Page 46 of Savage Surrender

Freddie is frozen and the woman looks to him for help, which is adorable, because he’s looking at me.

Good boy.

She mutters under her breath and stalks away with a box from the lower shelf. I catch Freddie’s shirt and pull him close enough to make my claim feel less theoretical.

“Please don’t talk to women that want to fuck you,” I murmur. “I’m way too jealous for that.”

His smile fades and I think I need to reel the crazy in, but then his scent melts into a honey trap.

Oh.

He steps into me, one hand settling at my waist while his gaze fixes on my mouth. “Okay.”

That’s unreasonable. Controlling. Probably unhealthy.

I really fucking like it.

“That’s why you’re my favorite boy, Freddie.”

His eyes light, and his thumb passes over my lower lip. “Anything else I can do for you?”

He’s going to be a problem. A fun one.

“That’s all for now.”

We eat in the car like we have never seen food. Everything tastes like salt, grease, and heaven. Freddie passes me bites from whatever he opens. Weller takes anything he thinks will poison me with chemicals, and I steal it back when he looks away.

Tristan unfolds the map across his knees. The little notebook I always see him with slips from his pocket.

I grab it before he can.

“Give that back,” Tristan says.

“We had minutes to escape and you packed your diary?”

“It’s not a diary.”

Owen makes a dark sound from the front. Freddie turns toward the window, his shoulders shaking.

The first page is complete gibberish: dates, circles, slashes, arrows, tiny symbols, lines struck through other lines. I flip to the next and find more of the same.

“Is this code? A schedule? Are you communicating with aliens?”

Tristan holds out his hand. The more annoyed I get, the more everybody else enjoys it.

“What are the circles? Why does this date have a happy face?”

Weller sighs. “They’re your orgasms, Bianca.”

My fingers stop on the page. “Excuse me? What do you mean by my orgasms?”

Owen is quick to answer because subtlety has never survived long around him. “You told us your boy best friend gave you hundreds. Did you think that wasn’t going to make us competitive?”

“You’re in a competition with Ezra?”

“Not a competition,” Tristan says. “A correction to the record.”

“You packed a notebook tracking my sex life during an emergency.”