Page 35 of Nash
She goes back to her station. I put my eyes on the window.
They don't stay there.
Ruby is packing up her station when my phone buzzes. Raine. Ruby gave her my number months ago.
How bad is it?
I type back.
Threat is active. She's protected. Detail is 24/7.
Three dots.
Can Lawrence and I come Sunday? For the cookout?
Yes ma'am.
Nash. Stop calling me ma'am. I've told you four times.
Yes, Mrs. Leighton.
You're as bad as my daughter.
I pocket the phone. Ruby is bent over her station, wiping down the surface, and the angle gives me a clear view down the front of her tank top. The curve of her tits. The lace edge of her bra against her skin. Her ponytail hangs over one shoulder, copper hair swinging with the motion, and the image of wrapping that ponytail around my fist before guiding her head back hits so hard my vision narrows.
"See something you like, Sergeant-at-Arms?"
My eyes snap up. She's straightened, smirking at me, her cloth still in one hand. She caught me. Ruby knows exactly where I was looking.
She slings her bag over one shoulder and lets her eyes travel over me. Starting at my boots, up my legs, my chest, my shoulders, my mouth. She takes her time the way I took mine, and the payback burns.
"It's hard to keep my eyes off you too," she says. "In case you were wondering."
Frankie chuckles from her station without looking up. My mouth opens. Nothing comes out.
Ruby's smirk widens into a full grin. "Oh my god. Did I just render you speechless? Frankie, did you see that? I broke him."
"I saw it," Frankie says, still not looking up. "Historic moment."
Fuck.
She's still grinning, still talking, something about framing the moment and putting a plaque on the wall. The urge to cross the room, put my hand over her mouth, and watch her eyes go wide is so strong my fingers twitch against my thigh. I let her run. I let the grin sit on her face and the victory lap play out because she earned it. Because the follow-through I'm picturing would end with her back against the wall, my mouth on her neck, and that's a door I'm not opening in Frankie's shop.
"Let's go," I say.
The grin falters. She clocks the shift. My voice is back where it lives, low and even. The two words land the way I need them to.
"To my apartment. Where I live. Where my stuff is."
"Ruby."
"Just making sure we're on the same page, Sergeant-at-Arms."
She waves goodnight to Frankie and follows me out the front door. The bell jingles behind us. The Harley is at the curb. She takes the helmet, clips it on, and swings on behind me.Ruby's arms wrap around my waist. Her chin settles against my shoulder blade. Her thumb traces a circle on my stomach.
I start the engine and take her home.
Chapter 10
