takes his phone out of his pocket and snaps a picture of our hands clasped together before slipping it back into his jeans.

“Did you need the memory so you don’t forget it happened, or what?”

Gage begins to lead me to the restaurant. “I’m documenting, Hazel. You did read the letters, didn’t you?”

“Yes…”

“Well, I don’t want to take any chances on us missing something. So, we need to take pictures of everything. The last thing I want is to get to our six-month anniversary and find out we didn’t check all the right boxes to get our money, all right?”

“Good point,” I concede. Though, I’m not complaining—I forgot just how much my body enjoys having a man take the lead.

When we make it to the entrance, Gage pulls the door open for me, guiding me through with his hand on the small of my back, making a shiver race down my spine and right to the juncture between my legs.

Dear God. I have a problem .

“Table for two, please,” Gage tells the hostess, who then turns to me.

“Hazel? Oh my gosh, how are you?” Sally steps around the podium, pulling me in for a hug.

“I’m great. How are you?”

Her eyes slide over to Gage and then back to me. “I heard you got married! Is this your husband?”

Plastering on a fake smile, I look up at Gage. “Yup, this is the old ball and chain, Gage.”

He leans forward to shake Sally’s hand. “And the wifey here sure does love being chained up, if you catch my drift.” He flashes her a wink and her cheeks instantly bloom with pink.

I swat at Gage’s chest. “Seriously?”

Sally regains her composure quickly and grabs two menus, leading us to a table near the back.

“That was a bit too far, don’t you think?” I mutter to Gage as we walk through the restaurant.

He shrugs. “Oh, come on. I thought it was funny.”

Sally leaves us the menus and scurries away. Poor thing is probably traumatized for life.

I s lide into my side of the booth, still irritated. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m actually a fairly adventurous person…sexually, that is.”

Gage’s eyes lift from the table, the intensity of the green hue catching me off guard. “It was just a joke, Hazel.”

“Still. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t make comments like that. They would allude to…”

“Us having sex?” he finishes for me, putting the menu down and smirking at me. “You do realize people already assume that, given that we’re married.”

“True, but—”

“I hate that this is the conversation I chose to interrupt.”

My head snaps up to find Dallas standing there, a look of disgust on his face.

“Well, that was your own fault,” I say dryly.

“Good to see you too, Hazelnut.” He turns to Gage, tone clipped. “Gage.”

Gage nods. “Dallas.”

Seems their friendly repertoire from my nephew’s birthday party can be pushed aside when sex enters the conversation.

“What are you two doing here tonight?” Dallas asks, flicking his eyes between us.

“Word on the street is that you serve food here, and we’re hungry, so…”

Gage chimes in before I can piss off my brother more. “We’re on a date.”

Dallas’s brows shoot up. “A date?”

“Yeah. Newlywed stuff, you know?” I force a smile, already exhausted and we haven’t even ordered yet.

“Okay. Well, if you’re in the mood for—”

I c ut my brother off. “I know the menu, Dallas. I’ll give Gage the rundown.”

My brother nods, seeming to accept that response. “Suit yourself. Good to see you both.” He leans down and presses a quick kiss to my cheek. “Love you, Hazelnut.”

“Love you too.”

After Dallas walks away, Gage blows out a long breath, like he’d been holding it in.

“You okay?” I ask.

“Fine.” He picks the menu back up. “So, what’s good here?”

After I spend several minutes going over the best items on the menu while trying not to dwell on Gage’s obvious irritation, we place our order, then sit there in silence until I can’t take it anymore.

“You know, I never asked you why you became a tattoo artist.”

He shrugs. “Same reason most people do. I used to sketch all the time, so much so that I got in trouble in school for drawing instead of paying attention to what the teacher was saying. But my art teacher encouraged me to harness my talent and find a way to make money with it, so I learned how to tattoo.”

“That’s it?”

“Were you looking for something more meaningful? Something more…poetic?” he arches a brow.