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He smiles as he nods in agreement. “And these people are still alive? How have my hockey players not killed them all?”
I chuckle at that. “We don’t know where they are, and Peepaw paid them off to never look for us. He wanted a fresh start for us. I know that my sisters’ partners have asked to find them, but we don’t want them knowing about the guys, or even knowing how happy we all are. We want that to be the past, and we have worked really hard on ourselves not to let it affect our present and future.”
“You’re very wise, baby girl.”
I shrug. “I was raised by the best.”
He brings my knuckles to his lips and kisses them softly. Silence stretches between us as he licks and nibbles my knuckles to the point I wonder if I have sauce on them. But I know I don’t. He’s just being supportive, letting me know without words he’s here for me.
My grumpy guy.
Unable to handle the silence anymore, I say, “Wow, this is some heavy stuff. I’m pretty sure since this is our second date, we’re supposed to talk about our favorite colors.”
“Second date?”
I give him a dry look. “Don’t play. You hijacked my date with Gavin.”
He chuckles at that. “No, you dumped that guy on the spot.”
“Yeah, for you,” I say, giving him a wide grin. “And he still wants me.”
His face turns to stone. “He can’t have you.”
“I know,” I say simply, fluttering my lashes at him. “He’s not my type anyway. I like brooding lumberjacks who coach hockey.”
Riggs’s lips curve a bit as he looks up at me from beneath his lashes. His eyes are so beautiful.He’sbeautiful. “Pink.”
I wrinkle my nose at him. “Are you trying to guess my favorite color?”
“I’m right.”
“No way!”
He laughs softly, but then his face turns serious. In a deep voice, he asks, “Hey, baby girl?”
“Yes?”
“What’s your favorite color?”
“Yellow.”
His eyes go molten. “I should have known with how beautifully sunny you are.”
“You really should have.”
“Even though your ass looks great all pink from my handprint,” he says as if he is telling me the odds of a thunderstorm.
I feel my face flush as I shake my head. Not wanting to give in to his crude words that have me on edge, I ask, “What’s your favorite color?”
He licks his lips, holding my gaze. “Navy.”
I scrunch up my face. “Navy? That’s so weird. Why wouldn’t it be blue? Navy is so boring.”
He stands then, coming around the counter and spinning my barstool so I’m facing him. He leans in, caging me between his arms as his chest touches mine, and his hips push my thighs open. His jaw is tight, his eyes dangerous as he moves closer, his lips brushing mine. “You’re wrong.”
“No, I’m not. Navy isn’t a color that you go, hey, that’s my favorite!”
“I do.”
