Cheese is my favorite food.
But even I cringe at just how tacky the words are that come falling out of my mouth. I usually have more game than this. Better game. Jeez. I’d take any fucking game at all right now.
Dunno what it is about the enchanting, fiery-haired goddess next to me in this pseudo prison, but she’s got me tangled up in knots.
Her eye roll confirms two things. One, I’m most definitely lacking in game. And two, she has the most beautiful jade eyes I have ever had the pleasure of staring into.
A rap on the bars makes me jump.
“Bail’s paid.” Sawyer smirks at me.
Bolting across the cell, I shake my head before dropping my voice. “Got the wrong man, officer. I’m staying put.”
“You’ll have to match the bail to stay put for the duration. Them’s the rules of the fundraiser.” He shrugs like there’s nothing he can do about it despite the fact we both know there’s something he could do about it. That’s what I get for pissing him off with the Sy thing, I guess.
A quick glance over my shoulder at the redhead who’s pretending to assess her nails confirms it. The money I’ve been saving up to buy new Airpods is going to be spent on time with this woman. If I can’t woo her in the next ninety minutes, then I deserve to lose the hundred bucks anyway. And the girl.
Even if the American Society for Deaf Children wasn’t so near and dear to my heart, it’s a damn good cause. “Give me an hour.”
He shakes his head before holding out his hand. With a dejected sigh, I drop my wallet into it. I’m now officially on the hook for a hundred bucks. I can’t say I’ve ever paid to have the pleasure of the company of a beautiful woman, but something about this one tells me she’s worth it.
Unsure of how much my cellmate has heard, I pause to evaluate my next steps. How can I make her adore me in the next ninety minutes?
Mom tells me almost every day I have a winning personality. But she’s my mother, and she’s supposed to say that. Not only that, but the firecracker pretending not to stare at my ass has declared she hates hockey players. I’m already starting at a deficit.
Definitely don’t lead with the fact I play hockey.
Considering this woman has—as recently as five minutes ago—sworn off men forever, most notably hockey-playing men, giving her a fake name feels safer than not.
“Loki.” My outstretched hand hovers in the space between us.
She cants her head, not taking her gaze off my fingers for a long moment. “Really?” Her single, perfectly manicured brow arches high.
With a shrug, I try smiling again. Don’t think she fell for it the first ten times, but if it makes her smile back at me, even once, even just a half smile, I bet it’ll be worth it.
Another eye roll, a sigh, and her pale hand slides into mine. “Sigyn.”
It’s my turn to tilt my head. “Huh?”
“You went the Marvel route, didn’t you?”
Heat fills my cheeks. “God of Mischief.” Brushing the back of my neck does little to cool my face.
“Loki’s wife is Sigyn in Norse mythology.” She says it so nonchalantly, just tossing it out like it isn’t the coolest thing someone’s said to me today.
“I guess if he had a wife in the movies it would piss a hell of a lot of women off.”
That makes her…not quite smile but there’s a flicker of amusement that’s hard to miss and I want to try harder. Damn, this woman is a tough nut to crack.
Her expression is locked up tight and surrounded by barbed wire. Her impassive face rivals Mom’s, and that’s saying something. It’s a truth universally acknowledged that mothers have the best poker faces.
This firecracker hugs her stomach like she’s protecting herself. The slight slump of her shoulders and how she holds herself, is she self-conscious? My mom used to contort herself to hide her body.
It’s a guess based on nothing at all other than having lived with Mom my whole damn life and having seen her act the exact same way. Why the hell do beautiful women think they need to be skinny to be beautiful? I dunno. But lots of them certainly seem to.
“I mean, I’d do him.” Her shoulder hitches and that flicker of amusement is back as the corners of her lips curve just a bit.
Him who? I got pulled out of the moment by the counterpoint of her vocal confidence with how she’s defensively curling her arms around her stomach.
