One thing was for sure: it was going to be an interesting day.
* * *
A few hours later, I ventured out to my car to see if I still had a bridal magazine buried in the trunk. A client at the salon had brought it in, wanting a similar haircut to one of the models.
“Thought we’d agreed you’d wait on me, ladybug.” Ruston’s voice had me stopping short just as I was about to lift the lid to my trunk.
“Ladybug?” I quirked a brow as I turned to face him.
He gestured toward my bright red Volkswagen Bug. “It suits you.”
“Not sure you know what suits me if you think I’d go back on my word,” I retorted with a hand on my hip.
He eyed me steadily, barely suppressing an amused grin. “Fair enough.”
“I was just grabbing something from my car,” I explained, raising the lid and digging around for the magazine, effectively ignoring him for the time being. Despite his effect on me, his presumption irked me. I had to practically crawl into the trunk to get to the back where I hoped the magazine was buried. Neatness wasn’t my strong suit, never had been.
His low chuckle had goose bumps rising on my arms. “Need some help?”
“No,” I muttered defiantly just as I let out a squeak, losing my balance and all but face-planting in my trunk. Strong hands wrapped around my waist, steadying me as I rose and blew my red hair from my eyes. He turned me to face him, looking down at me with what I could only describe as amused affection.
“What are you looking for? Maybe I can help.”
I bit my lip in consternation. “Well, I think I’m realizing that I might need to clean up in there,” I muttered, gesturing to the disaster in my trunk.
He chuckled, the sound low and rich. “I’m willing to wade in if you give me an idea of what I’m looking for.”
“A bridal magazine, for Emmie,” I was quick to add. “And I only have it for a client from the salon,” I was even quicker to tack on.
His lips quirked in a handsome grin as he squeezed my hips once before releasing me, his large form dwarfing my car as he dipped down to scour the wreckage that was my trunk.
“This it?” he asked after a second, producing the magazine.
“Yes!” I clapped in glee and took it from his outstretched hand. “Thank you. Emmie may not be ready to plan her wedding, but I am.” I grinned.
He shut the lid and sat on the hood, his long legs stretched out in front of him, arms crossed over his chest.
“You about done in there?” I asked, indicating toward the club.
“For now. We ride out tonight,” he replied, his gaze on me.
I nodded, knowing that whatever they were about to embark on was dangerous but holding back from asserting as much.
“Not gonna riddle me with questions?” he wondered.
I cocked my head to the side in question. “Why? Would it change anything if I did?”
He eyed me intently. “Probably not.”
I shrugged. “I was raised in the life. I know as much.”
He nodded as though pondering my response. “Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t want to talk to you about it, though.”
“You barely know me,” I protested.
He quirked a grin. “Isn’t that how you get to know each other, by talking?”
With friendships, I knew that to be true. But I could honestly say that I’d never explored as much with a man I was attracted to, and they’d been few and far between. Growing up, men had either been too afraid to approach me knowing who my family was, or the few that had hadn’t been of interest to me.
