“Enough?” he challenges. “As in, there’s a limit to how much I can help you?”
“That’s not what I meant, I just…”
“I know you’re not used to relying on people, but if I’m risking a shit-ton to pursue this, I need you to let me in.”
“Let you in, huh?” I peek to my left, realizing exactly how many people in the shop are watching our exchange. “If this is your idea of lying low, then…”
“That ship sailed the moment I saw your expression fall when your dad showed up last night.”
He mentioned it before. When we were talking in the bed of his truck. I kind of swept it aside, convinced he didn’t mean it. Not really. That he would’ve helped anyone the way he jumped in and helped me. But then, I think about how the rest of the night played out and… What was last night? Was it a fluke? A one-time thing? I thought I knew what I wanted, but it was mainly predicated on Jagger’s usual response to women. As in…using them for sex and nothing more. Yet here he is, standing in front of me in the middle of an overcrowded coffee shop saying he wants me.
Why does he want me?
He nudges my chin up, and my lips part in a whisper. “Jagger.”
“What is it, Little Thief?”
Subtly, I look around again. “Everyone’s watching.”
“Might as well get used to it, Vi.” He moves in closer, letting me taste his breath. “You’re dating Harden Heights royalty.”
Our mouths are only a breath apart. He’s baiting me. Letting me decide if and when I’m ready to close the distance and kiss Jagger Harden in front of everyone. Instead, I shift back slightly, peering up at him through my lashes. “Dating?”
“Would you prefer I call it fucking?”
“It would make more sense,” I offer. “Especially when you and I haven’t even been on an actual date.”
“Would you like me to rectify that?”
“Are you asking me out?”
He hesitates before dipping his head in a nod. “Yeah, Vi. Seems I am.”
“Are student teachers allowed to date students?” I challenge.
With a bark of laughter, he pecks my lips, then lets my chin go. “And they say I’m the one with commitment issues.” He rolls his eyes. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”
“Jagger—”
“Violet!” my manager calls. Her hands are in the air in a what-the-hell gesture.
Shit. I’m at work, and this is not a conversation for work. Right.
Grimacing, I murmur, “I have to go.” I start to walk away, but he grabs my wrist, preventing my escape.
“One more thing,” he rasps against the shell of my ear. “If I see another man ask for your number and the first words out of your mouth aren’t,Sorry, I’m taken, I have no issue tattooingI belong to Jagger Hardenacross your ass. Understood?”
My breath hitches as I stare up at him.
“Understood?”
The low growl of his voice tugs in my gut, and I press my thighs together. “Yes,” I whisper.
“Good girl.”
He lets me go, and I slip between a few customers in the growing line, rounding the counter and taking my place behind the register.
And it’s funny. Because even though the idea of going out with Jagger Harden should terrify me, I can’t help the onslaught of butterflies low in my stomach as the same thought filters through me over and over again for the rest of my shift.
