Page 42 of Not Mine to Rescue

She glanced at me with a question on her face.

“I said what I said. You’ve got it together. A good job, you’re smart, pretty...” I trailed off because her expression turned down. “I mean that.”

“Why?”

“Why, why?”

She cast an exasperated gasp to the sky and paced in a little circle. “Why do you think a job, or someone’s intelligence, or their looks matter?”

“Because it does. Pretty privilege, you know? Add smarts and dedication to a career and bam, you leave people like me in the dust.”

“You seem to have developed a pretty high opinion of me.”

Her tone was casual, but there was something lurking under the surface. My Spidey senses screamed, caution. “I’m a rarity, remember?”

Her mouth opened to argue, but she shut it again as she realized I had tossed her words back at her. She finally said, “We can’t be together.”

Did I hear a question in that? And what if I did? Would it change anything? “My probation ends next week. What about then?”

Honoria had the gall to laugh. And once she started, she didn’t stop.

Way to hurt a guy’s pride.

She gasped for air. “Oh, I needed that. Thank you.”

“Glad to oblige.” I was sick of being the joke.

“I needed to laugh. Life’s been a little too... serious. I mean it, thank you.”

Trying it on for size, I echoed her words back at her. “We can’t be together?”

Her eyes locked on mine. “A biker and a lawyer. That’s cliche isn’t it?”

“Not to mention, the age gap. That’s bound to cause problems for someone.”

“Or the wage gap... Men are sensitive about that sort of thing.”

“You’re smarter than I am, you should be making more money.”

“You’re more street-smart,” she fired back.

I struggled to find another jab to toss back. “In those heels, you’re taller than I am.”

“These heels come off.”

I made the mistake of glancing down. She didn’t fight fair with her pencil skirts and those sexy legs. “The skirt comes off, too.”

Honor nodded. “So does the underwear.”

What the fuck were we doing? With a cough to make sure my words came out clearly, I started again, “About last night...”

“I had fun. I shouldn’t have left.”

Sure, I heard those words, but I was having trouble absorbing them. She smelled good. Like perfume and soft skin. “I shouldn’t have let you go.”

“I’m glad you did. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have had a chance to think.”

Was thinking good? It would be helpful right now because my brain was shorting out. My dick, however, well... it was hogging the blood supply I should be using elsewhere. “Did you figure out any solutions?”