Page 6

ETHAN

“You have your own table?” Awe colors Aurora’s tone, confirming my suspicion she put on the New York hoodie without knowing which team I played for or where I came from.

It also tells me Jackson isn’t here, because he’d tear it off her.

“I do. Just wait.”

I ignore the blatant stares and interlace our fingers, leading her to a secluded booth in the back. Once there, I guide her into the seat before sliding in next to her, eager to be close.

Her gaze moves to the photos on the wall, and recognition dawns on her face. She radiates excitement, a sight that tugs at my heartstrings.

Aurora may pretend to be strong, but she’s not fake, and her genuine interest in my life surpasses all comprehension. How is it possible this girl adores me? It’s both flattering and petrifying.

I’m thankful we’re having a kid together, so she can’t ghost me as she has Jax. If I lost this, I’d probably go mad too.

“Hold on—you grew up here?” Whiskey eyes flicker between me and a faded photo of my younger self working in the kitchen.

“Yup. I lived in that apartment above the barbershop. Right there.” I point out the window to the building across the street. “My first job was washing dishes. Shorty, the owner, paid me with food. Cheap bastard.”

I joke, but honestly, food was exactly what I needed, and I later learned his reasoning was to stop my mother from using the money on drugs.

Her eyes soften, fixated on the old photograph. “When was that?”

“When I was ten, maybe eleven.”

She turns to me with that mischievous grin. “So before I was born? Were there child labor laws back then?”

Even when she’s busting my balls, she ignites a thrill in me, and I can’t resist touching her. It’s a welcome problem to have.

It’s the best problem I’ve ever had.

“Wow. Thanks for that.” I lean in and place a kiss under her ear. “Forget breakfast. Maybe that smart mouth of yours needs something else.” Her seductive scent envelops me, a sweet hint of vanilla that shatters my self-restraint.

“Oh no, you’re feeding me, Blackwood.”

The intensity between us grows, and everything fades away.

“I’ll feed you, all right. You just won’t be able to talk back.” I brush my thumb across her lower lip, and I envision exactly what I’d like her mouth to do.

“Stop giving me those smoldering eyes. That’s how we ended up in this mess.”

She bites my thumb, and my cock twitches. “I highly doubt my eyes had anything to do with it. In fact, I vividly remember you sliding my hand up your skirt.”

I’m glad we’re in a private area, because she has me dying to make out like horny teenagers.

“You didn’t put up much of a fight. But then again, you’re getting old. Memory might be slipping…”

Her caress trails up my thigh, and my jeans become uncomfortable.

“My memory is impeccable. I remember every detail of that night, and unless you want to miss brunch to reenact it, you better stop teasing me.” I break from her gaze to glance over the menu, a feeble attempt to steady my thickening erection.

It’s no use. She traces her fingers over the outline of my traitorous hard-on, and I lose all focus.

Hoping to prevent a wet spot in my jeans, I shove her hand away. “Baby girl,” I growl, my eyes forward, though I’m not reading a single word in front of me. “You’re asking for it.”

“Fine, I’ll stop.” The frustration in her voice is unmistakable.

She scoots toward the wall and picks up her menu. Her face hardens with dejection, and I hate it. I can ignore her sulking but never her insecurity, especially if it’s caused by me.

I clasp the back of her neck and draw her to me. “Let’s get one thing straight—I don’t ever want you to stop.” I desire her clinginess. There’s no greater fulfillment than her needing me.

Her reply is barely audible, her eyes lowered. “I don’t want to smother you.”

“Look at me.” I nudge her chin. “Smother me, love. Do your worst.”

She hesitates, and I slip her hand under my shirt against my bare stomach. It’s a soothing gesture she does often, and her resistance crumbles. She rests her head on my shoulder, her fingers tracing an arousing path along the top of my jeans.

I realize how much she needs the assurance of our subtle touches, and I wonder how she’s managing alone. She’s not. I saw her in the park snuggled with Ricky, his arm around her.

The thought of someone else experiencing this connection triggers an unwelcome pang of jealousy, prompting me to blurt, “Ricky has a boyfriend.”

With pinched brows, she glances up at me. “What?”

Did he not tell her? “He has a boyfriend.”

A range of emotions dance in her eyes. Confusion. Shock. Disappointment . “Oh.”

I can’t help it. I need to know. “Do you like him?”

She nibbles on her bottom lip and gives a half-assed shrug. “As friends. Why?”

Unease swirls in my gut. I twist a lock of her silky hair around my finger as I gather my thoughts. “Just taking mental stock of how many men I have to contend with.”

She cocks her head to the side and scoffs. “You’re joking, right? Do we need to discuss your ex-wife?”

That’s laughable. “You have nothing to worry about, I promise you.”

“Well, neither do you.”

Her tone is cutting, laced with self-deprecation, and I question once again whether she’ll ever be truly whole without Jax.