“Which is?”
“None of your business.” I shoot him a look. When he just stares at me, I sigh, feeling like garbage. “Look. Thank you for helping me, but don’t interfere next time. Okay? You’ve brought a world of problems on my head by going after Kozlov’s men.”
Grayson’s expression is calm, but his eyes are hard. “You don’t care they’re going to come back? They were hurting you.”
“I know,” I say through gritted teeth, turning around to put some of the things away. “I’m going to say this again: Don’t get involved in my business, Grayson.”
His silence following my words makes me wonder if he’s offended. When I turn around, however, he’s standing right behind me. A gasp escapes my lips, and he grins. “Fine. No more questions. How about that dinner then?”
I blink at the subject change. “What?”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “If you buy me dinner, I’ll have my mechanic look over your car and fix it up for free.”
I stare at him incredulously. “What part of me being broke didn’t you understand?”
“One small meal versus a free body job.” He shrugs, and the movement draws my eyes to his bare chest again. I force myself to look at his face instead, which is somehow worse because he’s smirking like he knows exactly what effect he’s having on me. “More than a fair trade.”
He’s right, and he knows it, sitting there looking smug about the whole thing.
My mind does the math. A meal at a cheap place, maybe twenty dollars. A mechanic for body work, easily a few hundred. Maybe more.
“There’s a diner across from the hospital,” I say reluctantly. “We can eat there.”
My stomach chooses that exact moment to rumble. Loud enough that we both hear it.
Grayson’s grin is absolutely insufferable. “Sounds like someone else is hungry too.”
“Shut up.” I grab my bag from where I dropped it during the fight. “Come on before I change my mind.”
He moves closer, invading my personal space in a way that makes my breath hitch. “Lead the way, sweetheart.”
The endearment sends an unwelcome shiver down my spine.
I don’t ask. I don’t look. I just head for the door, putting distance between us before I do something stupid like notice how good he smells under the copper tang of blood.
This is fine. I’ll buy him a burger, he’ll fix my car, and we’ll never have to see each other again.
Except as I walk down the hallway with Grayson Wolfe following behind me, his presence burning into my back like a brand, I have the sinking feeling that nothing about this situation is going to be that simple.
The diner is mostly empty at this hour, just a couple of night shift workers scattered across the booths. The interior is clean and inviting with bright red vinyl seats and black and white checkered floors. Neon signs glow in the windows advertising milkshakes and pie, and there’s a jukebox in the corner playing oldies at a low volume. The scent of coffee and grilled food fills the air.
I slide into a booth near the back, as far from the windows as possible.
Grayson slides in across from me, his eyes sweeping the space with an alertness that seems excessive for a diner.
Our waitress has gray hair pulled back in a neat ponytail and bright red lipstick. Her eyes widen when she sees Grayson.
“Oh my goodness, you’re that hockey player, aren’t you? My grandson loves you!”
Grayson beams at her in a way that would have any woman swooning. “That’s very kind. I’m glad to hear it.”
“Could you sign something for him?” She pulls out her order pad, her cheeks red, already flipping to a blank page.
“Of course.” Grayson takes the pen she offers and scrawls his signature with a flourish.
She practically glows, carefully tearing the paper and folding it before placing it in her pocket. “He’s going to be so thrilled. Now what can I get you two?”
Before I can speak, Grayson says, “Three beef burgers, fully loaded. Large fries. Onion rings. And a Coke.”
