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I grabbed my pint of beer. “Mkay.”
“I mean it, Sutton. I’m too old and jaded for you. And you’re…”
“A young damsel in distress, caught in the clutches of an evil fox?” I rolled my eyes. “You know what I love more than presumptuousness? Condescension.”
“I just want to be clear,” he stated.
“Well, you have nothing to worry about,” I assured him. “I have a type, and you most definitely arenotit.”
“You’re twenty-two. How the hell do you already have a type?” he demanded.
The server approached our table carrying my salad. He placed it down in front of me and then asked if I needed anything else. He left when I said no.
I grabbed my napkin and set it across my lap.
“Sutton,” Viper growled.
“Yes, oh grumpy one?”
“I asked about your type.”
“It doesn’t really matter, does it?” I asked. “I mean, since you made it clear that we won’t be getting together. Which, frankly, is a bit of a relief. You’re far too intense for me. And growly. Andmoody. You’ve got a lot of flaws, Viper. You should work on yourself first, you know?”
“Work on myself? What the fuck does that mean?”
“Drink your beer,” I commanded. “Before it gets warm.”
Chapter8
Viper silently fumedwhile I ate my salad. Manipulation and teasing always did bring out my appetite.
What Viper failed to realize was that I already understood everything about him. Other people might’ve been scared of him, or even felt rebuffed by his attitude and his desire to remain aloof and distant, but in the short time we’d spent together, I’d come to realize that he was a protector, even if he didn’t want to be.
He’d taken me back to the clubhouse after the fire.
He’d stayed with me while Colt spoke to me, and even offered his silent, physical support as the conversation got intense.
Viper said he was too old for me, but his actions proved he didn’t believe it.
He wants me.
Big, tall, scary Viper didn’t like getting close to people, and he used his nature and his size to keep others away. Most people didn’t bother trying to get past his defenses.
But I wasn’t most people.
As I finished my salad, our burgers arrived. Finally, Viper had something to focus on instead of glaring at me.
“How’s the food?” I asked after I polished off the last of my sweet potato fries.
“Decent,” he muttered.
“If it’s just decent, then why are you only three bites away from finishing it?” I asked with a cheeky grin.
“Because I’m hungry. Sometimes food isn’t about taste—it’s about necessity.”
“You grew up poor too, huh?”
He paused in his movements, looking up from his plate to stare at me. “Yeah. I grew up poor.”
