Page 88 of The Clinch
“Here.”
“Don’t try to distract me with food.”
“I’m not distracting you,” he says evenly. “I’m offering breakfast.” His eyes meet mine now, calm and unmovable. “And I still don’t think you should walk into that building alone. Drake is still waiting for an opportunity.”
The name drops into the room and changes it.
“I’ll be fine,” I say too fast. “It’s the middle of the day.”
“Take the offer, Flash.”
My spine stiffens.
“What sort of fake fiancé would I be if I let you haul a suitcase on the subway in this heat? Bad optics.” He pauses. “Let me.”
I want to throw something at his annoyingly handsome face.
“I don’t need a keeper.”
“Good. Because I’d be terrible at keeping you. I’m just… here. While you carry… heavy luggage.”
It feels comforting, and that’s exactly what’s wrong with it.
“Bossy,” I mutter, and eat the eggs.
They’re perfect.
When we’re done, he tosses his keys into his palm. “Come on.”
I grab my bag. He picks up my hoodie from the chair and holds it out.
I mentioned once that his car AC runs arctic. That was before the holiday weekend. Before he stopped reaching for me. But he still remembers.
I resent the way I love him for this.
No.
I resent the way he makes it impossible to need less.
Damn it.
We step outsideinto the sticky morning. New York in summer is not a season. It’s an attack.
There’s two guys with cameras, one woman with a phone held high, and a couple of kids whispering and pointing. The flashes start the second they see Leo.
“Lionheart, over here!”
“Hey, champ!”
“Is that your fiancée?”
Leo doesn’t even flinch. He steps in, his hand closing around mine. His palm is wide and warm, engulfing my fingers as he pulls me closer to his side.
“Smile,” he murmurs.
I don’t smile. I bare my teeth.
“You’re terrifying,” he says under his breath.
