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The truth was, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him either.
He opened the door and she slid into the back seat and waited for him to get in next to her.
“So?” Roman asked, turning to look at her. “Where are we going?”
His eyes looked gray in the dim light inside the car, the planes of his cheekbones even sharper than usual. His jaw looked like it had been chiseled from stone, and from the way his shoulders pulled at the seams of his shirt, she had a feeling the rest of him was just as defined.
Somehow the bruising on his face only made him more beautiful, and she felt the stirring of heat at her core and pressed her thighs together, the sensation startling and unfamiliar.
It had been a long time since she’d felt anything below the waist because of a man.
“Chinatown,” she said, then wondered what she was thinking. Chinatown was her safe space, the place she and Brooke and their dad went for celebratory lunches and dinners.
Adam hated Chinatown.
“Perfect,” Roman said.
He passed the information along to Max and the Jag glided into traffic.
“What happened to your face?” she asked.
He hesitated, as if trying to decide how to answer the question. “Can we make a deal?”
“Are you trying to distract me from my question?”
He grinned. “It’s related to your question.”
“I’ll consider it,” she said.
He laughed. “You’re one tough customer, Ruby…”
He was angling for her last name, and she hesitated before throwing caution to the wind. “Bishop.”
“Ruby Bishop.” He said it slowly, like he was savoring the words in his mouth. “I propose an agreement.”
Ruby lifted her eyebrows. “An agreement?”
He nodded. “I’ll tell you the truth about anything you ask me tonight if you’ll do the same.”
“Are you going to ask how much I weigh?”
He laughed again. “No, but I’ll have you know, I’d have no trouble at all sweeping you off your feet.”
Fuck me.
This was bad. Very bad.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said. “All right. I agree to your terms. So what happened to your face?”
“Fighting is a hobby of mine,” he said. “I was… distracted during my last fight.”
Not the answer she’d expected. “Fighting like… boxing?”
He shook his head. “Fighting like fighting.” He leaned back in the seat a little, seeming to relax now that she’d agreed to his terms, his hands resting on his giant thighs. “There are certain venues in the city, if you know where to look, that host street fights.”
She scowled. “Sounds like low-rent boxing.”
He smiled. “You’re not wrong. It’s different in that there are no gloves, no rules to speak of.”
