Page 10 of The Gruff Loner’s Bargain

“You’re the one who started this conversation.”

She swears under her breath. “Normal people make polite conversation. They ask questions like that.”

“Still think it’s no one’s fucking business.”

“It’s alarming to me how often I want to hit you with something.”

I laugh. Fuck. With this woman, sitting in the car and talking about nonsense feels like foreplay. “Okay, so then tell me about this backstory of ours. How did we meet?”

“You saw me across a crowded room and just had to meet me.”

I snort. “That’s boring. We can do better than that.”

She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “Maybe I can just tell people you’re mute.”

I laugh. “You’ve known me long enough to know it’s unlikely I’ll shut up for any length of time.”

“Isn’t that the damn truth. You must have driven your poor mama crazy with all your words and antics.”

That hits me hard, but I don’t want to ruin this drive with that dose of drama. Plus, she’s smiling, and damn if I wouldn’t do just about anything to be the reason Brooklyn James smiles.

“Okay, what about this? We’re rival scientists forced to work on the same secret project together for NASA. And I think you hate me, but you’ve secretly been in love with me for years.”

“The fuck, woman? Do I look like a NASA scientist? I don’t even look like a science teacher.”

She giggles and the sound surges electricity through my body. That. I need a hit of that sound every day for the rest of my life.

“Okay, good point. Um, oh! You’re a professional hockey player with a bad reputation off the ice and on it. And I was the PR expert hired to improve your image, but we fell in love.”

“If I was a professional hockey player, don’t ya think people would recognize me? I mean with my face and my bod, I’d have endorsements out my ass. Probably endorsements for my ass.”

“Ohmygod, you’re so ridiculous,” she says, but she’s smiling and laughing. “Alright Mr. Smartypants, what do you suggest?”

“Easy, I saw you in a bar and thought you had great tits. So I asked you out?”

“Ugh, who hurt you? That is so unromantic!”

“Partially true. You do have fantastic tits.”

Her arm goes across her chest. “Stop looking at my boobs.”

“Manhattan, you’re my fiancée for the weekend. I’m pretty sure that means I can look at your tits. I’m fair though, so I’ll let you check out the rest of my piercings.”

“We are never going to make it through this weekend. But we are absolutely not telling our grandkids that you liked my boobs. That’s a terrible origin story.”

“I’m pretty sure I can tell our theoretical grandkids whatever the fuck I want. You tell your story and I’ll tell mine.”

She huffs. “Then obviously, I’ve been tricked into thinking you’re the perfect guy. But you’re actually marrying me for my money and planning to murder me on our honeymoon.”

“Do you have any money?” I ask.

“Not anymore.” Her voice is small and tinged with sadness.

“Hey, sorry about your vineyard. Linc told me. That’s rough.”

“Thanks.”

I reach over to grab her hand and she flinches out of my way.