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Did she even have a story? Not exactly. He hadn’t pressed her for one. He’d just seen her reaction to him—and then her reaction to the guy she didn’t want to leave with—and instinct had taken over.
Instinct and attraction were a damn potent combo, especially when Lila had basically declared her off-limits. That practically aimed a Day-Glo arrow in her direction as far as he was concerned.
Damn rebel that he was.
They raced down the stairs and her hair flew behind her in silvery ribbons in the neon-tinged night. The streets were wet—it was Seattle, after all. Everything was always wet.
Maybe even the sweet Lauren.
She clomped after him, her laughter drowned out by the traffic. “Where are we going?”
“This way.”
She looked both ways on the street and her fickle little frown lines were back.
“Wondering if you should be going off with me, little girl?”
“No.” She lifted her chin and quickened her step until they were walking side by side. “I just don’t understand how you know where to go. I lived in Seattle for more than half my life and I don’t know where I am in downtown.”
“You don’t have a magical researcher named Denver.”
“Who’s Denver?”
“Our driver-slash-personal-Google.”
“I need one of those.”
“You can’t have her.”
“Her?”
The corner of his mouth kicked up. “Yeah, her. She’s amazing.”
The frown was back. “What makes her so amazing?”
He shrugged and glanced at the street signs. He swore and dug out his phone. Denver may be a human GPS on crack, but he wasn’t. “She consistently finds the best local restaurants and diners—especially diners. The girl has never met a pancake she didn’t like.”
“Interesting superpower.”
He grinned down at Lauren and dragged her in closer. “That’s exactly what it is. A superpower. One that you’ll appreciate when you have the hot, salty perfection in your mouth.”
Her eyes grew wide and her lips parted.
And there he was, hard as a pike again. Good goddamn, her mouth was lethal. “Pizza, Lauren. Ricci’s Pizzeria.” He bent to her ear and nodded across the street. “Right there.”
“Oh.” She elbowed him in the gut. “You did that on purpose.”
“Maybe.” He hopped down the curb into the street and waited to make sure she didn’t stumble again in her stupid shoes. She gripped his hand tighter and followed him across the street into the little pizza joint.
It had old wood paneling on the walls, and ancient red vinyl booths with red checkered tablecloths. Garlic and cheese punched him in the face and made his belly roar.
“I’m not much of a carb person.”
He turned around and stopped in the middle of the aisle. “Are you serious?”
&nbs
p; Her mouth spread into a wide smile. “Come on. With these hips? You know I like pizza.” She pushed him aside and rushed to the counter. She gripped the edge of the chipped Formica as she tipped her head back to read the menu.
