Page 27 of Warrant

She looked relieved at my statement. “Well, I’m sure the beef we had the other night was your family’s, so yours is likely as good,” she said, waving a hand. “And the way your mother cooked it was perfection.”

“Seriously,” I growled playfully. “You keep talking like that and we’ll be getting married sooner rather than later.” When her eyes dropped to the menu, as if she wasn’t sure she was ready to think about that—the grin spread over my face as I realized I’d made her uncomfortable with the marriage talk—so naturally, I continued, “Yeah. I usually avoid steakhouses because I can make them better at home.” I shrugged my shoulders when she glanced back up at me.

“We could’ve gone anywhere,” she pointed out.

“Next time,” I told her. I needed to impress her the first time out and a steakhouse was something that was difficult to mess up. Sometimes you brought a girl to a hole in the wall Italian place and they might not think you were putting in enough effort. Not that Ainsley struck me as the type to think that way. And if she was, this thing between us wouldn’t be building the way it was.

Fuck. She’s beautiful.

The flickering candle light was shining off her hair as her eyes slid over the menu. I was in such deep shit. My phone buzzed in my pocket and I took it out.

Demo:You on your date?

Quickly, I typed back: Unless it’s club business, fuck off.

Demo:Definitely on your date. Have fun. Maybe she’ll handcuff you…

When I looked up, those stormy gray eyes were on me. “Sorry.” I shoved my phone back in my pocket. “Club shit.”

“It’s okay,” she said with a smile. “I’ll be doing the same if mine goes off.” She tilted her head. “Cop shit.”

I chuckled. “Fair enough. So, what made you want to become a cop? Or who? Dad? Grandfather? Brother?” I guessed.

She laughed. “Uncle. Though, to be fair, it wasn’t him specifically. I always liked to play cops and robbers with my cousins.”

“No siblings?”

“Only child.”

“Oh, boy,” I said with a whistle.

Her eyes narrowed. “What?”

“That explains a few things.”

“Like what?” she asked with an offended sounding laugh.

We paused and gave our orders as the waiter came over. I was impressed that she’d ordered actual food and not just a salad. Too many women were afraid to eat in front of a man.

“Like,” I said as soon as the guy walked away, “the independence, the need to prove yourself to everyone,” I ticked off on my fingers.

The waiter came by and dropped off Ainsley’s salad. I reached out to grab a crouton and she smacked my hand away.

“The inability to share,” I added, looking at her with a mock wounded look.

“I share just fine,” she said, dumping ranch over her salad from the little silver tin they had it in. “Just not my food.”

Chuckling, I nodded. “Sure, sure. I’m just saying-”

“And what about you?” she pressed. “You’re telling me that you being the baby of the family—the apple of your mother’s eye—has nothing to do with the fact that you do whatever the hell you want?” Her lips curved into a smile.

Cocking my head, I considered her statement. “No, you’re probably right that it does. Started everything off anyway,” I admitted. “My brothers used to let me win at everything, so…”

She pointed her fork at me. “So I have them to thank for you being insufferable?”

“Insufferable?” I sputtered with laughter.

“You nearly made me wreck my damn Tahoe. You weren’t even buckled in while in the back,” she said, glaring at me.