Page 14 of Wrong Number, Right Grumpy Biker

"Disappointed?"

"Surprised."

I could dance. Mama Mae had insisted all her boys learn basic social skills, and that included not embarrassing their dates at formal events.

Hannah fit against me easily, one hand warm in mine, her other hand resting on my shoulder. The banter between us faded as the physical tension grew. She relaxed into me, and her cheek brushed against my jaw.

I had to remind myself that Everett trusted me.

"Why did you agree to come this weekend?” she whispered into my shirt.

"You asked."

She pulled back just far enough to look up at me. "Everett asked. After I made a fool of myself."

I meant that her invitation had been enough. That the moment I'd seen her message, I'd known I would come regardless of what Everett wanted. But I couldn't say that without admitting too much. It was easier to let her believe what she needed to believe.

"I was afraid seeing James would turn me back into the insecure wimp I was when we dated," Hannah admitted.

Her honesty caught me off guard.

“He never deserved you. He’s too fucking critical.”

"How do you know?"

"I've listened “to him trying to correct you all night.”

“He’s not really correcting me, just making suggestions." A tiny wrinkle creased the spot between her brows.

Was she really trying to defend the fucker?

“Suggestions about how you walk, how you laugh, how much space you're allowed to take up.” I held her gaze. "You deserve someone who appreciates you for who you are.”

Hannah's breath hitched. Her fingers tightened on my shoulder, and the air between us became charged with something I didn’t want to name.

"Grim—"

"I mean it."

She searched my face like she was trying to decide whether to believe me. Finally, she nodded and rested her head against my shoulder again.

After our dance, Lyra came by and asked if she could borrow Hannah for official wedding business. I returned to our table and checked my phone.

Hannah: I’m starting to think Grim might not actually hate me.

I read the message twice before replying.

Me: What gave you that idea?

Hannah: He danced with me without looking miserable.

Me: That’s some strong evidence.

A moment later, another message appeared.

Hannah: He also said I don't need fixing.

I stared at the screen, then typed carefully: