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“I’m getting whiplash, here. You mind clueing me in?”
“How much do you get to be involved?” I asked.
“How much will you let me?”
I nibbled my lip, which drew his attention.
“Here we go,” Danny announced, arriving with our three appetizers. He placed them on the table and didn’t bother asking if we’d looked at the menu. It was clear we were caught up in something, and he was a good server. He watched our physical cues and left without saying a word.
“How much do you want to be involved?” I asked.
“Really lobbing that ball in my court, aren’t you?” Slash shook his head and plunged a chip into the artichoke dip. “Did you make a list of your boundaries?”
“I started to. Then it turned into a list of questions I wanted to ask you.”
“Such as?”
“Your last name,” I remarked dryly. “I mean come on. This is seriously quintessential one-night stand-ness. Istilldon’t know your last name.”
“That clearly didn’t stop us from doing all sorts of fun things together.”
“Will you stop mentioning it?” I asked in exasperation.
“Never,” he said quietly. “Best sex of my life, Brooklyn.”
“The best?” I breathed.
“Yup.”
“Seriously?”
He smirked. “Fishing for compliments?”
“What’s your last name,” I grumbled.
“Hale.”
“What’s your first name?”
“Stryker.”
I glared at him.
He had a chip halfway to his mouth when he stopped. “What?”
“The night we were together, you made a big fucking deal about not sharing your first name with me. Now you just tell me. No fight, nothing.”
“Well, now you’re carrying my baby. The rules have changed a bit.”
“How’d you get the scar?”
“Let’s save that one for another date.”
“We’re not on a date.”
“Feels like a date.”
“I’m not sleeping with you,” I reminded him.
