Page 30 of No Shelf Control
River has been wearing the exact same hot, cranky expression since we got here. "You aren't fighting fair," he complains, his gaze roving over me for the fifteenth time since he picked me up. His eyes are dark behind his glasses, searing into me.
"Fighting fair?" I lean back in the booth, laughing in disbelief. "This coming from the man who literally had me arrested? You're damn right I'm not fighting fair."
He growls softly. "That dress is a war crime, princess."
"You mean this old thing?" I lift the tiny strap away from my shoulder, watching his eyes track the movement, then immediately let it drop back into place. "It's just a dress, River."
I might be a liar. Lilah and I went on a last-minute shopping trip this afternoon to find this dress. The burgundy fabric is a stark contrast against my golden skin, slinky and low-cut. It's barely long enough to even qualify as a dress. But it's getting the job done. River hasn't stopped looking at me once.
"No,that'sa deadly weapon." His eyes darken further as they roam over me again. "I want to see it on my bedroom floor. Preferably while those fuck-me heels are digging into my back."
"Maybe I'll let you." I shrug. "We'll see."
For the record, I absolutely plan on letting him see the dress on his floor. But I fully intend to torture him a little bit first. It's my God-given right as a woman. Besides, he did have me arrested. He can sweat a little before he gets to unwrap me. It'll do him good.
He stares at me for a moment before a wide smile stretches across his handsome face. "Has anyone ever told you that you're a fucking brat?"
"I might have heard that a time or two. Are you complaining?"
"Hell no." He leans back in the booth, sipping his wine. "Matter of fact, I'm thinking of writing a thank you note to Jesus."
"Do you even believe in Jesus, River?" I ask, laughter burbling from my lips. If he's religious, I'm a damn saint.
"Undecided." He winks at me. "But I absolutely believe in whoever or whatever made you."
"That would be my parents."
"Thank your mother for me."
"You know," I say after a moment, "you've officially heard my whole, sad story. But I know nothing about your family or childhood."
"That's because there's nothing much to tell. My mom was a single mom until I was in high school. And then a local dentist swept her off her feet. They've been madly in love ever since."
"What about your dad?"
"Never met him," he says with a shrug. "He decided parenthood wasn't for him when my mom found out she was pregnant. He packed up and moved across the country. Last I heard, he lived in New Jersey."
"Men are dicks."
He cocks a brow at me.
"Are you really going to make me say not all men?"
"Nah," he says, chuckling. "Most men are dicks."
"Finally, something we agree on." I eye him curiously. "Is that why you write aliens?"
"Partially. I'm a space nerd. I enjoy coming up with alien races and considering what life and civilization on other planets might look like." He pauses. "But I also know that women have had enough of men's bullshit. Why not explore love and sexuality with a race from a planet that hasn't spent centuries disappointing women?"
"River Jamison," I say, laughing in disbelief. "Are you a feminist?"
"Did you miss the part about me being raised by a single mom? Hell yeah, I'm a feminist. Women are fucking amazing, princess."
"I love that," I admit, and then pause when the waiter appears with our food. Neither of us says much as he places our plates in front of us, pours more wine, and then vanishes. My stomach growls loudly, making River chuckle, but I just shrug, unapologetic. Food is good, and I like to eat.
"Can I ask you another question?" I ask as we begin eating—grilled pork chops with a raspberry glaze, roasted potatoes, and asparagus.
"Go for it."
